#instead of live in a lie........... end the cycle properly...........

[thebusylilbee]

[Source : ‘Barry’ Finale Is Filled With Blood and Disappointment]

[nostalgia-tblr]

My Next Attempt At Long Fic (by which I mean more than 10000 words and it has chapters) Should Be...

Poll and the (actually quite long) gist of each option below le cut:

The Sylki Con Artists AU

This one I have a wee bit written of already but I go back and forth on this one because it's Alternative Universe - Modern Setting and I feel like there's already a lot of those (which I also complain about a lot), and I have to justify it to myself as an experiment in whether I can do a Sylki Modern AU that doesn't just end up as "two people called Loki and Sylvie do normal stuff together". That's why they are con artists in this! Because 1) MISCHIEF (or crime, or whatever) and 2) if they have the same 'job' for similar reasons and I go on about them being similar a lot then that's maybe as close as reality can get to selfcest. (The selfcest is not just a feature of sylki, I feel it is THE feature and to admit to being Bad At Shipping (again) I'm just not that interested in it if they're different people who aren't even aliens. The same alien.) (You can tell me they are gods all you want but I've seen enough Doctor Who to know that must be A LIE so I reject it as such.)

The plot is that they meet in a bar one night and shag (obviously!) and then the reader discovers that Loki is trying to buy a painting from an old woman (planning on ripping off both her and his own buyer) and Sylvie is an artist who is selling a forged painting to some posh twat on the internet who she knows is trying to rip off her fake old lady persona on the deal but she's selling him a fake painting anyway so at least he deserves to be conned. They meet up a few times before finally realising that they are in fact conning each other under fake names on the internet, and then I have to try and fix it when they inevitably get mad at each other because of it. Also, Thor works in a shop because the brodinsons are Downwardly Mobile (dad spent all their inheritance, oh no!) Plotwise Loki is going to actually need Sylvie's painting for reasons I have not yet entirely worked out so one way or another they will have to eventually forgive each other for being con artists as they themselves are and for having attempted to con each other.

Ideally I will be able to make this one funny in some way, as I think the concept can get absurd enough to make a rom-com out of it.

2. The Jotun Heat Fic (also sylki)

I was into this one for about a day and now I have second thoughts because I am not sure I care enough about Frost Giant Biology to have to write an entire fic about it. It would continue my tradition (I did it once, that's enough for it to be a tradition) of turning a tiny ficlet into a much longer thing. This one: The Opposite of Heat, in which Loki and Sylvie go into whatever the Jotun equivalent of the fandom fave 'mating cycles/in heat' trope is, having never done so before because (see if you can guess...) they've never previously spent enough time around another Jotun for the hormones to kick in properly. They have no idea this can happen, and what starts out as Fun Porno-Fic Times soon gets a bit worrying and then I suppose they have to Investigate and that's the bit I fear might end up boring me.

This is set in an AU where S2!Loki did not instantly demand that Sylvie help him with his cop friends' problems and instead just went to live in Oklahoma with her, so the other/'real' plot is them getting used to living together and the weird-but-sexy medical issue bringing them into conflict because of course the first place Loki wants to go for help is the TVA (this not unreasonable of him, as they have a lot of info in their archives and he has no other friends anyway), which Sylvie is not keen on as she would rather just avoid them for the rest of forever. Gosh, I hope nobody goes to the TVA for help behind anyone else's back!

I need a way to make this one stay interesting once it gets to the Find Out What Is Happening part and also it needs to not just immediately end with a sensible solution like just going to Jotunheim and asking someone there for a talk about the frost-birds and the frost-bees.

Also I think they should fuck in that McDonalds. Just because.

3. Jotunheim Rejects The Guy Who Cannot Possibly Be Its Rightful King, Because I'm Annoying Like That AU (not thorki)

Speaking of going to Jotunheim, you know all those fics where Loki goes to be the Rightful King Of Frostland, as Odin apparently planned all along? That but it doesn't work, because I am not at all convinced he can have been Laufey's heir (who the fuck infanticides their only male heir?!) and even if he was well it'd just look awful, wouldn't it? Crusty Old Odin, worst friend to Jotunheim for several years running, sends back your kingdom's heir having raised him as one of his own family. (I hope at least one of you is thinking "US-Backed Puppet Ruler Who Will Do Whatever The CIA Tells Them To" because I did too! Ooh, geopolitical barely-subtext!)

The problem with this one for me is it requires a fairly large cast of Original Jotun Characters, and I still fear writing OCs because of the constant 'Mary-Sue' complaints in my fannish youth. Also I would Controversially (LOL not really) make some of them women, including Angrboda the ambitious would-be consort and Laufey's tragically spurned lover who on finding out that her long-dead son is not dead makes the most of it by insisting everyone call her 'My Lady, the King's Mother' (yes, I stole that from History but I do that sort of thing now, for the LOLs). So I have a bit of an idea what happens in this one, though I'd need to think of more political type plot stuff and also I just finished writing a multichapter fic that involved the Jotun succession so maybe I'd be overdoing it if I did this one now as well.

The other problem is Jotuns are too fucking tall. I mean really. This doesn't seem to bother anyone else but they are Too Fucking Tall to interact with the shorter characters, to the point that it just seems accidentally comedic to me. Just imagine the totally-not-a-puppet king of Jotunheim sitting on a massive throne, swinging his wee legs in the air. And I don't know how to work around that other than just saying "they are Less Fucking Tall in this fic" and I don't know if that would just annoy people. Also it does feel a bit incendiary to go against the general fandom insistence that Loki Is Totally The Rightful King Of Jotunheim. Though I suppose in this he is, it's just that he attempts to become so in the sort of circumstances that make everyone start saying things like "are we really that keen on our monarchy?" or at least "surely there's a cousin or an uncle we could give the crown to instead? yeah, even a woman would do. no, she doesn't have to be alive if there are only dead ones available."

(It was a mistake to let me read books about the Wars of the Roses, wasn't it?)

Oh and this isn't a thorki fic, but Thor is going to go to Jotunheim with his bro to help him settle in and also he will be going back to rescue him from it at the end. Bros before snows!!!!

[translations-dark-matter]

Living as an Extra in an Omegaverse novel

Chapter 61

Shin Tae-oh closed his mouth. Since what I was saying was correct, there was nothing to say.

"As soon as the hospital admission process is complete..."

Se-hyeon stood up but was pulled back by the wrist, causing him to sit. As he sat down, his body trembled for a moment, as if he had fallen backwards.

"Why..."

He was about to ask why when Shin Tae-oh's hand reached his forehead. It was the same as what I used to do to him. Tae-oh’s large hand came down over his forehead, even covering his eyelids, so Se-hyeon couldn't even close his eyes.

"It's hot."

Se-hyeon pulled his head back, covering his forehead with his hand to escape from the warmth that covered it.

"This is because I'm excited."

Ha Jin-seong attacked the wrong person, and it was unbelievable for him to realize that person was himself. However, Shin Tae-oh gently raised his head and instead of touching Se-hyeon’s forehead, he held his cheek. As he tried to grasp both cheeks with one hand, the shape of his face seemed as if it was being held.

"Your face is all red. Come here and lie down."

"...Lie down?"

Se-hyeon glanced at the space revealed as Shin Tae-oh half-raised himself. Shin Tae-oh, accurately sensing where Se-hyeon's gaze was directed, shook his head.

"Not here, over there."

While holding Se-hyeon's face, Shin Tae-oh gently turned it to the side.

"Let's lie down together."

"This is the emergency room."

Se-hyeon revealed his disbelief with his trembling lips.

"It's a place where urgent care should be given to those in critical condition."

"That's right. So, you should lie down."

"Boss, do you think I'm joking right now?"

Se-hyeon forcefully pulled away from Shin Tae-oh's hand. The emergency room was not a playground for kids.

"If you stay like this, a cycle will occur."

"I'm sorry, but it's still too early for the heat to come."

"No, it will happen."

Shin Tae-oh spoke with more certainty, observing Se-hyeon's body's reactions.

"My pheromones entered your system and haven't fully come out yet. You must have felt the heat continuously, right?"

Since last night, Se-hyeon had been holding heat in his body. Because of that, he couldn't sleep properly and occasionally unbuttoned his coat to release the heat.

"It's better to treat it quickly."

"Then I'll take care of it myself and leave."

"Ugh. I guess the secretary has become very comfortable. Having to repeat myself..."

"I'll lie down."

Feeling the irritation in Shin Tae-oh's voice, Se-hyeon immediately stood up from the chair. Awkwardly, he sat on the nearby bed, and Shin Tae-oh smiled as if to say, "When did that happen?" and called the nurse.

Se-hyeon wordlessly extended his back of the hand as the doctor explained that if they had been a little late, the cycle would have come. It would take several months to recover once the cycle is disrupted, so it was better to receive proper treatment now. He received hormone injections and even intravenous fluids.

Se-hyeon, who felt the irritation seeping into Shin Tae-oh's voice, immediately got up from the chair. He awkwardly sat down on the bed next to him, while Shin Tae-oh smiled as if he had never been irritated and called the nurse.

When the doctor explained that the heat cycle would have occurred if they had been just a little bit late, Se-hyeon held out the back of his hand without saying a word. It would take several months to recover once the cycle is disrupted, so it was better to receive proper treatment now. So he received hormone injections and even intravenous fluids.

Se-hyeon, who ended up receiving similar treatment as Shin Tae-oh, began to gradually accept the reality that had befallen him while staring at the ceiling.

It was because of being entangled in Shin Tae-oh's rut yesterday that he ended up lying like this. Even what happened in the bathroom in the morning was all physiological and natural.

Still, with the reassurance that the heat wouldn't occur after receiving the IV fluids and taking the medication, he slowly closed his eyes.

He had worried that revealing his omega status would lead to consequences, but he received unexpected concern instead. It felt like a distant past when he had tried to hide his nature, and it seemed like more had happened in the past three months than in the past three years.

"The original work shouldn't be shaken..."

Events that had already deviated from the original work had occurred, so they needed to be brought back on track...

***

"I fell asleep."

After spending the night with tired, sleepless eyes, Se-hyeon couldn't remember when exactly he had fallen asleep. He slowly sat up, looking around the surroundings.

It was dim and quiet, making him think that it wasn't the emergency room after all...

"Is this a private room?"

Or is it a VIP room?

There was only one bed nearby where Se-hyeon had been lying. He had intended to admit Shin Tae-oh, so he wondered why he ended up being admitted instead. He let out a slight hollow laugh and pushed the blanket that had reached up to his abdomen aside.

He had been laying with his coat on, but when he got up, he realized he was dressed in a shirt...

"He really took off my clothes."

Muttering while looking at my clothes hanging on the hanger, Se-hyeon turned his head to the door, belatedly remembering something.

"If it's Shin Tae-oh, he would have reserved a double room."

Unless his heart had turned towards Yoo Jin-ha, he wouldn't miss this opportunity. But why did he leave me alone to be admitted?

Amidst layers of suspicion, Se-hyeon felt uneasy as he lay on the hospital bed. Along with that, he cautiously pretended to be asleep as he heard the sound of the door opening.

He didn't even know why he acted like this. He just felt anxious, thinking he had to lie down, and in response to some inexplicable pull that told him to close his eyes at the sound of the door.

As the footsteps drew nearer, Se-hyeon tried to relax his face and exerted effort. When a sleeping person squeezes their eyes tightly shut, it's practically the same as saying they're awake, so he tried to make it as natural as possible. He even slightly parted his lips.

"Se-hyeon-ssi."

The voice that usually called him "Secretary Ahn" called out his name.

"Ahn Se-hyeon."

Even though the voice attached his last name, it was a sweet voice as if he would flinch if Se-hyeon didn't remain on guard.

"I wanted to say this in a more splendid and beautiful place, not in a situation like this..."

Shin Tae-oh's voice seemed a bit distant, as if it had gone elsewhere and come back after looking at something else.

"My heart keeps racing, and I get headaches. I thought I would die if I didn't say it, so I came to find you."

Even if it was understandable, isn't it a bit strange to say this to a sleeping person? Se-hyeon pondered whether he should just pretend to wake up and not say anything. It was at that moment when such concerns arose.

"I like you, Ahn Se-hyeon."

Se-hyeon stifled his breath at Shin Tae-oh's confession.

"I like Ahn Se-hyeon, but I can't ask you to love me. I've done many wrongs."

Shin Tae-oh's confession contained not excitement but rather remorse.

"I regret the most that your role as Secretary Ahn was always delivering gifts to Yoo Jin-ha. Every time I gave my heart to someone else, what were you thinking?"

Was it super fun?

"But it shouldn't have been like that. It wasn't about asking Secretary Ahn to use the things that others rejected. I wonder how it felt to use something that someone else had rejected..."

Was it a great deal?

It was just nice. It was warm because there were gloves, and mornings were enjoyable because there was coffee.

"That's why I couldn't confess that I like you. It was shameless."

"So that's why."

No wonder Shin Tae-oh's expression wasn't good after I received Yoo Jin-ha's gift last time. I thought his expression was upset because I was swayed by Yoo Jin-ha's gift, but it seemed like he realized that he had done something wrong to me.

‘Now your feelings towards Yoo Jin-ha have been completely sorted out.’

I sighed inwardly. Even though someone liked me, I couldn't bring myself to laugh.

This shouldn't be happening. Not only did Ha Jin-seong's strange pleading twist the original story, but Shin Tae-oh's behaviour was also peculiar.

And I was both dumbfounded and swayed by his confession.

"I will apologize and make it up to you in the future."

There was no need to apologize when he didn't do anything wrong.

"You won't have to receive gifts for anyone else from now on, Se-hyeon-ssi."

Se-hyeon-ssi, Ahn Se-hyeon, Secretary Ahn... It would be fine to use just one, but he kept switching between them.

Along with Shin Tae-oh's promise or rather statement, I felt his hand brushing against my hair. And the touch that stroked my cheek carried affection towards me.

"I really like you, Ahn Se-hyeon."

The warmth left behind by his hand as it passed through left a new heat in my body. If it's going to be like this, then there's no point in receiving intravenous fluids.

"Do you think you would accept my confession if I told you how much I really like you?"

Se-hyeon tightly clenched his fist hidden under the blanket at Shin Tae-oh's gentle voice. His heart, which had been fluttering at his confession, now started beating loudly. He hoped that Shin Tae-oh would stop confessing before his heartbeat became audible to him.

"Now I can give you gifts right away and take care of you. I can provide you with everything you need."

‘Are you talking about the dishes left at my house?’

Why are we talking about dishes here? If you keep mentioning it, just take them with you.

"I'm confident that I will only look at Ahn Se-hyeon for the rest of my life. Can't you give me a chance?"

Se-hyeon regretted pretending to be asleep when Shin Tae-oh continued his monologue.

"I really like you."

"...."

"I like you."

"...."

"...Should I tell you again when you open your eyes?"

"...."

What?

"If you want, I can say it a hundred or a thousand times. If you want, you can keep your eyes closed forever."

Shin Tae-oh presented the question, demanding a response.

As Se-hyeon pretended to be asleep, of course, he couldn't say anything... But he could feel Shin Tae-oh's hand moving over his closed eyes.

"I'm currently waiting for Se-hyeon-ssi to wake up in awe of my confession. I'm ready with open arms."

He confessed as if he knew I was awake...

"He's really good at playing tricks until the end."

This mischievous little brat.

Prev / Next

[alfredosauce50]

2p Russia headcanons pls??? 🥺🥺🙏

He's quite the character and so far with the [character] headcanons that you've made, I feel you're the only one who can write him properly!!! With how you write things so clearly, and elegantly (as well your with and humour, everything is honestly so fun to read).

You’re too generous! But there doesn’t seem to be much on him, and the 2p wiki isn’t the best place to look. I’m happy to break that cycle with my take on 2p Russia. I haven’t seen much on this guy, so I’ll be spinning something up and hoping for the best 🤓

2p! Russia headcanons

He takes anti-social to another level by warding off people with his unapproachable demeanor. He’s dark, bitter, and brooding, but if you’re patient with him, he’s not half-bad. This guy is actually in a league of his own. Knowing that means you’re halfway there.

Appearance

He has short, fluffy, and dark brown hair. Viktor would never say it, but it’s one of the only things he likes about his looks. He isn’t conventionally attractive. He falls somewhere in the middle, so it’s up to your taste to decide how attractive he is. However, his deep-set eyes, prominent brow bones, and large nose make him quite rugged.

Viktor is the biggest guy in the lineup. He’s around 6’5” and has the physique of a bear. His muscle mass is no joke; it doesn’t help that he likes wearing turtle necks. On other days he wears sweaters, trench coats, and long sleeves. He never wears short-sleeves, not even in the sweltering heat. Yeah, don’t ask him if he’s hot.

While he doesn’t think too much about his appearance, he prefers to be clean-shaven. He takes his personal hygiene pretty seriously too.

Personality

He’s an ambivert, but he displays anti-social characteristics towards most. With strangers and acquaintances, he’s quiet, stoic, and tries his damnedest to not be involved. Not only does he have distrust for them, he thinks their lives are boring, repetitive, and the epitome of being ‘cogs in a machine.’ Ergo, he picks his friends carefully, who he deems ‘tolerable.’

At first glance, he’s very mature. In reality, he can be sarcastic, blunt, and get on with little regard for other people’s feelings. He can be seen as quite mean, but he’s not an asshole—he usually justifies himself if you cared to listen. He has a very particular opinion on body image, for example. “If you’re ugly, you’re ugly. If you’re fat, you’re fat. People only lie about it because they think it makes someone less.”

His wit makes it jarring to be around him, so be prepared to let go some of your pride. Fortunately, he’s nicer about it with people he likes, so he ends up teasing them instead—“Allow me to be frank with you, моя радость дорогая (my dear joy). You’re making this about them. Make this about you. I thought you had enough of living for others, or was that a lie?”

Viktor likes to be relied on. It stems from both protectiveness and cynicism. He will accompany you on errands, speak to staff of authority, or act on your behalf because he’s not afraid to speak his mind. He’s the type to complain out loud at a service center until you hiss at him to be quiet. “Necessary services should be fast and efficient. If not, it means the government is failing.”

It’s impossible to embarrass him. No matter what mistake he makes, or what predicament he winds up in, he will never break his composure. He’s mastered the poker face and the subtle art of not giving a fuck. Viktor has attempted to cut onions by closing his eyes before. He will tell you it was a good idea, but poorly executed.

He has an unorthodox way of thinking, or a strong moral compass, if you will. If the result is more important than the process, he will do anything to achieve them, even if there’s heavy consequences. “I am above that,” he will say before breaking the law.

Viktor would be the crazy driver everybody tells stories about. If his passengers tell him he’s in a hurry, or better yet, someone is going into labor, he will simply tell them, “I am from Russia,” before slamming his foot on the gas and reaching speeds to get everyone close to God. Ironically enough, he’s the Uber driver from Hell.

Interests

He likes carving stuff out of wood. Turns out, he’s great with knives in general. He can peel an apple and keep the peel in one long springy strand. On that note, he can throw them with scary accuracy too. If you ask him if he’s done it before, he will nod with no further elaborations.

Viktor is good at cooking. He can debone and prepare a fish from scratch and make it look easy. If you stay over, he will always make the most elaborate meals for you to enjoy. It’s how he shows that he likes or appreciates someone.

He has a few herb planters. It’s more convenient to have some dill and parsley growing on the side than to keep going out to buy them. He uses these plants all the time, so he may as well have his little garden to take his mind off of things too.

This guy can be a big talker. If you can keep up with him, he will sometimes complain or rant to you about the things he sees in real life or the media. Viktor is very discerning with the information he receives, and has a keen eye for bullshit. “Look at the way they wrote this article. They’re trying to rile people up. And they’re eating it up! The world is going crazy.”

Psychology + Romance

Before you graduate from being a stranger, there has to be constant interactions before he notices you. A probable location for that could be the library or an educational institution. He will have an easier time remembering someone if they’re kind to him. Since he’d not looking to meet anybody, it takes time and patience for him to care enough to uphold conversations.

He’s good at reading people. He can instantly tell if someone is a people pleaser or afraid of judgement by the way they relay their thoughts and opinions. Viktor hates sheep. He can’t trust them for the love of God because they will change themselves the second others demand it. But confident people, he tends to respect. If they can rely on their own judgement, he can too.

Naturally, he prefers his own company because he’s bought into the belief that he’s the only one who can keep up with himself. If you reciprocate his energy and humor him, he will no longer be as elusive. He will catch you after class or in the afternoon for some coffee or tea. Soon enough, you can count on him to be a study buddy and companion. Getting free rides is a bonus.

Eventually, you will end up at his house to ‘parallel play,’ which entails people doing their own thing next to each other without interacting. Viktor respects that you have your own tasks to do, but he wants you to be around either way. That’s a huge step forward when he values his alone time. At the end of the day, you can find him in his kitchen leaning over a bubbling pot. “Dinner is nearly done, малыш(ка) (little one).”

If he likes you, he will be direct about it. Viktor feels no shame in making it obvious and will whisk you away if he feels like spending some time with you. “If you want to drink, I have a cellar back home. I can send you home right after too. It’s more convenient, isn’t it?” You can retort by saying you want to see your other friends, to which he will be visibly upset about. “That’s fine.”

Viktor struggles with being vulnerable. He’s not one to be emotional, and he imagines that it would be shocking if he showed a softer side. Being in control of his thoughts and feelings has always been a safety net, a way of having an advantage, so that’s why he never cultivated close and meaningful relationships which could jeopardize that. And yet, here he is, stressing over the thought that he’s replaceable to you.

To his good fortune, you show up late at night after a bad night out. His love language will take the wheel and he’ll hover like crazy. When you tell him to calm down, he will freeze up, realizing he’s gone completely off the rails. While he stands in the hallway, completely still and silent, the next words he’ll hear from you will change everything. “I wanted to see you because you always have a way of making me feel calm,” You say, reaching up to his chest. “But I guess it’s finally my turn.”

He will dart his eyes all over your face when he finally tells you the truth. “I want you.” Your shock will render you speechless, and he’ll fill in the gaps with his own anxious thoughts. Viktor will sit on the side of his bed with his back hunched as he speaks. “It’s like hell has frozen over.” Heavy regret laces his tone. “We don’t have to do this anymore. All these... arrangements. I feel like I’ve frightened you with what I’ve said.”

He’s grown on you just like you’ve grown on him, and you make it explicit. You stay the night to prove him wrong about his anxieties. Soon, one night will turn into multiple when you don’t want to leave. Despite having practically moved in, Viktor will be hesitant to initiate the affection at first, so you’ll have to take the reigns.

He will be left reeling if you keep holding his arm, hand, and face. Viktor has never liked being physical, but it’s different when a lover does it. Combine that with how unused he is to touch, his heart will pound if you do so little as hug him. But kissing? He will lose his head completely, so that should be saved for the bedroom.

No matter how many times you’ve done it, he can never keep his composure when you kiss him. Climb on his lap, and he’ll start choking. Press your open mouth to his, and he’ll lose his wits. While he feels his lips mesh together with yours like a fine puzzle, he stops thinking cohesively and loses all reason and eloquence.

He mellows out a lot into the relationship. He’s happier than he used to be, so he’s not so bitter anymore. Viktor is way too occupied with you to care about anything else—he will do absolutely everything with you, to where his biggest concerns will be as simple as deciding dinner.

[wizkiddx]

living and reviving II

yep when I said three parts I think I meant 4 oops

summary: an overdue conversation that has to happen - like it or not

warnings: cheating, swearing, pregnancy talk, lots more angst, think thats it?

tomhollandxreader

/////////////////////// prev

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

That had been three weeks ago.

And it still fucking hurt like hell.

It had ended up that Yamna had taken you back to hers, where you had stayed for a couple nights. During that couple of days, Tom had tried. He had tried to apologise, tried to explain, tried to fix things. But it just wasn’t that easy.

Whatever he said, it didn’t take back from the fact that he had in that moment meant it. So no amount of sorrys could ever take that back.

After everyone had realised just how serious their situation was, Tom had moved out of your shared flat - so you could at least be in the place you were comfortable. Afterall the nursery was built in your flat and clearly it was you doing all the baby stuff for the moment. Thankfully Yamna, having been cut loose so without job, offered to move in with you. Which was probably the only thing keeping you going.

Well, that and ben and jerrys ‘phish food’. Honestly the shop must think you’re running some sort of ice cream black market at the rate you’re getting through their tubs.

Everyone kept parroting that it wasn’t good for the baby. Too much ice cream . Too much heavy lifting. Too much stress.

And yes, it probably was. But that was out of your control . The stress and lack of man in the household meant you had to do the heavy lifting of shopping from the car up the stairs. Shopping meaning ice cream, which you only depended on so much because of the stress.

It was a vicious cycle of hell.

Even Yamna, the person you were relying on keeping you sane had started walking on eggshells. It was as though you were literally about to pop, she always had to have at least half an eye on you. You were even banned from locking the toilet door - just in case.

It felt like you were a captive animal, people kept coming to observe you, giving sad looks before gleeing the scene.

You hadn’t been sleeping well either. Of course, being 3 weeks of your due date didn’t help - but neither did the lack of Tom. In fact, for the first time since shit had hit the fan, you had actually been managing to get some decent sleep when Yamna knocked on your bedroom door, quietly calling your name.

“I’m asleep” Groaning, you pulled the covers further over your head, praying to god that she’d leave you alone. But of course that wasn’t happening, she just lightly chuckled before you felt the bed dip - she had perched on the edge… Toms side.

“You never normally sleep talk.”

“I’m never normally this sleep deprived.” She sighed, whilst you still stubbornly kept your eyes closed.

“I’m sorry I woke you…. but this is important.”

“What?” Almost grunting, you threw the covers down looking up at her in anticipation. That was another thing about pregnancy - you were always on high alert, always worried.

“Toms here.”

“Tell him to f off.” Quickly you stopped caring about what your bestmate had to say.

“He’s saying that he’s the little ones dad and that he deserves to be involved and…. and I think I might agree.”

“I deserve a boyfriend who stays loyal to me so clearly neither of us are getting what we want.” You weren’t angry at Yamna and snapping at her wasn’t the answer. And yet you still did it.

“Y/n….I love you and I am completely on your side. I just think that maybe, perhaps, you should at least manage to be civil before baby arrives. Otherwise… thats going to be a lot to deal with all at once.”

It was your turn to sigh, deep and heavy (or at least as deep as the baby let). Most infuriatingly she was right. The conversation had to happen at some point. With a baby there too it would only be even more traumatic.

“He’s here now?” It only dawned on you how broken you actually sounded when the words croaked out of you.

“Yeh hunny… I didn’t let him inside so he’s standing outside the door looking like a dickhead right now.” The image cheered you up a little, enough to sit up in bed and be wrapped in Yamna’s arms. Her actions said it all, she really only meant the best for you and knew how hard this would be. After a moment she leant back. “I almost considered calling the paps so they could get a picture and label him as a groveling dick.”

“You should of.” Of course you didn’t mean it, but the answer had you both laughing. It took a minute to calm down before she changed subject slightly.

“You want me to make myself scarce? I can hide in my room or go to the shops or-“

“Text the guy from the bar - you deserve a night off ‘babysitting Y/n’ duties.”

“I’m not babys-“

“Yes you are. Go out with him and have some fun, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeh”

That was a bare face lie - but Yamna had been almost too good to you. She really really needed a break. Especially as the current plan was she’d be helping with the newborn too. Right now you wouldn’t have wished a baby on yourself - never mind your best mate.

“Okay, get ready then babe - but do it slowly, leave him waiting outside in the cold for as long as possible.”

“Obviously.” You laughed, hauling yourself out of bed, where she gave you one more encouraging hug before leaving.

After hearing Yamna leave, and brushing your hair and throwing on a new pair of trakkies and hoodie, you slowly walked towards the door. It felt as though impending doom were on the other side and every fibre of you wanted to scream and run the other way. But it just had to happen at some point. Why not now?

With a final sharp exhale, attempting to pull yourself together, you opened the door. Immediately your heart sank, seeing nothing. Had you really been that long? And even so, was a 10 minute wait enough for him to give up? You could already feel the hormonal pregnancy tears starting to spring, when a grunt drew your attention.

What you hadn’t considered was the fact Tom was ready to camp out, sitting on the floor beside your door. Springing to his feet, he seemed shocked you’d actually opened the door - makes two of you. When Yamna left she had told him you were coming, but seeing really is believing.

“Y/n! I-I… I wasn’t sure you were ever going to answer.”

“You and me both.” You replied dryly, still leaning on the door. “Do you er…. do you want to come in?” Again he seemed shocked, as though he wasn’t sure you meant it.

“Is that-that okay?” Shrugging you just nodded, stepping back so he could get in. He did pay half the mortgage afterall.

“You want a drink?” He quickly declined your offer, not vocally but instead rushing past you to the kitchen and turning the kettle on himself.

“Your the pregnant one. Go chill on the sofa, I’ll bring you a cuppa.”

And a bit taken a back by his forcefulness you followed instructions, from the sofa watching how effortlessly he danced round the kitchen. It wasn’t shocking, it was technically his kitchen too. But seeing him there felt so alien, almost transporting you back to much much simpler times. Seemed a lifetime ago.

After a couple of minutes, he rounded the sofa with a hot chocolate in one hand for you (because caffiene is bad for the baby) and a cup of Yorkshire tea in the other.

“So… how have you been?”

“Ate a lot of ben and jerrys” You answered without really answering, except he knew you all too well.

“That bad?” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his brow “how about the baby?”

“I don’t tend to carry an ultrasound on me but she’s been keeping me up all night kicking - so normal I guess.”

“Thats good” He spoke before realising what he said. “Sorry no I um-I don’t mean it like that!” You all but laughed in the face of his flusteredness, only making the tips of his ears go pinker.

“I assume you had something to say and that you came here for a reason rather than just pity me?”

“I want to make things right Y/n - I-I mean your having my kid.”

“OUR kid”

“ Exactly! And-and I love you too and-“

“Bullshit” You may have murmured it under your breath but you had intended for him to hear.

“Oh come one Y/n, you know that!”

It was like the man was asking to be yelled at.

“Don’t sit there trying to patronise me! I THOUGHT i knew it but then I saw you all over another girl. So yes, I’m calling bullshit.”

“Ugh I… If your not going to even try to hear me out then…”

“Then what Tom? You gonna kick me out. I mean this is your flat after all! Maybe you’d like to dump the mother of your unborn child homeless on the street and forget about us - how’d that sound? I’m sure your fans would blindly applaud you.”

“Listen! Please would you just listen to me.” His voice was loud and tone harsh, making you flinch a little. Not because you were ever worried he’d hurt you - but how this wave of uncomfort shuddered through your body, baby even squirming in discontent. So focused on that you just nodded, shifting back into the sofa.

Tom had noticed your reaction and seeing you seemingly scared of him like that, well it broke his heart. Even more.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to shout, I just…. I really need to try and fix this.” He leaned closer, letting out a thankful breath when you just nodded, as if to say go on.

“I’ve really really missed you… these past couple of weeks I’ve never felt so gulity in my life. Not because of what I did! Well yeh that but-but more how much it hurt you and-“

“Fuck.”

You couldn’t help but let out that little curse of pain as a new wave of pain, which seemed to originate from your lower back, shuddered through you. Tom looked up from where his eyes had been nervously wringing his palms whilst he spoke. Rubbing a hand over your belly you shook your head and motioned for him to continue.

She was just kicking really really hard. Right?

“Uhm yeh so I just wanted to properly tell you everything that happened that night so at least we are on the same page? A-And I’m not going to try and use this an excuse but I had been drinking so-“

Seemingly baby disliked the end of that sentence too, causing another rippling wave to echo through your body, feeling as though a band was pressing tightly round your stomach. With another small curse it forced you to stand up, in the hope that’d ease her. Clearly she was as done with his shit as you were.

“Need a water.” You muttered, already waddling to the kitchen, where you heard Tom follow you immediately - like an inpatient dog.

“Y/n sit down I can-“

He was silenced by you freezing and grabbing his arm tightly - a physical contact he hadn’t been expecting from you.

“Tom… get your phone.” You spoke slowly, still not having dared to have moved an inch - fingers almost white from how tightly you were squeezing his forearm.

“Wha-are you-are you okay?”

“I think my waters just broke. Get the phone. Now.”

~~~ feedback is really appreciated + would love to know what u think as still in the process of writing so can be guided / helped by asks !!! ~~~

taglist: @maraudersandco @@minejungwoo @sippin-on-tea @thegirlintheswivelchair @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @arctic-monkcys @ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8 @peterr-parkourr @lizzyclifford13-blog @user1683 @elishi03

[theonewiththefanfics]

Black Ice (one-shot)

Synopsis: Black ice is considered one of the most dangerous winter weather phenomenon. It appears after it’s rained or snow has melted and then the rapidly cooling air freezes it, leaving it as a shiny black mirror on the ground.  A deadly shiny black mirror. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: swearing, mentions of hospitals and injuries

Word count: 8852

“God, Harry, it’s just one night!” Y/N exasperated, throwing her hands in the air. “One fucking night I wanna go out with my friends and have some fun. Is that really too much to ask?”

        “I haven’t seen you in two months!” he snapped back. “So, please fucking forgive me that I wanna spend a night in with my girlfriend and have her say ‘no’ one time, and make me a priority. Is it so hard to reschedule?”

        “Yes, Harry it is!” Y/N stood her ground. “Adam and I have been talking about this for three weeks before we could set a date and meet up. He fucking flew out here! To London! And it’s not my fault you haven’t been home in two months, so don’t put that on me.”

        “No,” he shook his head pointing a finger at her. “Don’t pull that shit on me. You knew about my job, you know how it can be, how much I have to travel.”

        “I get that, and I’d get your anger if I was fucking off with my friends on our anniversary without any notice or some shit, but I’m not! I made these plans ages ago. I told you about them! How could I have known you’d decide to ‘surprise’ me a week early?”

        But the thing for Harry was – he did think there was an anniversary to celebrate. It wasn’t an official one, and he hadn’t told Y/N how much the date meant, but that day was the day they’d met a year prior.

***

        He was in the middle of filming ‘Darling Don’t Worry’. This time they'd flown out of California to shoot a scene in the middle of the woods, in the cold of November, which as exciting as it was to have his acting career flourish, Harry wasn't too happy about freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere.

Y/N, however, lived right next to those woods, her family house having been there for generations, while the location scouts of the movie had chosen the location because the aesthetic could double as the location of the woods behind the mansion.

        Y/N’d been out on her daily run (well, daily complaining because Y/N, with all her being, hated running, and thought it was a sign you were a masochist. But her best friend Adam loved running and hated going alone, so he bribed her with the promise of pizza afterwards), when they’d run into pitched white tents, filming equipment and barriers encasing a part of the path they were on.

        Adam’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowed his pace, and Y/N thanked god for that because she felt like she was about to pass out.

        “What’s going on here?”

        “Dunno,” Y/N huffed. “But we should probably leave.”

        But instead, Adam grabbed her by the bicep, dragging her forward to the set. “Nope. Come on.”

        “Adam!” she hissed. “What the fuck are you – “

        “Hi!” He flashed a woman standing by the railing a smile. “Could you-uh-tell us what’s going on? Why’s the path blocked?”

        “A movie’s being filmed. Sorry for the disturbance.”

        “Mhm, and when do you think you’ll be leaving?”

        That she hadn’t expected, given how typically when people saw a movie set, they’d be more than intrigued in getting into a shot or finding out about who were the stars, not when they’d be going away.

        “Oh, uh,” she stammered. “I’m not too sure. Depends if the snow starts falling and how much we manage to shoot. Sorry. But uh, would you be so kind and find a path around?”

        Y/N jumped in, flashing her a kind smile. “Yes, thank you. So sorry to have disturb –“

        “You do realise this is a public place?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “We have a right to be here.”

        “Adam, shut up,” Y/N groaned. “We can run around them, it’s not a big deal.”

        “But this is our route!”

        “Adam for fuck’s sake! It’s the woods, you don’t own them!”

        “Exactly!” he said. “And neither do they! They have no rights to infringe on our ability to get to the sea.”

        That’s when Harry had noticed her, and to this day Y/N had no clue as to why he’d fallen for her. He was conversing with Florence about the upcoming scene when his ears caught the very end of the conversation, green eyes snapping to where two people in running tracksuits stood.

        One of them was a tall burly man, muscles practically ripping apart his clothes at the seams, the other was a shorter woman, hands-on-hips, hair kept away by a headband which also covered her ears, and the most done expression on her face as she glared at her companion.

        They were talking with a nervous assistant; Harry could see by her stature and how her head kept snapping to the side in hopes of finding someone above her to deal with the two strangers.

        “Adam, I swear to god, I’ll punch you." Harry heard the woman exclaim. "Leave the girl alone! We can run around.”

        “But I –“

        “Adam!”

        “Fine,” he grumbled as he threw the assistant and apologetic look. “Sorry.”

        “ ‘S okay. Have my preferred cycling route as well, so yeah… Sorry.”

        Harry watched as the woman next to the person, Adam, shook her head and gestured to where the barriers curved around, starting up on a slow jog, and when they passed where he was standing by the trailers, he could hear them still arguing. 

        “Oh my god,” Harry heard her whisper while looking at the ground. “I’m friends with a fucking Karen.”

        “I am NOT a – you’re Harry Fucking Styles!” Adam shouted so hard, it startled Y/N, and when she looked over, it was like a deer in headlights before relaxing and both of them slowed their pace.

        “Sorry,” she gave him an awkward glance. “He’s a fan, but we’ll be going and stop bothering you...”

        “No, no,” Harry shook his head, putting his hands in his coat’s pockets and smiling. “ ‘S alright, you’re no bother. I’m always happy to talk to a fan.”

        “Yes, well, don’t encourage him. Soon enough, you’ll be besties, and Adam here’ll be turning your life into absolute chaos.”

        He scoffed looking down at his friend. “I’d like to think I’m taking you out of your boring routine, Y/N, and giving it some spice.”

        “Anyway,” she gritted out. “It was lovely to meet you, but uh, we should probably be on our way. You have to be somewhere.”

        Y/N’s eyes glanced over Harry’s shoulder, where a nervous AD stood, bouncing on her feet, a weary smile on her face as she caught the singer’s eyes and motioned with her head he was needed back on set.

        Harry nodded and wanted to turn back to tell the two to come by whenever they wanted (well mainly Y/N), but when he turned around, the two were already quite a few feet away. Just as he was about to leave, he heard Y/N shout, “Congratulations on the three Grammy nominations, by the way. ‘Fine Line’ was amazing.”

        “And that’s a compliment!” Adam hollered jogging backwards. “She only listens to shit from the early 2000s.”

        “Adam, shut up!”

        With that, Harry was left to watch the two disappear behind the trees, a feeling he was quite familiar with settling in his chest.

        It was three days later, when he saw Y/N approaching the set barriers, hands in her pockets, as she rolled her neck. Their eyes met, and even, from the distance, he could see her smile split apart her face, but when she just waved without the intention of coming any closer to the lot, Harry rushed to the side calling out to her. “Hey!” 

        “Hey!” Y/N responded chuckling and ducking her head down. “You alright?”

        “ ‘M alive. How ‘bout you? You doin’ fine?’”

        “The bar’s so low?”

        “I guess. Won’t be able to get you to nurse me back to health though, which is why I’m in the cold again.”

        She wiggled her eyebrows at Harry. “If you wanted to see me, there's no need to lose limbs or bits of yourself.”

        Harry hadn’t expected her to be so upfront, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t like it. Made it easier for him to understand if his advances were welcome or if he should back off. “So uh, no Adam today?”

        “No, he has a late shift at work. Which means I’m spared from the running.”

        “Not a fan?” he looked at her with a quirked brow, seemingly saying ‘you’re sure dressed like you are’.

        “Do I look like someone who likes stabbing pain in her side and having her heart ripped out of her chest?

        “You’re just not breathing properly.”

        Y/N sighed. “If one of you gives me any more advice about how to properly run when I don’t even want to run, I swear I’ll stab you.”

        “Okay!” he threw his hands up in surrender, laughing. “No more talk about running if I wanna keep my head on my shoulders. Where are you uh going? You don’t have to answer, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

        Y/N squealed on the inside, but bit her lip to keep the grin away. She’d been dying to talk to Harry since they’d briefly met but had no real reason. Not that she had one now, but she’d had a horrible day at work and needed to clear her head, and what was better than the forest air (also she could scream there without anyone really caring). “You’re not, so don’t worry. I’m uh I’m going to the sea.”

        Harry’s eyebrows rose. “There’s sea nearby?”

        “You’re like a fifteen-minute walk away from it,” she chuckled, stuffing her hands in her coat’s pockets. “Should really be more aware of your surroundings.”

        “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

        Y/N tilted her head. “Yeah, you’re kind of right. But it’s places like these where you can find the best spots.”

        “Will you show me then?”

        She looked at him with an unreadable expression, and he could only hope his nervousness wasn’t as apparent, because Harry was more than convinced his erratically beating heart could be heard miles away. But then she nodded, giving him a wide grin, making one of his own bloom on his face. 

“You sure you won’t freeze on your way there?” she said in a sarcastic tone eyeing him up and down, and Harry shoved her a bit.   

        He donned one of the standard down-jackets issued for the movie with winter boots, but given the costume underneath, he was chilled to the bone. “It’s bloody cold, and my toes are freezing off. How are you still standing?”

        “Insulated shoes and thermal clothes. Kinda boiling actually.”

        “I should steal ‘em.” He smiled at her. “Probably have frostbite by now.”

        “Wow, you people from the South UK really are weak.”

        Harry’s gasp made her smile as wide as a Cheshire cat. “How dare you!” He dramatically placed a hand on his chest, Y/N’s laughter erupting through the air. It cut through the yells and shouts from the filming crew, and made a warmth spread in his chest. “How do you know about the South versus North? You don’t sound like you’re from the UK.”

        “Studied there for three years; had loads of flatmates from all around, let alone course mates.” Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “And to say that I thrived on the chaos  was when you said North was better than the South would be an understatement.”

        “Well, I guess I know where your loyalties lie.”

        “Did you expect me to immediately swoon over you?” Y/N batted her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Mr Harry Styles. Your voice in ‘Kiwi’ was so good it fucked me to cloud nine. Will you please do that to me with your dick instead? Which you should take as a compliment again, considering kiwi is the only thing I’m allergic to.”

        “Wait,” he looked at her, eyebrows up to the middle of his forehead. “So you have heard my stuff?”

        “Well, I don’t live completely under a rock. I did say 'Fine Line' was amazing.”

        “But you don’t really like it?”

        Y/N shook her head. “ ‘S not that I don’t like yours or other pop stuff, ‘s just that I have a preference, and I guess it’s, as Adam said, ‘early 2000s shit’.”

        A sly smile appeared on Harry’s face. “But could that include by any chance 'One Direction'?”

        “Afraid not,” Y/N sighed giving him a pout. “When you came onto the scene, my heart was already taken by a boyband. And I can be a lot of things, but I most definitely a loyal bitch.”

        “One band at a time kind of gal?”

        “Exactly.” She beamed. God Harry had never wanted to kiss a person that bad. 

        “Duly noted, but I will need to know who they are, and how many graves do I have to dig? You know, for research purposes.”

        “Going method now?”

        “What’dya mean?”

        Y/N shrugged sniffling a bit from the frosty weather. “Looked up a little bit about the movie. Need to know what kind of people might be around in the area. Psychological thriller. Wife. Rich husband. A dark secret. My guess – someone’s dead and buried. Also, the huge pit we walked past was kind of a give-away.”

        He paused for a second before nodding. “Fair enough.”

        A comfortable silence fell between the two as Y/N motioned with her head to where they needed to turn and made their way onto a new path when she spoke. “ ‘S not that I wasn’t a fan,” Y/N shrugged glancing at Harry from the side. “The songs were really catchy, but I guess I got tired of them? Like they were on the radio so much, it was a relief I didn’t have to hear the five of you singing about how I don’t know I’m beautiful.”

        Harry threw his head back in a laugh. “Don’t worry. Sometimes we’d get sick of it ourselves. But umm, ‘Fine Line’… You said you liked it… Do ya’ have a favourite song?”

        Y/N cringed. “Is it cliché if I say ‘Golden’? Because it’s ‘Golden’. I’m a sucker for a slow and then a ‘bam!’ kind of an opening.”

        Harry shook his head. Now he was the one biting back a grin. “ ‘S not cliché. Was one of my favourites to write, so I’m glad you appreciate it.”

        “Also, it makes me feel sunny? If that makes sense? Like – like when I listen to it, I feel warm and safe and just happy...”

        He’d be lying if he said his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest at her words. Warm. Safe. Sunny. “Well,” Harry cleared his throat to keep the words ‘One day I’ll marry you’ at bay. Fuck, he'd only known her for like twenty minutes! “I’m glad you like it more than my previous stuff.”

        “You just love putting me in uncomfortable situations, don’t you?”

        He smiled, nudging her shoulder with his, and was just about gearing up to take a breath and ask Y/N out (before he could ask to marry her), when quick steps from behind him drew their attention. 

        Dressed in a typical 50s housewife dress with a black coat on top, Florence Pugh came to stand beside them, and Harry swore he saw mischief twinkle in her eyes as she raked them over both people and then settled on Harry’s companion.

        “Hi!” she said giving Y/N a bright smile, and a wink to Harry, which passed the other girl’s head, given how she was absolutely fangirling right now. “I’m Florence.”

        “I – yeah – I – you – I love you,” Y/N finally breathed out. “Fuck, I just, you know, 'Midsommar' was a fever dream, but I absolutely loved it, and I can’t wait for 'Black Widow' to come out. Oh my god, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

        “Please don’t.” She laughed grabbing onto Y/N’s shoulder. “Feels like I already know you, but I’ve been dying to meet you actually. Created quite the commotion yesterday.”

        You know how they say men can think of absolutely nothing, like have a completely blank page in their head? Yeah, Y/N was having that exact moment. 

        Florence tutted crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Harry with mock disappointment. “But Harry here just kept talking about you, without any intention of inviting you to the trailers, so I had to take things into my own hands.”

        “You’ve been wanting to meet me?” Y/N breathed out, hands going into her hair, looking at Harry. “Oh my god, what is happening? Am I hallucinating?”

        “No, you’re not,” Harry grumbled glaring at Florence. “Unfortunately. But we were on our way to the sea, so I’ll see you back on se-“

        “Hello there,” Chris Pine’s smooth voice interrupted them, as he extended a hand for Y/N to shake as he jogged up to the trio. “I’m Chris.”

        “Wow, your eyes are even bluer in real life.” Her own Y/E/C ones widened. “Did I just say that out loud?”

        “You did,” Chris chuckled, “but I most certainly take it as a compliment. You said you were going to the sea?”

        “Uh, yeah,” Y/N breathed out still gazing into Pine’s eyes. “Wanna join?”

        Harry wanted to scream, but he couldn’t really. As much he wanted to tell both Florence and Chris to go away, he didn't. Seeing Y/N’s eyes light up as the two other actors conversed with her, laughed and joked around, made his heart expand.

        It was insane to him, that a woman he’d seen twice in his life could have such a huge impact. It was like she’d been his missing part. Well, no. Harry didn’t like that notion – that the ‘right’ person would complete someone. People were complete on their own, but it was true to him that there was someone out there that’d make each and every moment special, someone who would help the other become better, but also hold them accountable when needed. 

        They wandered around the seashore, which like Y/N had said, was a fifteen-minute walk, for about half an hour before turning back to the woods.

        By that point, she’d somewhat calmed down, and could actually comprehend what Chris and Florence were saying to her, and it was rather enjoyable to ask all the questions about Hollywood and the industry most people wouldn’t say on the record. 

        At around four PM when all of them got back to set and Olivia came to tell them they were wrapping up for the day, Florence, and Chris split from Y/N, telling her to come by whenever she wanted, while Harry said he’d walk her to the end of the trail.

        “You know I’ll be fine. I grew up here, know these paths like the back of my hand.”

        “ ‘S alright,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure they won’t mind much if I come back ten minutes later.”

        “You know, you’re not how I thought you’d be.”

        “What’dya mean?”

        “I – I don’t even really know… just not how I imagined you.”

        Harry didn’t know what to really do with that information, but the look on Y/N’s face most definitely didn’t seem like she meant it in a bad way. In fact, her shy smile and fleeting glances told him otherwise. At least he hoped he read her features right.

        They said goodbye with soft ‘see you laters' and he watched her throw one last glance at him over her shoulder before he himself retreated and ventured to the trailers to start de-shedding the character of Jack for the night.

        Harry plopped down in his seat with a groan, fishing out his phone from the pocket while the hair and make-up team did their work, taking the products off his face before applying moisturiser to the stressed skin.

        Florence poked him in the cheek, and he swatted away at her hand, looking up from Instagram (or his attempts to find Y/N with just knowing her first name). “What’s wrong?” she asked, poking his pouting face again.

        “She literally fangirled about everyone but me.” He huffed sliding down even further in his seat. 

        Florence raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, Styles?”

        “No,” he scoffed crossing his arms. “Why would I be jealous?”

        “Because literally both mornings that we've got here, you’ve been fidgety, keeping a watch of the path, and didn't calm down until Y/N appeared just now. So I’d say you’re absolutely smitten with the girl and are jealous because she’s more of a fan of us than you.”

        “I know she likes me.” His eyebrows furrowed. “I think. She hasn’t told me to fuck off.”

        “She’s a stranger you met in the middle of the woods. You should hope she likes you. But not too much. Otherwise, it could so easily become a scene out of a horror movie.”

        Chris bit his lip looking at Olivia, who’d come in the trailer after having seen the group come back with an almost heartbroken gaze – it was clear as a summer’s day Harry was struck by the girl, but they had to face the music. “Harry,” he started. “You – you do realise we end filming here in two weeks, right? And she’s a local.”

        “And?” his eyebrows furrowed at Chris’ words.

        “You’ll be leaving in two weeks for another three months of filming, while she stays here. I don’t – I don’t want to see you hurt, but you have to realise that most likely nothing will happen.”

        “And what makes you say that? Maybe she could come with.”

        “Y/N is her own person with her own life, job and friends, which, as it seems is all set here.”

        “Besides you don't really even know her,” Olivia said as well. “It's been two days."

        “Sometimes��a day is enough.”

        A silence settled over them, as Harry tapped his phone against his nails.

        “You guys, come on!” Florence came to his defence. “He likes her. Why not give it a shot?”

He'd flashed her a thankful smile and mouthed a 'thank you' to which she just gave him an encouraging nod. She was on his side. She believed he could do it. And he did. Using Florence's faith in him as a catalyst, a day later when Y/N had gone on her run with Adam, Harry had excused himself and joined the two. 

        Adam was thrilled to the bone, but he was also competitive, so after ten minutes of trying to persuade the woman to run faster so he could beat his previous time, he took off on his own, with a promise of meeting up by the shore. That’s when Harry grabbed Y/N by her bicep and stalled them both, confusion written all over her features.

        “I uh,” he started. “I wanted to ask you something.”

        “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

        “I – “ he stuttered taking in a deep breath. “I – uh – and you have zero obligations to respond, but uh – I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me sometime?”

        That made Y/N do a double-take. “You want to go out? On a date? With me?”

        “Ye – yeah.” It was uncertain how the word came out, but it felt so good to say it. “Yes, I really do.”

        “Sorry.” She shook her head looking at the ground with furrowed brows. “Sorry’s just, kinda hard to believe it.”

        “ ‘Nd why’s that?”

        “Well because the first time we met, I looked like a sweaty mess, the second, I could barely function around your friends and co-workers, and now, well now I look like a sweaty mess again.”

        “So?”

        “I just –” Y/N laughed but waved him off. “Never mind.”

         Fear instantly took hold of his core at her statement, so he rushed to salvage what could be salvaged. “No, I mean if you don’t want, you - you don’t have to say ‘yes’. I’m not gonna be upset or any –“

        “Harry!” This time Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder to stop his ramblings. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

        “You – you would?”

        “Yes.” Her smile blinded him like the golden rays of sun which broke through the overcast sky. “I’d like to very much so.”

        But it was Y/N’s tearful huff, a storm cloud compared to the warm light from his memories, which brought him out of the fond thoughts and into the icy right now.

        “Because unless it revolves around Harry Styles, it doesn’t matter, right?” she let out a pained laugh. “Because unless he’s there to have all the spotlight on him, it’s not important. Unless it’s not something he wants to take part in, it immediately needs to be cancelled or rescheduled because god forbid someone made plans without him.”

        He grunted in disagreement. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

        “No,” she snapped, snatching her purse and coat. “I get it. Very clearly. I’ll show myself out.”

        “Don’t be so dramatic!”

        She scoffed, glaring at him. “Call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

        The door slammed shut, and Harry sat down onto the sofa to scream into a pillow.

***

        Y/N’s sight was blurry as she drove down the street. A light snow had started to fall over London, so she was twice as careful, knowing Londoners had zero clue how to function when snow hit, and no one had winter tires.

        “Fuck,” she choked out, wiping away at her cheeks.

        She’d had fights with Harry before, it wasn’t like they were perfect. From the outside they looked like nothing could ever be wrong, but they were human. They had flaws and tempers and ideas and beliefs, and sometimes they clashed, but it’d never been as bad as it was that night. 

        She loved Harry, Y/N truly did. She’d even had dreams of the two of them in some far-off cottage in the Italian mountains living a domestic life, but she also just wanted one night to herself. To let loose and think about her own needs and wants, while Harry was away doing the same. It wasn’t selfish, not in her mind. 

        It’d been her who’d uprooted her whole life to be closer to Harry, not the other way around. She was always the one cancelling and making new plans with her family or friends just so she could spend a spare second with Harry. She was there for his sleepless nights and there for his knock-out concerts. Why couldn't he let her have this one thing?

        She was sitting by the wheel at a red light taking in deep breaths to calm herself down. 

        The light turned green, and her hand was slightly shaking as she changed gears.

        Y/N released the clutch and pressed down on the gas.

        Two lights came rushing from the side.

        She gasped.

        A sharp pain went through her side.

        And then it was all black.

***

Anne was going to rip Harry a new one, as she rang him for the fifteenth time, but he still didn't pick up. After the accident and the nurses being unable to contact Harry, they obviously called Y/N’s parents which were next on the emergency contact's list, but given how they lived outside of the UK and the next flight was only in four days, they immediately reached out to Anne, begging for her to go be with their daughter while they got there.

“And please tell Harry to fly over as well!” Y/N’s mum had cried. “I – I know he has work, but please.”

Anne had been shocked to hear Y/M/N ask that, having assumed he was already there, but she wasn’t going to let them get to Harry before she set him straight herself. 

In the beginning, she’d been kind of sceptical, but after spending an evening together where Y/N, her and Gemma all did wine baking, and it had ended up in a disaster in the kitchen with the three of them crying from laughter while Harry stood at the entrance completely baffled and just so done with them, Anne knew Y/N only had good intentions with her son.

        Anne’s love for her only grew from that point on, when she also realised just how much Y/N’s love language was giving. It wasn’t the kind of ‘hey, look, I bought you some fancy thing, now love me’, it was ‘hey, I saw how much you wanted this, I noticed how much it’d mean to you, and I love how happy it makes you. And if it reminds you of me, that’s just a bonus’, and Anne couldn’t help but become as protective of Y/N as her own kids. 

        But at that moment, as finally, after her twenty-seventh attempt, Harry picked up with a gruff ‘ ‘ello?’, Anne was about to burst with rage.

“You get to the hospital right now!” she hissed into the phone.

“What are you talking about?” There was a tremble in his voice. 

The thing was, for two days since Y/N had stormed out, Harry’d been feeling sick. He thought it was due to the stress from the fight and from the pressure his label was putting on him, but now he understood it wasn’t that. It was his instinct telling him something bad had happened, and at Anne’s words, the bad feeling that’d settled in his stomach made his blood run cold. “Mum, what’s wrong?”

“Y/N was in a car accident, and you didn’t bother to pick up your phone.”

“I –” He stammered unable to process her words. “What? Mum? No…”

“You’re her emergency contact,” Anne spoke. “The hospital tried to call you a billion times, and you didn’t pick up.” 

And that’s when he remembered all of those calls from unknown numbers. He thought they’d been some crazed fans who’d gotten his personal number, so he’d just blocked them. “Mum, no.” Harry choked out. “I didn’t mean to – we fought – mum…”

“She’s at St. Helen’s. Please get here.”

He immediately ended the call, and in the span of twenty minutes was at the hospital, which Anne was sure to scold him for because there was no way in hell anyone who didn’t speed would be able to get to St. Helen’s in less than forty minutes. The second she saw her son burst through the door, tear tracks down his face, all the anger and disappointment vanished. 

“Where is she? Is she alive? Y/N!” he yelled across the hallway. “Where is she? Mum! Where’s Y/N?”

“Gem.” She patted her daughter’s knee as both of them stood up from where they’d been sitting at the chairs outside the recovery room assigned to Y/N. “Get a nurse, please.”

Gemma didn’t need an explanation or reasoning seeing Harry’s wild eyes, erratic breathing and shaky hands. 

“Mum!” He practically sprinted after seeing the woman, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Calm down, Harry,” she shushed him, pulling him in for a hug and feeling his whole body tremble. “Calm down, it’s alright. Gem’ll get you some help, but you need to breathe.”

“I – I’m not the one who needs help!” Harry pretty much screamed. “I need to know if my girlfriend is alive.”

Anne spoke in a calm voice as to not agitate him even more, and her heart broke at the sight of her son so utterly broken. “Harry, you’re about to have a panic attack, and you’re no use to Y/N in that kind of state.”

“So.” He took in a chocked back breath. “So she’s alive?” He didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was anything else but a resounding ‘yes’. There was no version in his brain of where his life could possibly lead but down if he had to go on without Y/N.

“Yes,” Anne nodded, smoothing his hair away from his face, and watching as he took in a deep breath of relief. “She was just wheeled in for her second surgery. Should be out in about four hours. ”

All over again his insides froze. “Second? Mum, tell me the truth – how bad is it?”

“Harry, this is routine,” Gemma put a reassuring hand on his shoulder having returned with a nurse behind her, the man keeping a close eye on Harry and his behaviour. “They did as much as they could the first time, but their priority was on the worst injuries. This one is just to set things properly.”

“Set everything right like – “

“Like bones and stuff…” Gemma shuddered, trailing off. “Y/N broke her hip, dislocated her kneecap, her ankle was shattered and she fractured her collarbone. They took her in so that the bones could be properly placed together and there’s a lesser chance of complications not only while healing but later on in life. But can you please sit down? So they can help you as well?”

“I – alright,” he conceded, taking a place on one of the stiff plastic benches, as the nurse came to him, took his pulse, gave him an inhalator just in case and some herbal tablets to help him relax a bit.

“You said they focused on the worst injuries.” Harry looked at his mother. “What were those?”

Anne sighed, leaning to sit back on the chair next to him and ran a hand through his hair. “A piece of debris punctured one of her kidneys. The bleeding was pretty intense, but they say it was salvageable, so she’ll still have both of them. Gem donated some blood.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, looking over at his sister who wiped a stray tear away from his cheek.

She shook her head. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Y/N is family. If she’d lost the kidney, I’d give her mine in a second.”

“The worst they’re worried about is the head injuries,” Anne said. “Luckily, she got away without anything major, but she definitely has a concussion and minor whiplash to her neck, so they want to keep an eye out for any side effects that could arise. They have another surgery scheduled for her in a week if recovery goes as planned. To take the stitches that won’t dissolve out and put in the ones that will.”

        Harry sagged against his mother’s side, her palms soothingly running up and down his back. “She’s gonna be alright, love,” Anne muttered in his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. “She’s strong. She’ll be okay.”

        It was comforting for both of them – for Anne to have her youngest in her arms, to know he was safe and sound, and for Harry to be held by his mother, the person who always knew how to comfort him when times were rough, and at that moment, they were the roughest they’d ever been.

        “You’ve got some nerve to be here.” Adam’s seething voice pulled Harry away from his mother’s embrace and watched as he rounded the corner with a coffee cup. He was quite sure he was keeping his temper well in check from how hard he was gripping the Styrofoam cup. “Fucking ignore her for two days while she’s laying in the hospital, and appear when it’s convenient for you? Is she some fucking toy for you to use when you want?”

        Anne’s tone was consoling and pleading. “He didn’t know.”

        “The hell he didn’t, he just didn’t want to know! They called you!” Adam pointed at the nurse’s desk. “And you let them go to voicemail. And then, better yet, you fucking blocked the number.”

        “I didn’t know it was the hospital,” he weakly defended himself.

        “Because you didn’t bother to find out.”

        He didn’t have anything to say to that. And not that he really could think of anything when the surgery ward’s doors swung open and they watched as a nurse wheeled Y/N’s gurney back inside the room, while another wheeled her saline bag along with. 

It was a terrifying sight to see. Her face was basically nothing but a swollen piece of flesh, bruises and scratches littering her cheeks, a neck brace to keep her head from moving while one leg was wrapped in a full-on cast, the other in one up until her knee and her left arm was in a sling.

        He’d had nightmares about her before. Most of the times it was about Y/N leaving him because she could no longer do it, could no longer commit to the hectic lifestyle that came with Harry, and as he screamed, banging on the invisible window that separated them, she just walked away, his sobs carried by the wind in the other direction.

        “You should go inside,” Anne whispered motioning with her head to where the nurses checked the monitors and how stable Y/N was. “I know you had a fight, but she’ll want you to be there when she wakes up.”

        “How,” Harry gulped back the lump that’d risen in his throat. “How do you know? How do you know she doesn’t want me to just disappear? I wasn’t there when she needed me, I was – “

        Anne put her hand on his cheek. “Because when she woke up yesterday morning for the first time, you were the first person she asked for. You. She wants you there. And it’s the least you can do for her.”

        He nodded, then took a deep breath and entered Y/N’s room. Watching her lay in the bed, unmoving, without her usual grumpy features as she slept, made Harry sick to the stomach so much so, he thought he’d have to call back the nurse.

        It was some twisted version of Sleeping Beauty, yet he knew a true loves kiss wouldn’t awaken her. Y/N just laid there, small breaths making her chest rise and fall, not even a flutter of her eyelids.

        Harry had spent countless night watching her sleep, looking at how her lashes fluttered as she dreamed of something; how her forehead creased and small, incoherent noises passed her lips as she talked to someone in her mind.

        Now, he was surrounded by none of that, only artificial reminders that she was still alive and fighting to get better.

        With uneven steps, Harry made his way to the chair which’d been stationed next to her bed (he was convinced beyond belief that Gemma, his mum and Adam had all taken shifts to sit there, to be there for Y/N), and much like a king who knew he was unfit for the throne, Harry had to swallow a lump as he took the seat.

        “I – I don’t know if you can hear me…” Harry took hold of Y/N’s palm and let out a sob of relief when he felt it was warm, not cold like he’d feared. “But I’m here for you. I’m not leaving. Not unless you want me to, so until you wake up…” there were so many words, so many apologies he wanted to say, but kept them at bay. Y/N deserved to hear them when she was conscious, so instead, he said, “I’m here, lovie. Get some rest, I’ll be here…”

        With that he put his head on the side of her bed, twisting his face so he could look up at her, watch her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and fell asleep to the sound the beeps of Y/N’s beating heart.

        While he slept he dreamt again, the same terrifying dream of Y/N leaving, only this time she did look back at him, but her face was all wrong, her neck bent in a way it shouldn’t be, and eyes covered in a milky white. 

        “You weren’t there, Harry,” she said in a voice void of emotions. “So why should I be there for you?”

        Harry was 100% sure if he’d been hooked up to a heart rate monitor while he slept, people would think he was going into cardiac arrest, but it sure would’ve shown it flatlining as his green eyes swept over his lover’s frame to check his nightmare hadn’t become a reality, only to be met with two Y/E/C sparkling orbs looking back at him, giving him the softest gaze in the universe.

“Hey,” Harry’s tone was quiet, afraid to bring even the littlest of discomfort to Y/N given her state, and he had to physically restrain himself from sweeping down to bring her in a hug. 

What he saw on her face made his heart leap to his throat, as she smiled, genuinely happy to see him, lifting up her right hand, the only limb without a bandage on to cup his cheek. “Hey, love.” Her voice was scratchy like nails on a chalkboard, but to Harry, it was an absolute symphony. “Are you alright? Your eyes are puffy. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

        “Fuck,” Harry choked on his tears looking up at the white ceiling before back at her, complete disbelief in his blood-shot eyes. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed, with casts and bandages all over you, scheduled for a third surgery, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

        If Y/N could, she would’ve shrugged as if that wasn’t the most self-explanatory thing in the world. “I’ll always want to know if you’re alright. ‘S not exclusively you that can care for people, you know.”

        And there she was – his sarcastic, allergic-to-kiwi-but-‘Kiwi’-loving girl that never ceased to amaze him, as she made sure everyone else was alright before herself. And that made Harry break down. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N. So fucking sorry. I – god – I – there are not enough words in any language to say how fucking sorry I am. I should’ve been here, should’ve never let you leave. This is all my fault.”

Through all that, through his choked back sobs and crying, Y/N’s hand had steadily remained on his cheek, wiping away the tears from underneath one eye before switching to the other side and making the little pearls of hurt disappear with just her touch. 

“Harry, are you the weatherman?”

That was not what he thought she would say. “I – what?”

“Do you control temperatures and have not told me?”

“N – no?”

“Were you the guy who ran the red light?”

“No.”

        “Then how is this your fault?”

        “I – “ he stammered. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should’ve gone after you, found a way to make you stay or – or should’ve fucking stopped being so selfish and driven you to see Adam yourself.”

        “Harry, had you tried to make me stay nothing would’ve changed.” Y/N sighed letting him lean into her touch, as she bit her lip, thinking over her words. “I was just so pissed, that I think anything you would’ve tried to do, would’ve only made it worse. And I’d rather be here with you than alone in my apartment crying in a tub of Hagen Dazs because of a broken heart.”

        “You-you've got your priorities completely backwards.” He wasn’t laughing when he said that, but Y/N was.

        “Maybe.” She raised her eyebrow. “But I don’t think so. The bones will heal, but the amount of love I have for you… I’m afraid you’ve ruined the thought of a future without you in it. We’ll talk,” Y/N swallowed hard. “We need to talk, but when I get better. Right now, I just wanna hold your hand and have you hold mine as I try not to kick the nurses trying to take my blood for tests.”

        It felt inappropriate for Harry to smile, to feel happy about how Y/N hadn’t told him to go screw himself, even though he felt like he deserved it, but fuck was it impossible not to when his body felt so light, and her love chose to invade the dark corners of his mind to fill it with golden warmth.

        She fell asleep not long after their small conversation, body too tired and in need of recovery, but like he’d promised, he was there for her when she awoke again, this time to a more familiar Y/N as she glared at the coffee cup in his hand, while he sipped, a ring clad palm gently pushing away strands of Y/H/C hair from her face.

        “I hate that you can drink coffee.”

        “Yeah, and why’s that?”

        “Because I can’t.”

        “I’ll happily buy you as many coffees as you like. Once you get better and are allowed to, of course.”

        Y/N snorted and then winced as the action caused pain to shoot through her body. “Knowing you, it won’t be a cup of coffee or a coffee machine, but a fucking coffee chain restaurant.”

        “Would it be that bad to own one?”

        Her eyebrow rose at him in an incredulous look. “You know I can’t bake. Coffee shops include pastries, and I’m not the one who worked in a bakery. I can cook, I can clean, but make me make muffins from scratch, and I’ll set your house on fire.”

        “You already did.” Harry laughed. “Gem and mum helped.”

        “They supplied the wine, so I’m putting 60% of the blame on them.”

        “You do realise that equates to 30% of the blame on each of them, and most of it is still on you?”

        “Shut up,” Y/N smiled, weakly pushing against Harry’s arm, but the motion made him happy to know she was trying. “I was just in a car crash, so forgive me for not being that great at division.”

        A knock at the door made Harry look up, Y/N not even attempting to turn her head to see who’d interrupted them, given how the first time she’d tried it with the neck-brace, it’d hurt so bad she’d passed out.

        Her doctor was a man in his mid to late fifties with greying hair, Y/N’s medical record file slapped underneath his arm.

        “How are we doing today?”

        “Better than yesterday, I guess,” she responded. 

        “Well, you were out for most of it, so I’d say so.”

        Y/N and the doctor chuckled, but Harry didn’t, as he thought of how bad, how absolutely tired a person has to be to sleep for a whole day. He’d had those days himself, and that was from being exhausted from work. He couldn't imagine what being in a bloody accident would feel like. 

        The doctor stepped forward a bit and extended a hand to Harry, introducing himself as Dr Tate, while Harry rose in his seat to accept it, but not wanting to move away an inch from Y/N.

        “You must be the boyfriend.”

        “I – uh – I can only hope I still am,” he let out a nervous giggle, which made his girlfriend slap his arm, a furrow on her face.

        Dr Tate looked Harry over from head to toe, eyebrow raised at that, but all he said was, “We tried to contact you, seeing as you’re Miss Y/L/N emergency contact, but the nurses said it couldn’t go through.”

        “He was filming overseas.” Y/N butted in, clearly having rehearsed what to say beforehand. “Flew over as fast as he could. I’m the luckiest person in the world.” Her tone was soft as a feather, but Harry’s stomach felt like it was filled with rocks. 

        “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked hoping to be given some sort of a task to do, to allow him to redeem himself some way.

        “Well, actually yes. One of the injuries Ms Y/L/N sustained was a concussion,” the doctor said, “which could lead to some complications like headaches, migraines, spotty vision or amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Harry wanted to vomit. It had crossed his mind, but having a professional say it made it all so much worse. 

        “Yes, and we’d need someone to be with her as much as possible, 24/7 would be desirable, to keep an eye on.”

        Harry honestly hadn’t heard anything past the amnesia part, mind spinning in a circle that just screamed ‘she’ll forget all about you’.

“It’s nothing to worry about too much.” Dr Tate was quick on his feet, seeing Harry’s blank stare, and tried to diffuse any possible spiralling. “With Y/N’s cognitive abilities and having repeatedly excelled at the test without a single stutter, it’s very unlikely she’ll have those side effects. 

“But it’s still a possibility, right?”

The doctor nodded, giving Harry a kind smile. “Which is why I’m informing you of it. To keep an eye out to see if anything changes so you could come in if necessary. But as I said – Y/N’s memory has proven to be intact so far. And I always say to trust the facts.”

“Harry,” Y/N placed her hand on his. “You know I won’t forget you.”

“I’ll uh, give you two a second.” The doctor exited leaving them alone, an almost sad silence over both of them. 

“God I almost lost you to some idiot running a red light with no winter tires, and now you won’t remember me. And – and even with everything you’re going through, you’re still trying to protect me? Why did you lie? I – I wouldn’t have cared if you said the truth that I was an asshole.” Harry dragged both hands over his face, trying to keep the cry’s at bay as Y/N ran her hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’d prefer to think,” Y/N shrugged trying to tease him and make him crack a smile, “me being dead would be the worst-case scenario, not me forgetting you. And of course, I’ll protect you. Your reputation matters to me. Just because we had a fight doesn’t mean I’ll immediately run to everyone I can and say how shitty of a person you were in those specific ten minutes.”

But Harry’s lips didn’t quirk up, the tears didn’t disappear as the painful grimace on his face wasn’t replaced by the crow lines next to his eyes from smiling so much. “What if you – what if you forget you love me? What do I do then? I know I sound selfish and like the biggest fucking dick, but as pathetic as it is – I can’t go on without you. I don’t know how I could.”

Y/N’s heart broke at his words because if the roles were reversed if Harry forgot about her and fell out of love, she didn't know how she'd survive. She’d had those fears before, when he was away filming and she couldn’t follow; she’d been terrified because what they’d had was so new, he could easily move on, find someone better, someone who was familiar with his lifestyle. But any time those thoughts came to her mind, Y/N reminded herself of what she’d do. And that’s what she told Harry.

        “Then you make me fall in love with you again. You’re great at that. Make me love you more with every passing moment.”

        “And – and if you don’t fall in love with me again?”

        Y/N shook her head. “Impossible, Harry. You made me fall in love with you after barely two hours spent together. And well, if you put your mind to it… who knows how much deeper I’ll fall.”

        For the first time in two days, Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against Y/N’s. The kiss was soft and sweet, a barely-there touch, but it meant everything. It was a promise to one another to love unconditionally, to remind the other of it at every passing moment; it sealed their future to be spent together, and neither wanted it any other way.

        Harry’s phone rang, eliciting a whine from Y/N as he pulled away to answer it. “It’s Florence.” He pecked her lips one more time. “I’ll just tell her to call back.”

        He turned to the side for a second muttering a soft ‘hey, can you –‘ before whatever Florence told him made him pull away and extend the deivice towards Y/N.

        “It’s for you.”

        “For – for me? Florence is calling me?”

        Had the two women become friends? Yes. But didn’t mean Y/N had an easier time not fangirling about her. 

        “Hi, Flo,” she breathed out, looking at Harry with wide, happy eyes. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

        Harry sat there watching as his love talked to someone she looked up to, and someone he cared about. He hadn’t told Florence, but her encouragement meant the world to him, as she was partially the reason he’d gotten together with Y/N. After all, she’d been the one on his side from the very beginning.

        Y/N giggled like a crazy person after the call ended and she handed Harry back his phone. “Florence Pugh just called to give me well wishes.” She gasped looking at Harry. “Do you think Chris Pine will too?”

        “God, I love you,” Harry laughed with her, pressing their foreheads together.

        They’d be alright, they’d make sure of it. No matter if a disagreement arose, egos needed to be put in check or black ice covered the roads. They’d get through anything. 

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: Listen, Linda, those pictures of Harry on set does things!!!

Also the being allergic to kiwi - that’s me. Like legit it’s the only thing I’m allergic to. I always hated how they tasted like pain, like it made my mouth sting and feel like pins and needles before going numb, and according to professionals, that’s a sign of being allergic. But I love ‘Kiwi’ the song. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry :(

[illfoandillfie]

A Different Kind of Education: I Is For Impact Play (Chapter 8)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summery:  After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summery:   A new week and a new lesson, but also a new challenge. How can you possibly find the courage to talk to your professor about your period?

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, conversations about and mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, discussions of impact play including: spanking, kicking, slapping, punching, floggers, paddles, crops, whips, and canes

Words: 10,391

A/N: Better late than never, right? Big apologies for taking so long to get this one up! Once again I've had to split a single topic into multiple chapters lmao. This one is mostly the theory part of the lesson and a bit of an info dump, but the next part will focus more on the actual smut.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini 

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod​

You knew it was something you’d have to deal with eventually, that having your period would affect your lessons with Roger. But still you felt reluctant to broach the topic with him. It wasn’t something you generally discussed with people, especially not your professor (even if you were regularly sleeping with him). And you could already hear the lecture he’d give you about why you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell your sexual partner about your cycle, and about how he’d taught reproduction enough to not be phased by it. The problem was you weren’t really sure how you felt about having sex during it and you knew even less about whether Roger would want to. You were definitely going to have to talk to him about it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. So, wondering when the best time to bring it up would be, you checked the curriculum he’d written for you. Impact play. That was the topic for the week. Roger might consider you clueless about kink (as you’d learnt during the previous week’s munch), but you at least knew enough to know that impact play meant spanking. For a moment you were distracted from your worries about the conversation you were going to have, rather excited by what you’d just read. Spanking was one of those things you’d been expecting to try. When you thought about BDSM, spanking was the second thing to come to mind after bondage. It was one of those things Dylan had hinted at being into. A couple of times during sex he’d given your arse a slap and, though you’d never really asked for it you also hadn’t told him to stop. He never hit too hard and it added a bit of excitement so there was no harm in it. And you suspected he might be interested in pushing it further if you ever suggested as much. So, to know that Roger was going to run you through the basics of it and show you how it felt, you couldn’t help but be a bit excited. And maybe you’d be able to keep things over the clothes to start and you wouldn’t have to tell Roger about your period after all. The good thing with having an implant was that it reduced the duration of your period. It would have been nice if it stopped it entirely but at least it shortened it and made it a little lighter. So maybe you could organise a second session later in the week for the more hands on part of the lesson, and not have to explain at all. You left your apartment feeling happier and excited to see Roger that night. But you didn’t have to wait so long to see him.  

You’d barely taken two steps inside when a familiar voice called out Ms Y/L/N and you found Roger walking towards you, his hand raised in a lazy wave.  “Hi Professor,” you smiled, surprised but happy to see him, “I’m just on my way to class, what’s up?”  “Oh, in that case,” he glanced over to a group of students ambling past you, “do you have time for a meeting before you leave this afternoon?”  Your heart rate sped up at the serious way he looked at you over his glasses, “Umm sure.”  “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then. Don’t forget.”  You nodded but a new worry had taken over your mind. There was only one reason he could want to talk to you. Your degree. If it was anything to do with his tutoring sessions then he would have just said it when you got to his place that evening. No, it must be to do with your class work. Maybe something had been wrong with your last exam? Possibilities were turning over in your mind as you resumed your path to your first class, each worse than the other. Maybe you’d misunderstood a question and gotten it completely wrong. Maybe he’d had to fail you. Maybe your overall grade had dropped. Maybe he was going to call the whole tutoring thing off because you’d gotten too distracted and done so badly on your recent assessment. You spent the entire day trying not to get too worked up about it, trying to tell yourself that if your work had slipped even a little he would have called to talk about it earlier, that if it really was as bad as failing his subject you’d have discussed it long before now. By the time your last class of the day ended you were somewhere between terrified about what Roger was going to say and relieved that you were about to find out.  

Your hand was shaking as you knocked on Roger’s office door and pushed it open at his word.   “AH, Ms Y/L/N, shut the door please and take a seat.” he said, shifting a stack of papers to the side of his desk. It was only once you were sitting that he seemed to look at you properly, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”  “Professor I’m so sorry, I swear if something was wrong with my last exam then it wasn’t because of our lessons and I promise I’m not letting them distract me at all. I put so much time and effort into studying and if-”  “Woah, woah, hang on. No one said anything was wrong.”  Your breath caught in your throat and it seemed to take you twice as long as it normally would for you to understand what he’d said, “There’s not? Then....why am I here?”  “It’s about tonight’s tutoring session.”  “Oh?”  “I wondered if you’d be okay making a small change to the plan.”  “S-so nothing's wrong with my work?”  Roger shook his head, “Your work is impeccable Ms Y/L/N. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d assume the worst. I had no intention of worrying you like that. I was intending to mention it this morning but you seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want anyone to overhear so...” he gestured vaguely towards you with his hands.   You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, “What was the change you wanted to make?”  “Do you know what we’ll be focusing on this week?”  “Impact play, Professor.”  “Very good. And do you know what that entails?”  “It’s like spanking isn’t it?”  “Spanking is definitely part of it, yes.”  “Cool. But you’re not wanting to switch topic are you? Only I’ve been kind of looking forward to this one since it’s like proper BDSM stuff....or like, not that other things aren’t I just mean that spanking is part of what I initially imagined, y’know?”  Roger held up his hand to quiet you, “I understand what you mean Ms Y/L/N. And it’s not that I want to change the topic, I just wanted to change where the lesson would take place.”  “Okay...” you were a little surprised by that. Where else could he have in mind when your lessons were supposed to be secret.  “I thought we might have the first lesson here.”  “Here?!”  “Keep your voice down, Ms Y/L/N. Not here exactly, not this office. In the first-year bio room actually.”  “Why? Isn’t that kind of risky? What if someone saw?”  Roger shrugged one shoulder, “It might be, but I think what I intend to show you could be covered as a biological experiment. Let me explain,” he said upon seeing your confused face, “So, as you no doubt remember, first years do a lot of dissection of various animals, working their way up to human.”  You nodded, remembering hours spent bent over various carcases and cadavers.  “Well, I thought it might be beneficial to show you some of the impact play tools we can use, demonstrating how they work and what effects they can have, but I don’t want to demonstrate them on you straight away. Luckily, it just so happens that one of the animals my first years are studying right now is pigs, so I thought we might use a pig carcass instead. Pig and human flesh are quite similar so you should get a decent sense of how being spanked with various tools will look and the impact they would have on your skin. We can compare being spanked by hand to flogging to a crop and so on. All without experiencing any pain at all. Of course, it is a dead pig so it won’t be exactly the same and you probably won’t see the same levels of bruising you would on a living human being, but it’s a good starting point. Plus this way you could try wielding the tools too, so you can get a sense for how they feel to use them and how much force is required to make them work.”  You were taken aback by the explanation and had to stop your jaw from falling open as you listened. But Roger waited patiently for you to think it over and you quickly concluded it was a good plan. You could easily write it off as related to your dissertation if anyone saw and asked what was going on. It wasn’t at all related but Roger was about the only person who knew what topic you were researching so no one else would pick up the lie.   “Okay then, let’s have the lesson here.”  “Excellent. You really don’t mind hanging back?”  “Not at all.”  “Good. I think we should possibly wait until a little later before we start, just to let the place clear out a bit. Perhaps we could get some dinner and eat it in here before we head down to the room. You can tell me how you’re getting on with your dissertation.”  “Okay, I like that idea.”  “Shall I duck out and get us some food then? What would you like?” 

After what could only be described as a minor argument about the merits of Mexican food, you and Roger eventually settled on a nearby Greek place. He tapped the order into Uber Eats and then went to wait for the delivery out on the street so the driver wouldn’t have to find their way through the numerous carparks and laneways on campus. You ducked out to your own car to drop off your bag full of books, though you kept your laptop to make notes on. It would also make your story seem more legitimate if anyone did stumble onto the lesson and ask what was going on. The thought of the lesson made you smile. Partly because you were keen to learn about the topic but also partly because you knew there was no way sex would be part of it. Roger would definitely draw the line at fucking his student in his classroom where anyone could catch you. And if you were going to be spanking a dead pig then you wouldn’t be asked to remove clothes or anything like that. So you wouldn’t have to discuss your menstrual cycle with Roger at all. You’d just say you were busy until later in the week when your period stopped and organise the follow-up lesson then and Roger wouldn’t be any the wiser. It was perfect. That, in addition to knowing nothing was wrong with your actual schoolwork, put you in a very good mood and you could have whistled with joy as you made your way back to Roger’s office.  

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky outside the window had changed from a mix of warm pinks and yellows as the sun set and was gradually darkening the longer you watched. It was only when Roger glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven that he decided the building would be empty enough for your lesson to start. He grabbed his own laptop as you grabbed yours and then led you along the corridor and down a set of stairs, taking you towards the back of the building where the hands-on biology lessons were held.   Roger made sure the door was shut and locked before dumping his belongings onto a desk. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked, before moving to the door to a walk-in freezer at the back of the room.  Together you hoisted a large pig carcass onto a cart and wheeled it out into the main room.   Roger then ducked back into the freezer returning, after a little rummaging, with what looked to be a child’s toy crate. It was made of yellow plastic and seemed light enough that Roger had no trouble hoisting it onto one of the desks, but it was not full of children’s toys. You couldn’t see everything immediately but poking out of the top was a long black handle with a leather flap hanging off the end.   “Is that what we’ll be using then?” You were eyeing the box warily.  “Yup,” Roger began pulling the items from the box one by one, laying them out on the desk, “I brought the box in earlier and hid it down here so no one would stumble onto it. I didn’t want any awkward questions. Or to have any of them stolen since they’re mine,” he added with a chuckle.  You looked over the collection with interest, some of the objects familiar to you and some only vaguely recognisable, “Is that a hair brush?”  “It is,” Roger winked playfully, “Kink can be very D.I.Y and the back of a hairbrush makes for a good makeshift paddle. The front of the hairbrush can be fun too actually. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m going to go through everything individually, explain what they are and what sort of effect they have and I’ll demonstrate them on our piggy participant. There’s also a few things I don’t have which we can run through at the end, sound good?”  “Sounds great.” You sank into one of the nearby seats, pulling your laptop towards you, ready to take notes.   “Right well. Impact play is a BDSM practice where one partner strikes another for sexual gratification. As you rightly said earlier this includes spanking but there's a little more to it than just that. You can slap your partner, punch them, kick them, whip them or flog them. There’re numerous ways to play with impact and as with all BDSM it’s important to negotiate what you want before you start. Being struck can leave marks of course. Brusies, welts, scratches, right through to cuts that draw blood. For some people, the marking aspect is an important part of their enjoyment, and they might go so far as to intentionally make the marks more apparent. But whether or not you want visible marks might be influenced by your job or the season or your social life or any number of other things. Personally, the marks are secondary to why I enjoy the forms of impact play I partake in. But my feelings aside, the nature of our lessons and the secrecy required, means I won’t intentionally be marking you anywhere that isn’t easy to cover up. If you even want to try it out. You might see everything today and decide it’s not for you and that would be okay.”  “I don’t think there’s much danger of that Roger. Dylan’s spanked me a little before and I’m interested enough to try more.”  “In that case then, you should know that physical pain is part of impact play no matter what aspect you try. And it can bring up more mental pain too, depending on the individual. Which is why I want to start with testing some implements on this pig. We can go through a few things and you’ll get a sense of them and then we can talk about what you might actually want to try or if any of it seems wrong for you. I’m also going to be much more diligent with your safe word in these lessons than any before. So what is your safe word?”  “Pizazz, Roger,”  “Good. Remember you can use it whenever you need to, even today. If things get too much for you I want to know.”  “I know. I promise I’ll use it.” You were struck by how serious Roger’s tone was but understood it, after the conversation you’d had during your previous lesson. And, for the first time, you wondered if this would be a topic Roger would find hard to teach.  “Thank you. I’ll check in with you every so often, especially when we move onto the practical lesson and you’re experiencing it firsthand. So, if I ask you what your safe word is, I need you to respond as loudly and as quickly as you can. It’s a way for me to gauge how well you’re coping and to make sure you’re still capable of using it.”  “That makes sense.”  Having assured himself of your understanding, Roger took a deep breath and smiled again, “Well, I have a range of different implements you can use here today but we’ll start with the most basic,” he held his two hands in front of him, palms towards you, fingers wiggling, “Hands.”  You smiled at his showmanship but your gaze lingered on the offered view. His hands had always seemed quite lovely, even when he was just teaching you biology. The way they moved so delicately as he demonstrated necessary scientific processes for the class, or rapidly twirled pens around his fingers to impress new students. Of course, you’d felt them too since you’re first private lesson, the way he caressed you and held you. His fist tightening in your hair and his fingers plunging into you and making you moan and the way he’d gently stroke your skin as you were both regaining your breath. You were excited to feel the power in them as he spanked you.   “Spanking is entry level impact play. Everyone and their mother has heard of it. It’s a common thing to see in pornography and even in Hollywood movies when they want to show sex as kinky. And because you don’t need more than your hands it’s easy to experiment with. Do you want to see what it looks like?”  You nodded and Roger stepped closer to the pig, angling himself so you could see.   Suddenly there was the sound of a clap as Roger’s palm hit the pig’s flesh.   “See how my hand was open and my palm was flat?” Roger demonstrated again but slower so the hit barely made a sound, “But what if I do this?” He hit the pig again but changed the position of his hand. The sound of his hand colliding with the pig was deeper the second time around, “If you cup your hand, curve it slightly, you can change the way the spank feels and sounds. Just like clapping.”  You experimentally clapped your hands together, first with open palms and then with each hand cupped so that the fingers wrapped around the back of the other.  “Now you give the pig a try.”  Feeling a surge of nervously excited butterflies, you got out of your seat and took your place at the pig. With a breath and a swallow you quickly brought your hand down. The slapping sound seemed to echo in the quiet room but it wasn’t as crisp as the noise Roger’s hits had made. With a look to Roger for permission, you tried it again, creating a slightly more impressive sound.  “Good, now cupped?”  You did it again, curving your fingers in a bit and bringing it down again. It felt more awkward than the open palm hit had so you repositioned yourself to hit the pig from a slightly different angle and tried once more.  “Don’t be afraid to pull your arm back further. The more your rear back, the more force will be in the spank. Like this,” he pulled his hand back past his ear and swung down hard, the spank echoing around you. “Of course, you can also spank from a nearer point too. Spanking, and a lot of impact play, is best if you mix it up a bit, don’t stay in one rhythm too long, do some spanks with your fingers spread, or change how hard or fast they are. I might give a sub two or three hard hits each with a pause between but then I’ll switch to a more rapid series of spanks that don’t have as much force behind them but come faster.”  You nodded and experimented with taking your arm back further, testing out ways to change the strength of each spank, until Roger finally called you to stop.  “How did that feel?” he asked as you took your seat again.  “My hand tingles.”  “That’s normal,” Roger laughed, “in fact it’s one thing I really enjoy about spanking by hand. The sub isn’t the only one who feels the spanks, the dom gets some of the pain in his hand too, especially if the intensity ramps up or there's a section of quick-fire spanks. And that can a) help the dom understand what the sub is feeling and work out how long the scene should go and b) brings a sort of intimacy to the scene that is harder to achieve with a tool.”  You hummed as you noted down what he’d said, “Have you ever spanked someone so much you injured your wrist or anything?”  “No.” Roger shook his head, amused by the question, “My wrists are pretty sturdy. But a few times I’ve been left with a stingy, tingly hand for an hour or two. Which brings me to an important note about pain. There are two main types of pain you can experience in impact play. We refer to them as thuddy and stingy.”  “Thuddy and stingy? What is this, an afternoon kids show?”  Roger rolled his eyes, “The names are simple but they explain exactly what they mean. Some types of impact will have a stingy sensation which is usually superficial. It won’t go deeper than the first few layers of skin and probably leaves the skin feeling warm and a little tingly or like sunburn, y’know? It’s typical of spanks and slaps. Thuddy pain is deeper, it gets into the fat and muscles and tissue and aches more. And I’ll go through which tools cause which sort of pain as I get to them. Generally though, people who enjoy impact play have a preference for one or the other.”  “And your preference is what?”  “Thuddy. Definitely. Although I prefer inflicting stingy.”  You hummed thoughtfully.  “Now, I’ll go into details about ways to actually incorporate spanking into a scene later. We can talk about it while we’re negotiating our scene. Today is just about the practicalities and sensations involved in the different types of impact play. So are you okay to move on?”  “Yup, definitely.” And then, sensing Roger might ask, you added, “Pizazz.” feeling pleased when you saw him smile. 

“I don’t expect us to delve too deep into them but I think I should touch on kicking, punching and slapping. Kicking and punching are things I’ve not done. They can, obviously, be quite painful. But they’re pretty self-explanatory. From what I understand about it, and what I’ve heard others who enjoy that kind of thing say, kicking and punching can both be very intimate, similar to the way spanking by hand is, but in a more primal or animalistic way. Punching is, of course, done without any accessories but kicking often includes footwear of some kind. A lot of time it’s something like a steel-toed boot or something with a bit of weight to it.”  “That isn't something I want to try.” You’d learnt a lot about how far kink went so weren’t completely shocked that some people would enjoy something as forceful as kicking, but it did take you by surprise to hear Roger talking about it.  “What about slapping?”  “How is that different to spanking?”  “Well, you’re right, they are similar. But slapping generally refers to slapping on the face whereas spanking is usually on the, uh, derriere. Of course you can slap or spank other parts too. For clarity’s sake, if I say slapping assume I mean on the face whereas spanking is anywhere else on the body.”  You thought about it for a second, “I’m not sure if I’d be game to try it but I do want to know more.”  “Slapping can be fun. Again, it’s not one I do a lot but I have played with it in the past. It comes in handy for particular scenes and there’s a fairly bratty sub I’ve worked with who responds really well to it. The most important thing to know is that if you are slapping someone’s face only ever aim for the cheeks. There’s a lot of fragile places around the face and it’s close to the brain so you need to be careful not to do any lasting damage. Never hit the temples because you hit them with enough force and it can kill a person. Nose and ears are off limits too, anything that is important.  You knew enough about biology to know Roger wasn’t making those rules up for fun. Noses were easy to break and hitting an ear too hard could damage someone’s hearing. But face slapping did still intrigue you. 

“Well, I’d say the next – let's call it the next level – of impact play is paddling.” He picked up what looked to be a wooden plank with a handle. It was an inch or two longer and wider than his hand with small holes cut out in a repeating pattern over the flat side so you could look right through it. “They don’t always look like this. Paddles come in lots of different shapes and sizes. This is a wooden one but they’re also frequently made of leather and sometimes the leather ones will have one side that’s a little more padded than the other. That gives you a bit of versatility with the pain. You can start off lightly with the padded side to get you in the zone and then during the scene switch it to the firmer side that hurts more. Or, if you don’t have access to a paddle at all, you can substitute a hairbrush.” He picked the hairbrush up and waved it back and forth.  “And that-” you pointed at the hair brush, “will feel the same as that?” you pointed at the wooden paddle, not quite able to reconcile the two in your mind.   “Not exactly the same but close. Honestly you can get really creative with impact play and not spend any money to get nearly the same results. I mean a plastic hairbrush might take a few extra hits or a little more force to really bruise someone but they’ll still end up sore from it. Or, if the hairbrush doesn’t do it for you, dig through your draws and see what else you can find. Wooden spoons, cutting boards, rulers, leather belts, spatulas, rolling pins, ping pong paddles, anything you can get your hands on. Just be mindful of how easily they’d break or them causing more pain than you expect.”  Again, you weren’t necessarily surprised by the lengths people would go to for sexual gratification, as Roger had put it, but it was a bit astounding. Still, you noted it all down just in case.   “Now a paddle generally falls under the stingy category but you do tend to get a deeper bruise than with your hand. Different factors could alter the way it feels too. If you put less force into it the pain will fall more on the thuddy side, same goes for if your hits are slower. But the pain call also be influenced by the size of the paddle, the material it’s made out of, the texture of it.”  “Texture?”  “Sometimes paddles have added texture, so they aren’t just a smooth, flat board. They might have metal studs that are more raised than the surface of the blade – the part you hit with – or ridging that will imprint the skin. This one has holes in it which definitely changes the feeling, makes it more intense. As you strike and the blade hits, the holes do two things. They stop any air cushions forming that would lessen the impact and they sort of push the skin into the holes which means the pain isn't completely even along where was hit. Plus it also leaves these cool circle marks behind which is fun.”  You realised you’d held your breath through the explanation, eyes following the paddle as Roger waved it through the air and ran his hands over it unconsciously. You hoped he had something more beginner friendly at home, though you couldn’t pretend you weren’t turned on by the way he wielded his weapon.  “Using it is quite similar to spanking but your hand isn’t hitting, it’s holding onto the paddle handle. So you just pull back,” Roger’s arm went back and the paddle swung backwards,” and then hit,” he swung his arm forward, the paddle cutting through the air and landing directly against the soft flesh of the pig. It made a satisfying thwack sound on impact and when Roger’ brought it back again you could see the circular patterns he’d talked about.   He demonstrated a few more times before he handed the plank to you.   It was heavier than you’d been expecting, solid wood, but the handle fit into your palm comfortably. You ran your hands over the flat part, what Roger had called the blade, and felt the holes with your fingers. The weight made it a little hard to swing but not impossible. You managed to mark the pig as well, stroking the circular imprints with your fingers.  “Try the hairbrush,” Roger said, swapping it for the paddle.  Its handle wasn’t quiet as long, but it was lighter and you found your hits were harder with it, without you even trying.   “Something to be aware of if you use an ordinary household item, or even just a different sort of impact toy. Because it’s lighter you can pull it back further and swing harder. A dom has to be aware of how much is going into each hit and how much their sub can handle.” 

“So what’s after paddles?”  “Floggers.” Roger picked his up off the table, “This is a fairly typical flogger. As you can see it’s made of black leather. It has the handle which is the thickest part and then a number of smaller tails. The tails is where you get the most variation which can be a stylistic choice or just a side effect of its price and overall quality. There’s a trick for knowing if a flogger is good quality or not. It should be pretty evenly balanced between the handle and the tails, so you should be able to do this,” he held out a finger and balanced the flogger on it carefully, the handle pointing out one way and the tails dangling over the other.   You thought for sure it would tip forward onto the tails and tumble to the ground but it hung there perfectly.  “Sometimes there will be more tails or they'll look different but no matter what, it should be balanced.” Roger gave a practiced flick of his hand so the flogger leapt into the air and he was able to catch the handle before it fell. “From a more stylistic point of view, you could get a flogger with less tails but they’ll be made of braids of leather which makes them heavier and thicker. Braided tails are also likely to have knots in the ends which can be a bit scratchy and even draw blood. They don’t have to be made of leather either. Rubber floggers are also popular. The tails on them tend to be more rectangular in shape, still flat but they have more edges and it actually feels like you’re being hit with more tails then there really are. And if you’re looking to really fuck someone up you can get hemp floggers. Sometimes they’ll look similar to this leather one but hemp is fairly stiff material and sometimes the tails will be shaped so that they’re sort of squiggly rather than flat lines. The squiggles hurt like a bitch, especially if they have knots at the end. Definitely start off with simple leather and work up once you’re more experienced.” Roger dragged the ends of the tails over his hand as he spoke, “I’d say this falls into the more thuddy type of pain. It can cover a large area of your body since the tails spread out and each of them creates an individual pain point. And because you’re being hit six or seven or nine or however many times at once, you can build up quite a rapid movement over a short period of time.”  You eyed the dancing tails as Roger moved his hand through them, “How long are the tails? Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have so many bits flying in all directions?”  Roger laughed, “Well yeah, kinda. I mean, that’s BDSM for you though, it gets dangerous which is why we’re all obsessed with safety. It’s a good thing to have noticed though, well done. The tails on this one are on the shorter side but some floggers will have much longer ones which means the dom can stand further back and still inflict a lot of pain. But you’re right, you do have to be mindful of the length and where they’re flying because a longer tail can potentially wrap around to somewhere you aren’t intending to hit. For instance, if you’re standing behind a person and flogging the back of their shoulder, you don’t want one of the tails to fly past their shoulder and around their neck. That would be incredibly painful and probably not what they expected or wanted from the scene.”  “So you have to take into account the length of the tails when you’re negotiating the scene then? And know where on the body to focus the hits so you don’t risk causing the wrong sort of pain and ending it early.”  “Exactly. That’s why negotiating the scene is important. Then both the dom and the sub will know what they want to achieve, what they want to get out of the experience, and they can tailor things to fit better. A lot of doms who are into impact play are likely to have multiple versions of their favourite toys – I myself have a few different paddles at home, I just didn’t bring them all in with me today – so by talking through what you want they’ll be able to choose the style of toy that will best fit the scene.”  “So how do you use a flogger then? Is it the same as spanking and paddling where you just swing your arm forward?”  “Sort of. Floggers have a few different ways to use them. There is of course the single strike option where, yeah, you do just hit them like you would with a paddle. I find that you don’t need to bring your arm back so far though, the movement comes from your elbow more than your shoulder.” Roger bent his arm so his hand and the flogger were roughly head height and then brought it down on the pig, “And you can change the angle of your single strike so that you hit them overhand or underhand or from one of the sides.” He demonstrated each direction as he said them, first bringing the flogger down from above, then swinging it up from below, then from the right side and finally a backhanded hit from the left. “But you don’t have to just pick a side to hit from. Paddles and hands are limited in how you can swing them but floggers have more movement. One way to use them is to swing them in a circle.” He moved back towards the pig to demonstrate, standing side on so that the tails whipped around and struck the pig, “I like starting off with circles because you can keep the pressure quite light. The tails sort of brush over the sub as they pass and it can be a good way to slowly build up. And then you can move into a figure eight as you get a bit harder.” Roger shifted his circles so they made a sideways eight in the air, subtly adjusting his stance so that the tail swished over the pig’s skin on both the forward and back motion.   You watched, awe-struck by how easily Roger swung the flogger, falling into a rhythm quickly. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d suddenly change the speed or the force of the swing when you were least expecting it.  

You were brought back to the present by Roger clearing his throat as he stilled the flogger, “The figure eight is why you should practice your backhand swing as much as any other. Because the tails will hit the sub on both the forward and back swings and you want them to be as even as possible.” He flipped the flogger in his hands, holding the handle out to you.   It felt smooth and cool in your hand, lighter than the paddle had been. You swished it experimentally, trying to get a sense of how it felt in motion.”  “Show me your overhand hit.” Roger said, leaning back against the nearest desk to watch.   You tried to imitate how he’d swung it, elbow bent, flogger raised.   It must have been good enough because Roger nodded and said, “how about underhand?”  He kept calling out different directions for a while, testing your reactions but you felt it helped you get a better grip on the toy and you found yourself adjusting how you held it so your movements became more fluid.   Roger watched you as you tried to keep up, his eyes locked onto your hands. Had you been looking, you might have caught sight of him subtly adjusting himself in his pants.   Finally, he seemed satisfied that you could successfully single strike from any direction and asked you to try the circle and figure eight motions.  They were harder to start, more awkward as you tried to work out the best way to move the flogger, and you caught Roger chuckling.”  “Oi, stop laughing,”  “Do you want some help?” he was still smiling but his request was genuine and when you nodded he stepped towards you. One of his hands moved to your waist as the other lay over yours on the handle of the flogger.  You tried not to grin too much as he did exactly why you’d hoped, and you felt him so close behind you.  “Like this,” His arm gently directed yours, the flogger beginning to move in a smooth circle.   “Oh, not so hard then,” you laughed, half turning to face him, “Y’know if someone walked in now this would be pretty hard to explain.”  His eyes darted to your lips, “Good thing we locked the door then.”  You hummed, waiting to see if Roger would close the gap.  He did a few seconds later, leaning in to kiss you softly. But the movement caused you both to forget about the flogger, your hands falling out of rhythm, and the tails whacking against your outstretched arms as they fell.   “Ow,” you both groaned, Roger stepping away from you.  It was disappointing but the disappointment was a little confusing. Surely you weren’t hoping for your professor to kiss you when you had no intention of sleeping with him that night.   Roger laughed, “Maybe that’s enough of the flogger today.”  “Might be for the best. Good thing I was so bad at it, otherwise we might have been really hurt.”  “You weren’t that bad. You actually looked good with it before I brought in the circles. Quite sexy really.”  “Thanks,” you said softly, trying to hide how pleased you were at that praise, “What else is there then?” 

“There's only one more that I can demonstrate but then there’s a few others I’ll touch on quickly too. So the last one I own is a crop.” He picked it up off the table, his fingers sliding along the length of it’s handle as he spoke, “This one I would put in the stingy category. It’s fast and sharp. Again, you can get crops in a few different styles. They will all have a handle like this, long and thin and probably with a slightly thicker point towards the end that’s easy to hold onto. The difference will be in the bit you hit with. This one is based on the sort of riding crop that's used on horses, so it’s quite plain. There’s just this loop of leather which hangs off the end. But others can be more decorative. I’ve seen crops which had ends shaped like hearts or that had studs pushed into them. Some of them are padded and some have a more rounded shape. We like our variety.”  “It looks scarier than the others I think,”  “Yeah, they’re quite intimidating aren’t they. And if you do it right, it’ll make a noise through the air, which just adds to how intimidating it can be.”  “Can you show me how to swing it now?”  “Absolutely. Now, you want to stand a bit further back with a crop because there is such a long handle. And the magic is in the wrist with these. You just flick the wrist and...”  You could hear the whooshing sound of it flying through the air before it cracked against the pig.  “Now some crops are more bendy and some are more stiff so, if you get one, you’ll want to practice swinging it a bit before you use it on a person, to get a feel for it. The flexibility of it might dictate how you stand or how strong the swing has to be. Give this one a go though.”  You felt oddly powerful as you took the crop and tightened your fist around the end. For a moment a vision of you decked out in leather dominatrix gear popped into your head and you nearly laughed. Unfortunately, the intimidating whooshing noise Roger had achieved was not as easy for you to make as you’d hoped, and the imagined power soon dissipated as you struggled to make the weapon sing.   Roger however was not disappointed. “It takes practice,” was what he said when you lamented your inability to create the sound, “And you don’t have to have the sound to make a good hit. It’s just kind of cool.”  When you still seemed disappointed he sighed.  “If it’s any help, I can’t always make the sound either. And besides, I wasn’t intending to use that one on you, unless you really, really want to. I mostly brought it to show you as an interesting part of your theory lessons. And so you’d have a sense of what a cane is like, even though I don’t have any of them to demonstrate.”  “A cane? Like....caning? Like what Victorian kids used to have done if they misbehaved or whatever?”  Roger laughed, “Kind of, yeah. It does have a history in corporal punishment. Which, might I add, wasn’t just for Victorian kids. It was still a thing when I was a kid. We didn’t get caned, more likely to be whacked over the knuckles with a ruler, but still. I don’t think it really left schools until the 80s.”  “Jesus,”  “Yeah. Occasionally I do wish I could bring out a ruler to shut a kid up,” he winked in jest, “Anyway, caning for BDSM is similar and uses the same sort of tool. A cane, funnily enough. Canes are long and thin like a crop but without the leather flap at the end or the more padded handle area. Traditionally they’re made from rattan which is a type of plant, but you can also get synthetic canes which are covered in leather. In my experience synthetic canes are actually harder. Not to use, I mean in the way they feel when you’re hit with them. The traditional rattan ones require a lot of maintenance though. You have to water them between uses, literally soaking them in a bath of water so they don’t dry out and break. But the benefit with a rattan cane is that if you get it home and realise you’d like something a bit shorter, you can cut it off yourself and just sandpaper down the rough edge and it’s good as new.”  “So are there any different version aside from synthetic? All the other toys had lots of variety.”  “Hmmm, not really. Most of the difference will be in how thick the cane is, which can effect the feel of it a lot. A thinner cane will sting when it hits and the force will make the skin hug the cane so it leaves these long marks behind. A thicker cane though might sting less but it’ll still hurt a lot, just more thuddy. And you tend to get more bruising from the thicker ones.”  “And do you use it the same as a crop?”  “Mostly, yes. The biggest difference is that you can use a larger section of a cane. The crop has the specific bit at the end to hit with whereas a cane doesn’t have that limit. The most important thing to remember is to try and aim a little short of where you want to hit because if you hit with a part of the cane six inches down, those top six inches are going to hit as well, and with force behind them they will wrap around the person’s side or arse or whatever until they make contact. But other than that, it’s a similar motion from the wrist and uses a similar amount of energy. And canes can make the cool whippy noise too.” 

“Is that everything then?”  “One last one, really quick. Whips.”  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of whipping in kink.”  “Yeah, it’s one of those things that gets mentioned a lot even if comparatively fewer people are actually into it. But everyone’s heard the phrase chains and whips in relation to BDSM. There's a few different varieties of whips but I don’t really know enough about them to know the difference. They all look like whips to me. Very cowboy. But they’re one of the more intense versions of impact play. The pain they cause is quite sharp and stingy and will be very localised to a specific point because they have the one tail, as opposed to floggers which have multiple tails. Whips are very capable of breaking the skin though and feel very intensely painful. I do not recommend them unless you discover you’re a masochist and you’ve tried everything else impact play has to offer.”  “No need to tell me twice, Professor. Definitely do not want to try whips any time soon.”  “That’s very reasonable. And that is all of the impact play options I wanted to go through. There’s a little more to cover regarding safety before I let you go for the night, but how about we put the pig away and hope no one notices it’s been marked by crops and floggers.”  You chuckled and quickly moved to help Roger push the trolley back towards the freezer, locking the dead pig away securely, and to help pack up his toys.  When everything was tidy again you re-took your seat, Roger taking the one beside you. It made the end of the lesson feel less like a lesson and more of just a casual chat, the topic of which happened to be BDSM.   “The most important thing to remember when trying impact play is which parts of the body are safest to hit.” He paused for a moment, considering you, “But you’ve been studying biology for a while now, Ms Y/L/N. Care to guess which parts are safe and which parts you should avoid?”  You hadn’t expected to be asked so took a moment to consider your answer, “Well, the arse obviously. Ummm.... I guess I’d assume the best places to hit are the bits with more meat on them.”  “Very good. Entirely correct. There’s a reason most people think about spanking on the arse and that’s because it’s one of the best places to spank. Well, that and the fact that spanking is used so frequently in punishment scenes where you bend the naughty girl over your knee. But, yes, hitting the arse is good. Hitting the thighs can also be good, though the bit just under the arse cheek where it connects to the thighs hurts a lot. Which isn’t to say don’t ever spank there, just be mindful that it’s going to hurt more than directly on the arse cheeks. The pecks or breasts can be good places to hit, even the upper back where the shoulder blade is can be good. What about places to avoid hitting? Any ideas what those might be?”  You hummed in thought, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to hit the spine since it’s so important.”  “Right again Ms Y/L/N. The spine is definitely something to avoid. I don’t like hitting on the back much at all because there's too much important stuff there but I do know some others who don’t mind using a flogger there, especially while warming up before things get too intense. There are also the kidneys to watch out for,” he moved his hand to press against the spot on his own back, “because, as you no doubt know, part of the kidneys stick out under the ribcage so aren’t fully protected. Then a little lower down, just above the arse, is the tailbone which should also be avoided.   “What about the neck? That would be bad to hit too, right?”  “Yup. And that’s something to watch for if you’re doing anything on the shoulder blades. The spine of course runs all the way up the back of the neck and hitting there can do some very serious and lasting damage if you’re not careful. I know some people who will only flog the shoulder blades if the sub is wearing a collar because that adds a bit of protection around the C5 and C6 vertebrae but even so, better safe than sorry in my opinion. The front of the neck is also not good to hit since that’s where the vocal cords and all that is.”  “Which is why you have to be careful with a flogger’s tails, right?”  “Right. But what about on the front? Is there anywhere else you’d avoid?”  “Pussy,” you said with a laugh.  Roger laughed too, “Actually, depending on how it’s done, spanking a pussy can be quite enjoyable.”  “Wait really?”  “Yeah. I prefer doing it with my hand since you can feel when it makes the sub wet but it’s not totally unusual to use paddles or crops or even floggers down there too. I’m sure some people whip as well.”  You gulped at the thought.  “The biggest area to avoid on a person’s front side is the diaphragm and middle of the chest. There’s a lot of important stuff in there and a lot less tissue than elsewhere.”  “Do people get badly hurt doing impact play?” you glanced over the list of places Roger said to avoid. It made it seem like almost any spanking was running the risk of more than just some bad bruising.   “Sometimes.” Roger said seriously. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “Things can go wrong. And when you’re playing with intentionally hurting someone, things going wrong can be very serious. I won’t pretend there aren’t stories of people trying impact play and ending up paralysed or worse. But if you’re careful, if you pay attention and only hit certain areas and are mindful of how hard you’re hitting, then you’re going to be fine. And that’s why we come up with safe words and talk through scenes before we do them. So that you can minimize those risks and have a chance to communicate any worries or concerns.”  “But how can safe words help if you say them after you’ve already been hurt too much?”  “Well, for one, even if you’ve been hurt badly, using your safe word can stop things from being made worse. But you don’t have to wait until you’re hurt to use the safe word. Yes, if I spank you four times in a row and the fourth one feels so bad you can’t go on, then you should use your safe word before I give you a fifth. But you could also use it after the third hit when you aren’t sure if you want the fourth. And safe words aren’t just about physical pain. If you start off excited but then feel anxious after two hits you are well within your rights to safe word. You don’t have to wait until the damage is done. And, obviously, it’s not always easy to tell if that one hit more is going to be enough to make you want to stop. You can’t always know if the next hit is going to catch your neck wrong and do serious damage. But if you feel at all worried that it might, speak up. Not just worried either. If you feel distracted or you think I’m not paying enough attention to how I’m spanking you, or if I move to spank and area you don’t want me to touch, tell me. There is no wrong reason to use a safe word, even if we’re only a few minutes into the scene. I’ve said before that I’d rather you tell me to stop than for us to go on and you not feel comfortable, and I mean it.”  “I know, I guess I just never really thought about it being for mental stuff as well as physical.”  “Mmm, I should have checked that.”  “Well, let’s face it, you probably tried and I just didn’t pay attention. But, y’know, you’re very good at reassuring me when I start to get nervous.”  “I hope that’s a good thing.”  “It definitely is. I think if I didn’t have the reassurance, I’d chicken out of some things.”  “As long as you’re aware of the difference between some healthy nerves and anxiety that could be a sign you should slow down. And that you keep telling me how you’re feeling.”  “Of course I will.”  “Good girl.” 

An understanding seemed to pass between you as you sat in near silence, eyes on the other. Until Roger drew in a long breath and stood up.  “Right well, I think that’s just about everything. Obviously we weren’t able to see the levels of bruising that different implements can cause but it’s kind of dependent on the individual anyway. Everything can influence the severity of bruises and other marks. Tell me what a bruise is.”  “It’s broken blood vessels under the skin which cause discolouration.”  “Bingo. Now, obviously being spanked with a hand will leave less obvious bruises than being hit with a crop will and usually a paddle will bruise less than....i don’t know, a leather belt. But there's lots of factors to consider. The sub’s age, diet, the colour of their skin, their hydration level, how much sun exposure they’ve had recently, stress levels, hormones. And the biggest of all is how much stimulus they receive on that part of the body. The more you hit a spot, the deeper it will bruise. So, don’t expect bruises and marks to appear exactly the same every time you make them. There are some ways to heighten or lessen marks left during BDSM, but I’ll go through those when you’re ready for our practical lessons. And we’ll also go through some ideas for popular scenes and positions before we settle on what our scene will look like.” Roger seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, “Of course, it’s not so late we have to stop. If you did want to start testing out some light impact play, or if you wanted to revisit a previous topic, you’re more than welcome to come back to mine.”  “No,” you said much too fast, the suggestion catching you completely off guard.  “Okay, no problem,” Roger said, his eyes downcast.  “I didn’t mean...just that tonight’s not great timing.” You’d really thought you’d got out of having to talk about it but you could see Roger was going to ask what you were talking about when on a regular tutoring night you’d likely still be in his bed. All the same you couldn’t quite make eye contact as you explained, “My period started last night, that’s all. Makes things a bit awkward.”  “Oh is that all?”  You shrugged, “Yeah.”  “Well there’s no need to feel awkward or embarrassed about that. And there’s no reason to hide it from me. Aside from the fact that I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve also been teaching biology for longer than I care to count, so I’m very familiar with the reproductive processes and the reality of the menstrual cycle.”  “I knew you were going to say something like that.”  “Because it’s true. And besides, periods are important to factor into our lessons because they can change how you’ll respond to various kinks. Fluctuating hormone levels can change how much you enjoy or desire sex, as well as the physical sensation of different forms of touch. A lot of women find breast stimulation uncomfortable in the lead up to their period because their breasts become tender at that stage of their cycle. It can also make vaginal sex undesirable, at least in the first couple of days if not longer, whether because of a physical discomfort or pain, or just because it makes sex messier and more annoying to clean up after. The hormonal shifts in a menstrual cycle can also effect libido too, either stopping you from feeling aroused or causing hyper arousal. And all of that is important to consider, especially when we get to other things like orgasm denial. So, don’t feel you have to hide your periods from me, okay? I want to know if something is going to effect how enjoyable these lessons are for you. And plus, I factored periods into the timeline, remember? If you want to postpone for a week we can.  His little speech did put you at ease a bit, the weight of admitting the truth no longer as heavy now that he knew, but it still wasn’t an especially comfortable conversation, “Well, I should be okay to go in a few days.”  “Would you be up for having sex on one of the last days of your period when your flow is a little lighter? Or would you rather wait until after it was finished?”  You tried not to cringe too much upon hearing Roger talk about your flow, “After I think. I don’t know. How do you feel about it?”  Roger shrugged, “If we were just having sex without the kinky stuff I’d be okay with period sex. It’s a little more effort since we’d need to put towels down and all that but I’m not completely opposed to it if we’re both in the mood. However, I think since we’re playing with BDSM it’s probably a good idea to wait.”  You nodded, glad the topic was almost settled, “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d feel too self-conscious to enjoy any period sex but you’re definitely right about the BDSM stuff. Just makes it easier for my first time trying things out if I’m not worrying about, um, bleeding everywhere.”  Roger gave you a reassuring smile which made your heart flutter, grateful he hadn’t made things too difficult or drawn out, “That’s settled then. We can put a pin in all of this for now and come back to it when you’re ready.”  “Thanks. Will Friday suit? I think I should be right by then.”  “Friday sounds great.”  “Really? You don’t have to, like, pick up the kids or anything?”  Roger shook his head, amused, “No. It is technically my weekend with them but they’re both staying at friend’s placed over night so I won’t see them until Saturday. Friday we can start testing some things and if we need to, we can come back next Monday and go through more. And I finish a bit earlier on Fridays so maybe we could start a bit earlier.”  “Yeah that works for me.”  “Great. I guess we should get out of here then.” Roger ushered you from the classroom and walked beside you all the way to the carpark, your footsteps echoing down the corridors. He chatted to you quietly about non-kinky topics, as if you’d merely ended up walking the same direction by accident, just in case anyone was looking.   You were almost sad to reach your car, drawing the conversation to an end, “This is me.”  “One last thing, Ms Y/L/M.”  “Mmm?”  “For homework-”  “Homework?”  “Yes. For homework I want you to watch some porn with impact play in it. You’ll find a few examples linked in a document I’ve dropped in our folder but feel free to find your own too. It can be spanking by hand or flogging or any other form of impact we discussed today, whatever turns you on most. Because I want you horny when I see you on Friday. I want you to spend all week thinking about naughty sluts who get spanks, knowing you’ll soon be one of them. I want you excited to be hit and wet at the thought of me spanking your arse and cunt while I fill your holes with cock. Is that clear?”  Roger had leant closer as he talked and your stomach did a backflip as he stood up. All you could do was nod, completely lost for words as Roger chuckled and walked into the dark towards his own car.   

[chaozsilhouette]

Turbulent Beginnings

This forms the opening act to Macaque’s story, showing just how different his and Wukong’s early lives were and why he took Wukong’s disappearance so hard.

The idea Macaque was born from the wind was inspired by @animemoonprincess. And yes, I am a shameless fan of Macaque originally having white fur. The angst is just too perfect.

Brace yourselves, this isn’t going to be pretty. I am essentially shoving our boy through an emotional meat grinder.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

On a remote island, a day’s travel from China’s eastern shore, a massive hurricane raged as it had since the beginning of this world. The surrounding storms fed into it as its winds carved stone. No life had dared blossom on its soil out of fear of a painful demise. The merciless storm drank deeply of the waters of the sea, draining all aspects of potential and life before casting it aside. Not even curious spirits were spared.

Various deities had wondered why such a storm existed or why the Jade Emperor allowed such a dangerous presence to continue unchecked. Most believed that since the hurricane was stationary and prove no threat to the established order of the world, it was not important.

One day the hurricane vanished. As though it had never existed. Or rather that it had been transformed into something else.

It was the night of a new moon and with the hurricane gone, the island experienced its first cloudless sky. The only one to witness the momentous occasion was a monkie with pure white fur and six ears. Minding his manners, the nameless monkie bowed to the four winds in greeting.

The newborn proceeded to spend his days searching the island for something. Some clue as to the reason behind his birth. He could hear strange voices and words he didn’t understand yet at the same time could. He knew he wasn’t the only creature alive, so why was he alone?

For food, he walked his way through a cave system towards the sea, where he enjoyed the fish that were drawn in through the whirlpools and the mussels that clung to the sharp rocks. He grew to savor the taste of life, even though there was a part of him that craved something different.

Almost forty years passed before he mustered the courage to leave everything he knew to seek out those voices. He gathered all the driftwood and rope that had drifted onshore over the decades, fashioned it into a makeshift raft, and sailed towards the closest source of voices.

His voyage was actually pretty boring once he cleared the whirlpools.

The only exciting part about it was when that strange fish tried to sink his raft. It was bigger than any fish he’d previously seen with a mouth to match. Didn’t mean it survived past the first blow. Taking a bite Macaque wasn’t sure if he liked this fish. The muscles were tough and the flesh was rough on his tongue. He didn’t particularly like the taste. But there was enough to feed him for a full day.

In the end, he chose to eat a third of the fish’s muscles along with its heart before tossing back into the water.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Docking on dry land was an experience that would haunt him for years.

At first, he was filled with wonder at the sight of buildings and new creatures riding rafts far bigger than his.

When he stepped onto shore the whispers began.

The creatures, who he later learned were called humans, were pointing out his ears. They acknowledged his obvious intelligence. He heard them grip wooden instruments tightly. It was as if they expected him to do something.

No one made a move against him. No one approached him, but he could tell he wasn’t wanted. Everywhere he turned he saw eyes that cursed his every existence.

He didn’t stay in that village for long. In his mind, satisfying his curiosity wasn’t worth being stared at as though he was the source of all evil.

Demon.

That is what they called him. Was that what he was?

He didn’t know, but he didn’t like it.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He aimlessly wandered the countryside for far too long.

The first act of kindness he received was from a couple who could not have children of their own. He stumbled upon them by accident, but instead of the normal fearful expressions he’d come to expect they greeted him with genuine smiles and an offer to join them for dinner.

They took him in and treated him like family. He became the son they always wanted. They taught him how to properly speak and how to walk comfortably on two limbs. They blessed him with a name.

They were kind and nurturing. In another world, they may have been called bodhisattvas. But sadly, due to them being ordinary mortals, his time with them only lasted four decades.

He buried them with love but grew resentful of his weak emotions.

He learned what it was like to have someone welcome him home after a long day. He learned to savor the taste of a mother’s home-cooked meal. He enjoyed having a father figure who was willing to teach him old military tactics. He experienced friendly competitions to see who could paint the most accurate portrait of a flower they saw earlier that day. It was everything he never knew he craved and then it was gone. Leaving him with an empty home and a broken heart.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Nearly fifty years later he joined a band of traveling performers.

Their natural oddities allowed them to see who he really was and welcome him into their party. With their compassion, he was granted the opportunity to heal. He learned that despite the group’s large size, very few of them had any direct blood relations. What made them special was how they created their own family and turned what many called strange into something beautiful. Out of respect, he delved into the world of entertainment, found he had a natural talent for it.

When he took the stage people assumed he was in costume, but that didn’t matter. The applause of the audience was a gift he cherished. The sheer passion this family expressed through every second in life warmed his heart beyond words. They were just what he needed to bring him out of his depression.

Alas, it was not meant to stay.

One night their camp was ambushed by a group of demons. They were nothing special, hardly worth mentioning. But for him, back then, it was a fight he never imagined. He could easily handle human bandits, so could his family, but never had he traded blows with a small army of his fellow demons. With the rising of the sun, Macaque stared at the cruelly bright sky covered in blood. All around him bodies lay scattered, life essence soaking into the ground. Despite being tasked with fighting off nearly five dozen demonic opponents he managed to survive with barely a scratch, but he was alone. Again.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He tried to change things by sticking to his fellow demons. At least they lived longer.

Somehow that ended up with him becoming the apprentice to a demon healer for almost a century. She was a cold-hearted bitch with a heart of gold. Meticulous in her work, masterful in deduction, and short-tempered with the foolish. She gave everything to her practice and expected the same from him. It was bitter work, but he found it fulfilling. The knowledge that he now possessed the ability to restore others to peak condition settled some unknown part of his soul.

Of course, they would have visitors who wished to take advantage of her skills or steal the medicine. Between the two of them, they protected their clinic, but they weren’t always together. While she may try to hide it, she wasn’t the strongest demon out there. Apparently, the entire reason she got into medicine was to uncover why she was so weak. Centuries of research turned up nothing, but it did make her incredibly skilled at using poisons with her knives to compensate.

One day after he returned from gathering ingredients, he pulled back the door to find the shop in disarray, five unknown bodies slowly dying of extensive blood poisoning, and his master bleeding out from her severed arms. She always said she had no intention of entering Naraka alone.

Guess she kept her word.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

The cycle repeated itself over centuries. He would experience a brief window of happiness only for it to be savagely stolen from him, leaving him to mourn and curse his weak heart.

The small glimmers of kindness humanity showed him only made him curse their race even harder when he couldn’t walk into a village without being harassed. The humans who had proven stronger were sadly a rare breed. He was rare to encounter one a century and often they perished at the hands of their kind rather than by demons.

There were times when the ignorance had gotten so bad he’d taken to traveling with a constant glamour, disguising himself as an average human. Whenever he was in the presence of other demons, he allowed his true form to manifest, however, he made it look like he only had a single pair of ears. Standing out was the easiest way to wind up in a complicated situation he had no interest in trying to defuse.

That’s not to say his time was wasted.

Quite the contrary, he had learned much during his travels. He could hardly be compared to the happy young monkie, who was ignorant of the dangers and hardships this world held. In a sad attempt to fill the void, Macaque sought out wisdom and strength. He located masters of both the mystic and martial arts. He may have had to lie about his age, he was becoming quite the accomplished liar, but the results were more than worth it. With every stop, he found himself growing more certain of his strength and his identity.

Eventually, he discovered a strange monastery hidden in a cave in the face of a mountain.

He had never seen anything like it during his travels. But what truly drew his attention was the feeling the temple exuded, every stone exuded a strange aurora. Something powerful dwelled within, powerful yet there was an undeniably human quality to it all.

Hiding beneath his usual glamor, Macaque approached the temple with the desire to discover exactly what was being taught. Before he knew what was happening, he was speaking to the immortal sage who was running the joint. Master Subhuti welcomed him to his home and offered some tea. The disguised monkie was bombarded by dozens of questions, all of which he attempted to answer as though he was a normal human.

The master welcomed him as his newest disciple and showed him his new home. Later he learned the master could see through his disguise and sensed his potential. Apparently, the old immortal believed that the monkie would do well to learn his disciplines and he was fascinated by the monkie’s natural talent.Said something about how with proper guidance only the Buddha would be able to peer past his façade.

The monkie even received a new name to celebrate his rebirth. From that day forward he was Liu’Er Mihou, or the Six-Eared Macaque. He liked it. While he cherished the name his first family gifted him, he felt this was a good sign. A tribute to show that he was a changed monkie.

Regardless, he refused to drop his glamor. He had seen too many demons be cast out and attacked for getting sloppy. The other students were not thrilled about the newcomer showing them up and he wasn’t willing to give them a true reason to despise him. He learned quickly, more so than any other human disciple, but that put him at odds with those who were still struggling after years of training.

Macaque distanced himself from the others. They weren’t that interesting anyway. He didn’t care that they talked about him behind his back or were fully aware he could hear them. He couldn’t risk getting close so soon. He was determined to break the cycle. He didn’t care about immortality. He didn’t care about obtaining power. All he wanted was to end the pain. So far things had been working out in his favor.

Then heshowed up…

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

That trice damned monkie with peach-colored fur and markings like a golden mask. He was so naïve about the world. He treated everything as though it was some exciting game. His upbeat energy made Macaque sick. Some twisted part of him wanted to snap his neck just to end it, but a small part was fascinated by it. The other monkie reminded him of a time he had almost forgotten.

The Monkey King, or Sun Wukong, didn’t bother hiding his true appearance. Truthfully, Macaque wasn’t sure he knew how or that he should. He didn’t seem to notice how other students would keep their distance or how they kept their conversations as brief as possible without crossing the threshold into being considered rude.

He was so earnest and happy, it was painful. The new monkie pestered everyone about everything, it was like dealing with a newborn, but it seemed Macaque was his favorite to bother. The worst part was how he stared at Macaque as though he could peer past his glamour. Although Macaque wasn’t sure if that was truly possible. The Master could, but he dedicated centuries to refine his skills. Wait. How old was this annoyance? Perhaps he could smell he wasn’t like the other disciples.

Either way, he knew it was just a matter of time until the truth got out. He just didn’t expect it to be when he was changing.

Each student was offered a meager room for privacy. They were all the same size and offered little to no space for any customization, but the walls were enchanted to cut out sound whenever the doors were closed.

Behind those flimsy walls was the only time Macaque allowed his glamor to drop. While he valued being cautious, even he couldn’t keep up the glamour indefinitely, much less when he was asleep.

It was in that small space of safety that he discovered he wasn’t alone.

He had just allowed himself to relax when a smiling face covered in peach fuzz was shoved into his own.

“I knew it! You’re like me.” Sun Wukong happily exclaimed, stars practically dancing in his eyes.

“Shut up.” Macaque clamped his hand over the other’s mouth. Checking to ensure no one else was present and the door was shut, he faced the intruder. “Have you told anyone?” He hissed, while berating himself for failing to check the ceiling. You always look up when scanning a room, he knew that.

“Nope. Why are you hiding? You’re beautiful.” The cheerful demon spoke as though they were old friends. His golden eyes took in every hair of his fellow monkie’s true appearance.

“I’m a demon. And there is nothing beautiful about me.” Macaque growled.

“Yes, there is.” Wukong insisted. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you hiding? The Master let me in, I wager he knows about you, so why?”

Sighing, Macaque massaged the bridge of his nose. “I have been hurt enough times to know keeping a low profile is optimal in survival. It is better to keep one’s head down than risk getting called out.” From observation, he knew the newer student wouldn’t leave until he received answers, so the best option was to just give him what he wanted and pray he knew enough to leave.

“That’s no fun.” Wukong stuck his tongue out in distaste. “You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. We were born this way.” He jumped high into the air only to catch himself on his tail with a cheeky grin. “So, they’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Cute speech. But my answer is no. Now leave.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix that attitude right up.” Thankfully Wukong left, but not before sending a smile laced with mischief his way. “See you tomorrow.”

Macaque prayed to every deity that would be the end of it. But even he knew it was a futile attempt.

“Do you have a tribe?” Wukong asked, hanging by his tail from Macaque’s favorite tree.

A startled Macaque blinked at the random question. “A what?”

“A tribe. A family. A place to call home?” Wukong asked smoothly even if he wasn’t familiar with the term family until recently he knew it was important.

“Not anymore.” Glaring Macaque returned his focus to his meal.

“Aw.” Wukong knew that look. He had seen plenty of monkeys wear that arura after watching other tribe members die. “Then you should come with me!”

“What?”

“Yeah. You can join my tribe. There are dozens of us back home. Plenty of food and water, you’ll constantly be surrounded by others like us.”

“Other demons?”

“No.” Wukong smiled as though he told a funny joke. “Other monkeys.”

“There is no reason for me to join you.” Macaque stated, wishing he could finish his lunch in peace.

But Wukong wasn’t letting him go that easily. “And there’s no reason for you to refuse.” He stated, ignoring any and all social cues or common sense for respecting personal space.

It went on like that for years. Every day Macaque would awake to find gold eyes staring at him, waiting for his answer to change. Breaks were spent dodging the hyperactive monkie as he tried to eat alone. Training sessions soon found him sparring with the same partner.

The monkie was stubborn no doubt and Macaque feared his actions were slowly breaking down his walls. The pale furred monkie missed having a connection. He adored being able to talk to others, but whenever he opened up he only got hurt.

But maybe, maybe this time could be different…

Wukong was training to obtain immortality. He had already proven to be stronger and more clever than anyone he’d known. The simian showed that he wanted to know him better. He constantly tried to touch his fur, something he called grooming, which felt pretty nice.

Maybe…maybe this time he could truly have a home.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

A streak of light accompanied by a sharp whistle pierced the night sky. For a brief moment, it vanished before exploding in a beautiful display of color and light.

On the monastery’s rooftop, Wukong backflipped in joy at the sight, his golden eyes wide. “Happy New Year!” The monkie cried. In the village below, he could make out dozens of voices echoing the greeting.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw them, fireworks were a sight he always adored. “This has got to be mankind’s greatest invention!” The flowers of fire were simply too beautiful. So unique. Nothing on Flower Fruit Mountain compared to such beauty, it made him thankful he decided to leave.

From the corner of his eye, Wukong noticed that his companion was clutched his ears wincing with every detonation. “You okay, bud?”

“I’m fine. Just loud.” Macaque said. He was truly questioning his sanity by joining Wukong on the roof. Normally he barricaded himself in his room, but his friend was so thrilled about sharing their first New Year together he couldn’t say no.

“Oh.” Somehow the new set of fireworks didn’t look that attractive. “We can go inside if you want.” They were beautiful, but nothing was worth feeling helpless as his friend curled up in pain.

“I’ll be fine. I’m adjusting to the volume. No different than punches that break the sound barrier, right?” Macaque tried flashing a confident grin to varying success.

Wukong suspected that Macaque was lying, but learned enough to know further prying would just cause the other monkie to simply shut out the world. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

“You made a persuasive argument.” Anyone who could harass him for nearly five years straight proved their determination.

Wukong playfully stuck his tongue out. “Hehe…Seriously though, I’m happy you chose to be part of my tribe. No one should be alone.”

“Then why have I been for so long.”

“I doubt even Master knows. But you won’t be able to say that anymore.” Wukong wrapped his arms around his best friend. Pulling him close, Wukong faced the fireworks, unconsciously grooming Macaque as he savored every pop of color.

Beneath those gentle digits, Macaque steadied himself against the soothing heartbeat of the one he slowly learned to trust. As the display continued, the pale monkie learned to appreciate the human’s creations. Turns out they weren’t so bad so long as you have the right company.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

“I’m sorry. You’re what?!” Macaque’s response was perfectly justified. There was no way he just heard what he thought he heard.

Wukong flashed a blinding grin. “I’m heading to the Celestial realm. I’ve been given a position in Celestial Bureaucracy.” Not seeing any problems whatsoever.

“Why?” Just why? From everything he heard about those stuck-up deities, they would never hand over a position to anyone without requiring the completion of an impossible task, much less to a demon. Least of all a demon who has done nothing but terrorize others and unleash chaos whenever he went.

“Don’t know. But I got to go right now.” Wukong shrugged as he finished packing. The Gold Star of Venus was waiting just outside the waterfall.

“But what about Flower Fruit Mountain? What about your subjects? What am I supposed to do? How long are you going to be gone?” Macaque fired off a rapid stream of questions. Panic was beginning to take hold.

Wukong, however, was as calm and confident as ever. “Stop worrying so much. Look I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then you’re in charge.” He finished as though it was obvious.

“Me!” A white tail nearly burst into twice its normal size in shock. “But I have no idea how to run a Court!”

“Neither do I. Not in the traditional sense at least. Look just keep an eye on things. Protect the monkeys from hunters and malicious demons. Sometimes one of the allied demon kings will ask for some help. It’s nothing you haven’t helped me with before. I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle things until I get back.”

Seeing his companion and good friend growing even more lost, Wukong closed the distance and took his face in both hands. “This is a good thing. If I can make this work, none of us will ever have to worry about being hunted or not having enough food ever again.”

In a snap, Macaque grabbed the king’s arms. “What if I don’t care about any of that? What if I just want you to stay?”

For the first time in their conversation, Wukong’s cocky attitude vanished replaced with a loving smile. Gently prying Macaque’s claws off his shirt, Wukong placed his cheek on a palm as he kissed the knuckles of another. “I can’t. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. This isn’t goodbye. I’ll keep in touch. The time will fly. We’ll make this work. Trust me.”

“Alright, Wukong. I trust you.” Macaque said, ignoring every fiber of his being that screamed this would end poorly.

“If things go wrong, remember I’m just a telepathic call away.” Summoning his cloud, Wukong back flipped onto it with his bag. “Monkey King, out!”

One sonic boom later and he was gone, along with a good chunk of the cave walls.

“Hpmh. That’s my idiot.”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

How did this happen? How did this happen?!

One moment they were fighting for their lives against the army of the Celestial Realm and the next Macaque bore witness to Wukong being carted away in a diamond snare.

Now as he stared at the charred remains of what once was a growing village of monkeys, Macaque felt something within him change.

For almost two months he had burned in celestial fires. The sounds of the dead and dying rang out, making his namesake almost bleed. He choked on the ashes of the mortal monkeys. The air had a strangely sweet and bitter taste to it.

Macaque lost count of all the times he charged back into the fires to save as many heartbeats as he could. He wasn’t sure but he suspected he blacked out more than once. With every heartbeat that stilled before he could reach them, a part of him followed them into Yama’s realm.

Finally, the fires had died down. They didn’t have anything left to burn.

All around him he saw the pitiful leftovers of what was once a thriving community. He had treated the survivors the best he could, but he lost his medical equipment in the blaze. The only ones he didn’t have to worry about were the monkeys Wukong made immortal, but he did what he could to ease the pain.

But still, he wondered why…why were they staring at him as though they were confused?

Maybe he was overthinking everything. He just worked through 49 days without any sleep. Everything was stable for now. The best course of action was to wash off the ash and get some much-deserved rest.

There was nothing the Celestial Realm could do to Wukong that he couldn’t handle. Besides Macaque didn’t even know how to get there even if he was at full strength. Wukong couldn’t die so it was only a matter of time before someone tripped up allowing him to return home.

He just had to be patient.

Stepping into the clear river, Macaque’s jaw almost dropped as the water around him immediately turned gray. He didn’t realize he was that filthy.

He started scrubbing himself, ducking under the water to ensure he didn’t miss a spot. He had to move a few times due to the sheer amount of shoot and ash that clung to him. The entire cleaning process took a full hour before the water ran clear.

Stepping out, Macaque felt more refreshed than he ever remembered. Shaking to remove as much access water as possible, all the towels were soot so he had to make do, he paused by the waterside to see how much fur he lost. But what he saw met none of his expectations.

Instead of fur that invoked images of the moon, he was cloaked in the color of the darkest ink.

“What happened to me?”

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

Five hundred years.

Five hundred years he searched, for any trace of the legendary Five-Fingered Moutain Buddha used to trap Sun Wukong only to find nothing. Macaque scoured far and wide. Neither the winds nor the shadows could lead him towards his friend.

He picked fights with countless demons who claimed to witness the great Monkey King brought low. It barely took two punches before they broke down crying how it had been nothing but a lie, how they only repeated rumors.

He bargained for any information he could find, but all accounts claimed the mountain didn’t exist. Many refused to answer him on principle of not interfering with the Celestial Realm’s issues. Their last mistake. Others took Wukoong’s punishment as a sign to amass as much power as possible out of fear that they would be targeted next.

Macaque had witnessed the formation of more alliances and territory grabs in the past century than had been recorded in the last thousand years. Demons were becoming more power-hungry and suspicious, which meant even more trouble for the humans. Things were becoming so chaotic, Macaque had to wonder if it was planned.

But he couldn’t dwell on that.

He hadn’t visited Flower Fruit Moutain in years. His clones kept guard, but slowly he was losing the drive to keep replenishing them. The only reason he called that mountain home was because of Wukong. It wasn’t home without him.

But he had to keep looking. Had to keep trying. He would find his friend.

Somehow.

§~~~~§~~~~§~~~~§

He tricked himself into thinking this would be different. That he would no longer be alone. That finally he had found a family he could keep.

He was an idiot!

The truth was he was no different than anyone else. The world was Sun Wukong’s toy chest and Macaque was merely a shiny new trinket to bat around until he grew bored. Seeing him with that group, knowing that he chose them over their past, was too much.

He was sick of being left behind. He had been left alone so many times. What made him think he couldn’t be replaced?

He could have attacked, ripped their precious monk to pieces, he could have...should have...but he was tired.

Returning to Flower Fruit Mountain was a chore, but one he swore he would never complete again. The monkeys questioned his return, asking where their king was and if he’d return soon. Macaque ignored them all. He simply walked to the part of the manor he and Wukong had shared for years, where he had been waiting for his return.

Staring at all the knickknacks and souvenirs they had collected from their adventures, Macaque made up his mind. Grabbing a large sturdy bag, he swiftly packed his essentials. In another, he packed non-perishable goods and water containers.

Stepping out, a flash of something peach-colored caught his eye. Spinning around, hope burning a hole in his chest but his dreams once more were proved false. It was just the special peach tree Wukong had planted from the leftover pit he had saved from his time in the Celestial Realm. Apparently, it had reached maturity and was proudly bearing the first fruit Macaque had seen despite having been planted nearly half a millennia ago.

Macaque wasn’t sure why it was so special, Wukong just winked and said it was a surprise for when they could share a fresh one. Feeling something wet on his arm, Macaque looked down to see his hand stretched towards the tree and the memories he held. Feeling his cheeks, he realized he was crying, which was strange as he didn’t think he had any tears left.

Spurred by longing and spite, Macaque plucked six peaches from the tree and stuffed them into his bag. It wasn’t like Wukong was going to miss them. And he needed the food.

[hollyhomburg]

Sweet like Honey (Break like Glass) (KTH)

Summary: Taehyung knows there’s something wrong with his girlfriend; the way she can’t look at herself in the mirror sometimes or the countless other bad days. He makes it his mission to make her feel as beautiful as possible.

Tags: mentions of body dysmorphia, Self-esteem issues, Dysphoria, internalized self-hate, picnic dates, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, barely referenced eating disorder, angst over Taehyung being an idol, mentions of weddings, proposals, and wedding dresses, mentions of nudity and sexual scenes/themes. 

A/n: This was mostly inspired by Taehyung in his green suit and my own experiences with my body. This is a relatively short and less descriptive than my usual au’s. don’t forget to comment and RB if you liked it! also my grammarly kinda crashed while writing this! so i apologize for more grammatical errors that usual. 

Song rec: Electric love~ Pravi cover

W/c: 6.7k 

- There is something wrong with Taehyung's girlfriend. With you- and Taehyung just can’t figure out what it is. 

- Taehyung and you have been dating for a few years, though it was a little on and off in the beginning because of a few world tours. Now you live together, and every day Taehyung lives the fantasy of coming home to someone who loves him. You standing in his kitchen with Yeontan running around your feet begging for little bits of food. 

- But The small things are always there; the way you look at yourself in the mirror with a hint of hate. The way you are always so particular about how clothing fits you and won't wear anything that properly shows off your curves. 

- Sometimes you barely react when Taehyung puts his arms around your waist, bunching up his extra-large shirt that you sleep in. Taehyung loves the feeling of getting his hands on you, his palms so wide on your form. You have The kind of soft cuteness that makes him want to take you and hold you close and never let go. Sometimes in the mornings- he actually does pull you back into bed with him.

- But Sometimes, when Taehyung puts his hands on your waist you do freeze, he feels the way your body is taut and stiff like you’re trying to suck in or something. But when he looks at your face- he doesn't see any of the strain or anything else unpleasant or unhappy in your smiling face.

- Taehyung wishes you felt as comfortable with him as he feels with you.

- Tae would say that you’re both completely happy. Would say it- if he didn’t notice your insecurity sometimes. More than once He sees you excitedly set out an outfit on the bed. Getting dressed for something a little more interesting than sitting on your couch, only to see your expression fall the second that you see yourself in the mirror. 

- Whatever's going on in your head- it hurts you, hurts that you don’t see yourself in the mirror the way that he does. other days you know before you get dressed, You’ll avoid looking at yourself in the mirror and instead ask him if you look okay. 

- “Just turn around and see for yourself” he says- unthinking. More worried about getting to your destination on time. This time it’s a dinner with the rest of bts, a private room in a restaurant to celebrate the end of their last comeback. You aren’t going to be the only s/o or guest in attendance and you just wanted to make a good impression. 

- Taehyung is more excited for a few days of break that will proceed the dinner than the dinner itself. Days that he will probably spend catching up on the sleep that he’s lost over the past few weeks and spending quality time with you. He realizes a moment too late when he looks back at you. A hand suspiciously rubbing at your cheek, a little damp. That dark- unhappy look fitting your face like a glove. 

- You put a very baggy jacket over your dress and call it a day. During dinner you bunch it up in your lap like it will help cover you and say that your legs are just cold when Taehyung asks. But he isn’t fooled- though he was, a little, at the beginning of your relationship.

- When Taehyung first meets you he barely thinks that there’s something off about the way you view yourself. That revelation comes later once he gets to know you better. Taehyung dreams of a time when he’d known from the beginning, if only so that he could have started helping you with your body image sooner. 

- When you and Taehyung first met you were both a little broken, both a little too lonely for words. Your type of loneliness that was left for rotten nights, the kind where you bunch up a blanket or a pillow just to have something to hold onto. 

- When Taehyung first bumps into you at a bookstore You don’t outwardly look like the insecure type. Your cute glasses on your nose and your ankle length knit dress chic and oversized. You’d sat on opposites sides of a very long velvet couch to enjoy a coffee and a book in Taehyung’s favorite bookstore. A hair too close at your separate tables to be completely accidental. 

- You look at the handsome stranger, (or at least you think he’s handsome- most of him is covered by a facemask) thinking that just maybe There was only one reason why he didn’t take the table by the window; that reason being a desire to be close to you. “Is that one any good?” you’d asked, voice rough and quiet in the empty cafe. 

- When Tae looks over it’s to see your legs have been pulled up and underneath you- your shoes off and hidden under the table. Your stocking legs bare for him to look at and drink in. It feels too intimate for a stranger, but all at once in a moment, Taehyung daydreams of what your legs might feel like in his hands. And a little stirring in his gut says ‘oh- you like this- you like this one.” 

- “The coffee or the book?” he asks, perplexed and trying not to lose his cool. all the stadiums in the world couldn’t unnerve him and yet- one pretty girl in a coffee shop has him worried, holding on to his coffee and book like it will anchor him. You smile like his response is some sort of secret. “Either is fine.”

- Running into each other at the bookstore turned into sitting close on one of the many velvet couches. Which turned into Tae inviting you to a different coffee shop with better coffee and fewer books so you could openly talk without fear of getting scolded. 

- This leads to dinner dates and kisses and your back against his sheets in his apartments. Looking up at him like he’s still trying to tell you some sort of secret. You’re a secret that Taehyung just can’t figure out but wants too. And Tae has a feeling he could spend years getting to know you and still want you just as much as he did then- as he does now. Hovering on the edge of a relationship with you. 

- What had started out as coffee dates, turned into hooking up and then when his life got busy again- late night booty calls where he was barely awake enough to properly reciprocate. Those nights ending when you woke up to his empty bed and a text on your phone thanking you for coming over so late. It’s kind, but it’s so formal you read between the lines. Assuming deep down- that Taehyung doesn't want any more than a late night booty call and an occasional friendship from you.

- Taehyung had just assumed you wouldn’t want a relationship with him if it had to be this way, every six months or so when he gets so busy he can barely find time to take a proper break let alone go on a date. You’d assumed he just didn’t want a relationship with you but you where already desperately in love with him and unwilling to let go of the little bit you had of his time. Even if you knew it was a little toxic. 

- He still remembers looks back on that night often. Just after the comeback-  he’d been strung out on that restless energy he often gets after they’ve finished. another cycle of their career. All keyed up with nowhere for his energy to go. It had been late into the night and nearly morning when you’d finished enjoying each others company. Taehyung leaning back against the pillows, so deeply stated that he felt the ache in his bones. Eyes already fluttering closed he’d reached out to touch you, only to find you not there already pulling up your pants by the door. 

- And Tae’s serotonin and oxytocin high brain hadn’t been able to look past much more than your jiggling ass for a moment before he realized that fuck- you’re not staying. “What are you doing?” he’d asked, a little scathed, and you turned around like you were trying not to get your hopes up.

- “Going home to sleep? like i usually do?” Taehyung feels the stinging in his chest like a wound. Dreams of sleeping with his arm thrown over your waist, holding you close and trying to fit you into the lonely space in his chest- extinguished in a violent moment. (Tae had a feeling you’d fit there perfectly- and now to have you snatched out of reach feels like disappointment) “aren’t you just going to sleep here?”  

-“Nah im kinda hungry” you lie. He shrugs not getting it “I could always make you breakfast in the morning,” his words are interrupted by a yawn, “or now?” 

- “You don’t need too” “but what if I want to” all at once you’re frustrated. “Tae- what are we doing here?” you throw your jacked down with an upset humf, “we both know you’re not going to date a girl like me so why- why are you making this harder than you need too-”  

- “hold on-hold on” he jumps out of bed, suddenly so awake that his heart is pounding. “who the fuck told you that i don’t want to date you?” Your hand hovers on the doorknob an inch away from your relationship being nothing, and Taehyung is brazen and unshy, nearly proving your point when he just gets out of bed all of himself on display. At least he has the good grace to pull on a pair of boxer shorts. “you mean? you do?” 

- “Of course i want to date you!” he’s an inch away, and his large hands just barely brushes yours “you like all the same things as me, i love talking about books with you and cuddling with you and having you here when i get home- things have just been so busy lately- i didn’t want to make it feel rushed. but i do- i do want you to be mine unless you don’t want-”

- You’d hated how unsure he looked in that moment. Most of the time- you’re so unsure yourself that you forget how it must look to Taehyung. But in that moment you can see your own expression on his face, and you hate it there just as much as he hates it when it’s on your face. 

- That night had ended with you soft in Taehyung's clothing, smelling like him. talking it through with him until the sun actually had come up. “I guess I just got so caught up in giving you what you wanted because I thought that was all I could get.”

- He touches you so delicately, his fingers stroking down the line of your throat as you talk so that he can feel the words in his fingertips as you say them. “tell me how I can be better- please, I want to be a good-” taehyung swallows against the hope in his throat. “I want to be a good boyfriend for you.” 

- Your more giving nature didn’t stop there, and you were always determined to give taehyung more than you took in your relationship. Like your very presence in his life was enough of a gift in itself. But it’s something that Taehyung has always been able to see through. In the same way that you feel like you’re not enough for him. The same way he feels that he can’t give you everything you want or need. Like a date out in public or Anonymity if you were ever to take your relationship public.

- You’ve been mobbed more than once just because you came out of the same apartment complex he lived in. And even though no one knows you’re dating Tae besides those who know you personally, Taehyung fears that one day you’re going to want something he can’t give you.

- Like others he’d dated in the past. The girls (and one boy) who had all told him after a few months “either go public or we’re through” or gotten tired of not being able to partake in the same things all their friends did, like getting walked home or going out for dinner on a Thursday without making an expensive reservation. You were never like that.

- At the beginning, you’d just smiled when Tae had told you he couldn’t be seen with you out in public. You’d just given him a soft but understanding smile and volunteered your apartment as long as he brought his most comfortable pajamas to stay the night incase he got too drunk to drive home.

- Those nights, you’d often ended up drunk on the floor of your bedroom and Taehyung remembers looking down at you from above, his hand unintentionally wound in your hair. Somehow you’d ended up in his pajamas and he didn’t mind at all.  

- “You know- I can’t give you a lot” it had taken Tae a long time to open up to you after his last break up, but then he’d felt the dizzying smoothness of your skin against his- more intoxicating that the alcohol. You’d giggled up at him, equally as drunk. “Just give me you, Tae, and that will be enough.”

- it was around then that Taehyung had made a promise to himself. He may not be able to give you everything a boyfriend should be able to give you. but he’d give you himself fully, and anything else he could give without endangering his career.

- Sometimes you can’t believe that you’re dating an idol- let alone someone as genuinely beautiful as Taehyung. Sure- knows one knows you’re dating him. But only someone who didn’t know your relationship would think he was just a status symbol or something. You don’t need to show each other off to know your love is real.

- Though you do partake in couple items fairly often- Taehyung has a certain love for things expensive. And he does like to spoil you in the small ways- accessories are the best for you- Taehyung knows they don’t trigger your body dysmorphia in the same way clothes do. He still has the first couple item you ever got- a beat-up scarf in coordinating colors, the edge of yours torn- hanging over the doorway that leads to your walk in closet. The fabric too worn to wear out normally.

- Early on- he’d fucked up and gotten you a skirt that was a size to small. He’d tried to help you into it, and helped you try and zip it up. But after a moment when it was clear the zipper wasn’t going to go over your hips (one of Taehyung’s favorite parts of you and the whole reason why he’d bought you the skirt)

- You’d slapped his hand away, and Taehyung had looked up- miffed for a moment but knowing he’d fucked up when he saw your eyes fill with tears. He’d apologized again and again, And you were careful to make sure he knew it wasn’t his fault but the skirt had ended up thrown to the back of the closet and shoved in a bag meant for donations.

 - Now Taehyung knows Some days your body genuinely doesn’t bother you, but others you live a much more dire reality that you try to hide from Tae. he also knows that you don’t like talking about it. He might enjoy telling you the minute details of just exactly why Namjoon pissed him off today during practice and hashing it out again later when his temper has dissipated. But you don’t like to talk about your insecurities in so many words. 

- Sometimes the words hover on the edge of his tongue because he should tell you that It genuinely doesn’t bother him when you flip flop between needing to spend hours of your time on your makeup and being okay with your face as it is. And if hours are what you need to feel okay then fuck- Taehyung will learn everything about how you like to do your hair. 

- The other days when you change 5 times before it becomes clear that it’s not the clothes That's making you feel so distressed. your side of the closet torn apart. When you can’t meet Tae’s eyes when it feels like nothing fits you anymore. More than once you’ve decided that you don’t really want to leave the apartment if the only thing you feel comfortable in is a pair of his sweatpants and a baggy tee-shirt. Tae only wants to make sure you get what you need. You don’t need to hide your bad days from Tae.

- but Taehyung hates those unhappy days when there's not more that he can do than let you hide your body underneath the baggiest blanket possible on your couch. Calling to cancel your plans, and then join you there. You tell him he should go hang out with your friends without you but if you don’t go with him- there’s really no point. 

- He knows it's just a little unhealthy- but he’d miss you the whole time and want to text you through all of it. And your friends would end up annoyed that Tae was on his cellphone. Better to spend the night here, even if you flinch when he touches you later that night. 

- And really- he doesn’t mind at all, all of that stuff, it only makes him worried about you. The person he loves more than anything. And he tries to help you through the little things. Complimenting you whenever he can (and do it while being genuine so they don’t feel hollow to you) and feeding you from his own chopsticks at dinnertime. Gently gripping your chin in his hand and murmuring “it’s my job to keep you healthy.” 

- for what it’s worth when Taehyung does have more free time than usual- he keeps track. More than once he’s had to worry and wonder if you’re actually eating anything when he’s not around. He looks for the evidence of a lie on your face and in the kitchen to see if it takes the form of untouched or spoiled food. gone before you could convince yourself to eat it.

-  And even though he can’t find any evidence of this- the threat still lingers on the edge of his mind. He’s had his experience with unhealthy behaviors and he knows the starting signs.  

- But it comes to a head one night when he sees you looking through a bunch of catalogs. You might struggle to find things that you feel comfortable in on your worst days but you do like to help Taehyung shop. It’s a game that you play. Competing to see which one of you can find the weirdest outfit or the strangest prints. Though you win more often then he does. Leaning over your computer to laugh and say “okay- but actually, it’s terrible and I want it and I don’t know why.” 

- For as hard as your relationship can be- there are also countless moments of happiness, more than taehyung could ever properly appreciate. but god if he’s not going to try to treasure this love he has with you. The kind of love that's sweet like honey regardless of the broken glass mixed in. 

- It’s one of your lazy day activities. Both of you sit on the couch under a fluffy duvet with matching glasses of wine. A drama playing in the back round. His hand alternating between hovering on your knee and reaching for his wine glass.  

- Tae gets wrapped up in looking at a strange line of weird art neveauy Dress shirts and when he looks over he sees to his surprise- that you’re looking at dresses. These dresses are the long kind- the kinds that are white and flowy with beaded sleeves or shear mermaid designs, most in blush and cream tones.  

- You notice him looking and quickly tilt your screen- but it’s too late he’s already asking to see. You’re shy but eventually, tae wrestles it away from you with a kiss and a chuckle- you complain that he almost made you spill wine on the couch. His eyes widen more as he clicks through your tabs of which there are eight. And he commits the name of the designer to memory Because these...these are almost like wedding dresses and you’ve never expressed much interest in Dresses like these. 

- As if the drama you’re watching seems to fortel this conversation; this episode is the wedding episode. taehyung watches you as he checks through the tabs and you watch the bride and groom with a far away look in your eyes. As the characters go through the antics of losing their rings and the evil stepmother spilling wine onto the bride's white dress.

- When you do speak, it’s so soft that Taehyung has to lean in to hear it. your secret whispered into open air. “Sometimes it’s easy to think- that I’ll never get married. Get to wear a dress like that. It’s not that I don’t think you love me,” you’re quick to reassure him. his stricken expression melting away as his words die in his throat. “-or that you wouldn’t- won’t ever propose. And this isn’t me trying to guilt trip you into it either but-” 

-Taehyung rubs a reassuring stroke down your arm. Your eyes locked on the dress on the screen, eyes so hungry and wanting but sad too like you know it’s futile to want something so simple. It’s so ordinary to taehyung but to you it feels unreachable. “Dresses like that- princess dresses and wedding dresses- are things that other girls get. Girls that have the perfect body and the perfect hair- the perfect everything. Things that I don’t see when i look in the mirror.”

- Taehyung is soft when he touches you, guiding you to set your wine and your computer away, closing the screen too so that the picture of the dress goes away too. Leading you to sit across his lap. Touching your face gently like you’re the most beautiful thing that’s ever graced his fingertips. 

- “That’s what they get and i-” you rest a hand on your chest and for a moment- Taehyung can see how much it just aches. Whatever hole has been left in your heart by your trauma, Tae feels it as keenly as you do. “I get to feel like this all the time.” 

- Feelings of powerlessness fill him up. He wishes he could make you feel as beautiful as he views you- but he knows that the words of another only do so much. But he can’t say nothing He feels so tongue tied. he’s so painfully aware that he might say something that just makes you feel worse. he swallows through the lump in his throat. “I know this won’t make it any better, but I think you’re beautiful, and you deserve the world- and all the pretty dresses you want.” 

- He bites his lower lip, mindful of not making promises he Doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep. He’d propose to you right now if he thought it would magically make you feel better but he doubts that would fix the issue. Your self-esteem issues run deeper than that. through wounds that are older than your relationship and too deep for Taehyung to heal with a few words.  He touches your face softly “let me try- to make you feel as beautiful as you are to me” his kisses get hotter and you return them “let me try” he promises. 

- That night you make love on your couch and for that moment of ecstasy you let yourself believe you’re worth the touch of Kim Taehyung. That alone is something that’s hard for you to believe every day. And you try to compensate for the ways that you feel lacking sometimes in the worst ways. he still doesn't like to think of the beginning of your relationship for that reason. 

- but Something about that day with the wedding dresses weighs on him though, bothers him in a way he just can’t articulate. And it’s not until he confesses to Jungkook about what happened and how he feels strangely futile about the whole thing, that Jungkook gives him the simplest answer. 

- “If she wants to feel beautiful in a wedding dress hyung, why don’t you just buy her the dress?” Taehyung starts to try and backtrack but Jungkook shakes his head. “I didn’t say marry her- just dress her up like you are and take her out on a date- make sure she knows beforehand. But there’s no reason why you can’t make her feel like a princess.” 

- So Taehyung does just that- picks out a dress not unlike one of the ones that you mentioned you liked. Layers of lace and delicate tulle, perfect for you. Yes it’s from a wedding line but it is more of a light dust pink. A dainty and dreamy color perfect for the day that he aims to create. He double and triple checks your measurements because the dress is made to fit and he doesn’t want to repeat the skirt experience. 

- Your actual date is a picnic set out on a thick knit blanket on a hill overlooking the ocean. He gets the picnic basket made for you by a restaurant. Delicate pastries filled with sweet meats, freshly cut figs and sweet berries and fruits. More than you could logically both eat in a sitting but sue him- Taehyung likes going a little overboard. All paired with your favorite bottle of wine. Wildflowers and delicate blooms too- all set out on the blanket. 

- He Gets you booked for a private appointment at a hair stylist and makeup artists and surprises you. Tells you to keep your Saturday open for him, you level him with a look over dinner. “What are you planning kim Taehyung?” he smiles into his glass. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see princess?” you raise your eyebrow at the unintended and unusual term of endearment and let it slide as he pales at the unintended slip up. 

- At first you’re a little skeptical- this isn’t the first surprise date he’s planned (and it probably won’t be the last). So you humor him with a small smile when he sits you down in the stylist’s chair late Saturday. You face away from the mirror, the stylists under orders to keep your look hidden from you until they’re done. 

- before you start, He puts his hand on the back of your chair and leans in to press a quick kiss to your forehead “are you okay here while I go and get things ready?” the stylists buzz around you spoiling you with mimosas and fruit too, making sure you’re comfortable before they start. Tae really did bring out all the stops for this. 

- You are okay with this, or at least you think you are until you finish with your hair and makeup- you can feel it, the layer of the expensive products on your skin and the faint burning in your hair as they set your hair in delicate fairy like curls, small pins with little flowers that you see out of the corner of your eyes, you see the swatch of red on the lip brush when they paint your mouth- and it starts to feel like too much when they lead you to a changing room- and you see the dress hanging on the hook. 

- “She won’t come out Mr. Kim.” one of the assistants informs him when Taehyung comes back to get you. Everything is set up, the weather is perfect, the flowers in the field blooming when Taehyung stopped by to make sure that everything was all set out. Jungkook is in place too- ready to be your private photographer.

- That’s the little surprise- since Taehyung hopes you won't see him if he manages to hide well in the bushes and snap photos while you have lunch and lounge in the grass. Jungkook promised to leave if it looks like things where about to get steamy. And thinking about the dress- Taehyung can't say that’s not a possibility. 

- There is something incredibly alluring about the idea, hiking up your delicate skirt. The way it might just look if Taehyung had you pull the thin straps down. Getting you out of it just enough to slip close to your warmth. you could even rollplay it- Taehyung some night who had no business touching someone as beautiful and you; a princess so sweet and ethereal hidden in some forgotten stretch of palace garden.  Like something out of the stories you used to both read when you were just inches away in a coffee shop. 

- But right now all he wants to do is make sure you’re okay as he barely calls your name before he rushes through the satin curtain in to see you. Sitting on the velvet poof in nothing more than a silk robe, leaning your head on your hand as you look at the dress with more than a little apprehension. 

- He’s polished himself up since he saw you- his dark green suit the perfect color swatch against the dusty pink of the dress. you turn to see him and tae- oh Tae is in love with the way that they’ve outlined your lips like two petals of a perfect rose. The faint sparkle that dusts your cheeks. Taehyung’s whole body thrums as he looks at you. 

- “Taehyung” even the way you say his name is a question, “why did you get me all dressed up like this?” 

- Taehyung lets out a deep shaking breath, taking your hands in his, “im not proposing to you today,” is the first thing he says, and he can tell the words shock you a little- that can’t have been a thought far from your mind. But he presses on before he can get too nervous to continue. 

- “But the other day- when you talked about never getting to feel pretty- like a princess. I wanted to give you that. Even if we never get married- or at least can’t for a while- you deserve to feel as beautiful as a bride on her wedding day every day and I guess-“ he stumbles forward over the edge of a carpet and you catch him a little. His large fingers tumbling through your small ones. tangling and untangling. “I guess I just wanted to be your groom for a day too.” 

- “So you thought you’d take me out on a date and get me all dolled up for what?” Taehyung can tell you got the idea of what he’s going for now, a small smile tugging at your lips and Taehyung feels like he’s won a prize. He nudges your shoulder with his; leaning close like it’s a secret, “I even have a picnic basket.”

- You giggle at his wink and Tae directs you to the dress. But you kick him out. The stylists give him a look, shuffling around with their things and cleaning up. But he holds up his hands. “Apparently I’m not supposed to see her until the grad reveal” they nod- like this is some sort of unspoken rule but sue him- Taehyung wants to see you look pretty in the dress he picked out. 

- Taehyung thinks he’s prepared to see you in the not-wedding- wedding dress- but he’s not. You knock the breath out of him. The shade of your lipstick the same tone as your dress just more saturated. It fists you better than Taehyung dreamed it would. And truly- you look like a princess at a ball- or at the very least a fairy. 

- Taehyung holds out his hand, The picture of a gentleman. You still look unsure, but you take his hand anyway. You stop when you see yourself in the mirror. Unable to believe that really you look this different in makeup, but the makeup artists really are talented. You look ethereal. The blush on your cheeks just enough to feel like a natural flush. Your lashes long and pillowy and thick, your lips bitten looking and buttery red pink. 

- You walk up to the glass and touch the surface, certain for a moment that this really is a fairytale and you have fallen down the rabbit hole like Alice. You don’t say anything, and neither does Tae- he just takes your hand and spins you under his arm, your dress flares out around you- swishing with the heavy weight of many layers of fabric and tulle. And you let yourself fall into his arms like some damsel and tae your knight in his swept back golden hair. 

- “I’m going to buy you every dress like this in the world if it makes you smile like this my love” normally he wouldn’t refer to you as my love- but today- when everything is a fairytale- it almost feels fitting. You are smiling, and you give yourself another long look in the mirror before you turn on him. Dimly aware that some of the makeup artists are swooning at the picture you paint. 

- for once, you have to admit- you look well matched. 

- “I was promised a date Kim Taehyung” you say, a smile toying at the edge of your lips. Taehyung holds out his hand, bowing at the waist. “It would be my honor of having you accompany me Ms. Y/l/n.” 

- “That’s ‘your highness’ to you” and both of you can’t help but let out a giggle at the ridiculous farce. Your ‘chariot’ is nothing more than Taehyung’s car. The one you’re used to taking. And the drive isn’t all that far away. an hour at most. 

- Far below- the ocean turns the sea spray and distant rumbling the only clue to the shore below you. You almost want to swoon at the picture that Taehyung had set up, flowers laid out on the white blanket, food and other things, a Bluetooth speaker set up playing soft music. Taehyung makes sure to lay out the food. And feed you mouthfuls of sweet figs that taste sweeter when he licks the juice off of your tongue. 

- After lunch Taehyung takes a few polaroid’s of you. Because even if Jungkook is doing what he promised, Taehyung still wants ones that are taken from his hands. He gets a few of you, stretched out against the white blanket, your arched enticingly without your shoes on, discarded in the grass. It could be a boudoir photo-shoot with the way it makes Taehyung’s mouth go dry, if not for the way the lace clings to your body. Covering the bits Tae wants to see. His hands hot and heavy on your calf, and sliding up.  

- He thinks of actually doing a boudoir photo-shoot with you, considers the likelihood of you agreeing to it. he imagines your body bare against heavenly silks, hips hiked up to show off the curve of your ass. one day- Taehyung will convince you to model for him that way. Even if he suffers through the whole thing feeling as strung out as he does now.

- After lunch you take the stairs down to the water's edge and take your shoes off. Running in the sea spray, Taehyung gets a few more photos of you like that. Laughing at a joke he’s said, holding your dress up and out of the water. Collecting little shells that you shove into the pocket of his suit. 

- All in all- by the time you get back up the rocky staircase and back to clean things up- your lipstick is kissed off your mouth, you have sand in the bottom of your shoes, and you smell more like sea spray than expensive perfume. But you feel pretty and delicate in a way that you’ve never felt before. And you’re certain that it’s all because of Tae. Taehyung’s used up all of the rolls of film that he brought- and he’s sure jungkook has too. between the two of them they’ve probably taken over 300 photos of you. 

- “Did I do a good job today?” Taehyung asks on the drive home, always a good sucker for some good old words of affirmation. Stopping for fast food because- what his princess wants- his princess gets. “The best” you say. Head tipped back against the seat, already looking sleepy, Taehyung’s suit jacket pulled across your shoulders. “You really are my prince charming Tae.

- And he is- even if the dragon that needs slaying in one firmly locked inside of your head. Taehyung will help you defeat it, even if it takes 100 days and 100 different dresses. 

- Taehyung ends up buying you more dresses. Every color. And your new game becomes finding more of them. taehyung collects pointlessly pretty things to make you feel more beautiful, and he loves every moment of it. 

- When the photos come back from Jungkook (a secret they had actually managed to keep) your eyes go wide as you take in the photos, so much clearer than the ones that tae had taken on his polaroid camera. You paint a gorgeous picture together, him in his green that matches the grass and you- as delicate as the flowers around you. 

- But your favorite thing about the photos- isn’t how you look (though you have to admit for once- that you did look beautiful) it’s the way Taehyung is looking at you. He’s looking at you like he’s aching, like It hurts to be parted from you even an inch. 

- There is one series of three photos that you like the most. Where you’ve closed your eyes and are leaning back in the sun and his hair is shining, one moment he’s not holding your hand and he’s frowning, looking so jaggedly honest and thoughtful, and then next your hand is in his and he’s smiling brighter than the sun. 

- You hang the photos in your living room. And next to the other photos you have, you don’t look nearly as happy as you do in those. It’s your smile that's different. When you look at the polaroids that tae’s taken of you. You’re smiling at him behind the camera, and you think even if it weren’t for the makeup and the dress- you still think you’d look beautiful in the photos. 

- happiness- the kind that comes unburdened by insecurity- looks good on you, and if you can get that by love- by being in love and being loved with your pain instead of despite it, then it’s all the more beautiful. 

- you go on more ‘pretty dates’ as you like to call them. and Taehyung watches you change slowly- but it’s for the better. As you don’t shy away from your reflection, wear longer dresses and prettier things without thinking. Wear that shade of lipstick again, and even go out wearing nothing at all on your face and seem not to feel anything. Taehyung knows it’s a struggle some days still- and yet you make it look so effortless. 

- it's the worst when tae comes home and he finds whatever outfit you picked out for yourself already hung back up- and he’ll whine and beg you to put it on again until you eventually concede. Capturing them in black and white, in technicolor, in isolated swatches of red and blue. he loves taking pictures- especially if theyre of you.  

- The picture wall gets added to in the future, until there is no more space in your living room. You call taehyung an obsessive flirt when he insists on hanging them up and he calls you his muse. You go on more not wedding wedding dates. And it’s no surprise to either of you when one-day someone- a fan spots and you soon pictures of you are plastered all over the internet- stories about a secret wedding between taehyung and a mystery girl. 

-  And in the end- it doesn't feel like you give up much with the unintended outing of your relationship. Taehyung couldn’t take it back even if he wanted to and he doesn't. now he gets to hold your hand and go out in public. “No- we’re not married yet. But we have been dating for a while so please respect our privacy.” He tells the reporters when he gets ambushed. And after a few stressful months where you lean into each other more than ever, things calm down. 

- You have to be a little more secretive after that, careful when and where you plan your ‘pretty dates’ or so Taehyung has liked to call them. A sudden rush of seaside weddings this season makes that difficult and is entirely due to you and your pictures. it seems that you have become an unintended trend setter. the dress you wore selling out too. 

- The hits of his love are always there, in every photograph, in every dress that appears in your closet, in ever tender moments. other hits are there too- hints of more love to come. when Taehyung asks you out for another pretty date, careful to make sure you get your hair done and your nails too. His nervousness written all over his face and his actions. 

- And when you find a ring box, hidden in the pocket of one of Taehyung’s sweatpants the morning you’re supposed to go on your date, You’re not surprised in the slightest. 

- You keep your discovery a secret. After all you only have a few hours to wait.  

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Please Reblog and Comment, Likes are nice, but they do little to support content creators! 

Kofi 

[king-paimon]

HnK Chapter 95 Thoughts: The cruelest chapter of all times

AKA: The chapter everyone hated

AKA: No happy ending in sight

AKA: Haruko Ichikawa is a monster

AKA: I called it again (and I wish I was wrong)

AKA: Talk about kicking someone while they’re down

Ms. Haruko Ichikawa. You’ve truly done it. You truly are a cruel, sadistic, trolling monster. You leave us with this chapter? This chapter that truly shows us that despite every hardship they faced, Phos gets nothing. This chapter shows that Phos was destined to be in constant misery, and to rub that in with literally everyone else is free and happy? And to add more salt to the wound, you’re leaving us on an hiatus for who knows how long??

This is without a doubt the cruelest chapter to leave us on and this is probably one of the cruelest things a mangaka can ever do for a series as intense as this. I wish the previous chapter was the last one for the end of this year because at least with that one, it would have given us some sense of something.

Man. I’m both horrified and amazed by you, Ms. Ichikawa. I’m not even being sarcastic, I’m truly in awe.

Ugh.

As you can see, I have several things I have to say about this and... Just wow. This chapter. In these posts, I try my best to try and write my thoughts with the most rational mindset but... I don’t know how well I’ll be able to do that with this chapter. What a way to end this horrible year. 

But with this chapter’s ending and the implication for what is yet to come... this marks as the story’s descend to it’s bitter end, and I now wish I didn’t make that prediction last month.

I know I said in another post that I was going to write this in a few days, but I changed my mind. I’m getting this out now while my thoughts are still fresh in my mind. Please don’t mind the writing errors, I’m very tired, I’m writing this at 3 in the morning and I need to sleep. I promise I will come back to this and tidy it up later.

Anyways, here we go:

Haruko Ichikawa: Manipulator of emotions

Ms. Ichikawa really toyed with us with this chapter. So many things happened in such a short amount of time and I’m trying to process it. Also, doesn’t feel like too much happened in this chapter? Especially in comparison to the previous chapters, where everything was stretched out, to then have this chapter have so many things happen all at once. This chapter, in many ways, feels very rushed... and this style of story telling has me very worried about what’ll happen from here on out. I’ll talk more about what I mean by this later, but for now, let’s focus on the story of this chapter:

So... Antarctictite is back now. Adamant is back, too. So are most of destroyed gems, both the ones we knew and the ones we never got meet. And they are all now Lunarians... Hm.

I don’t like this or anything in this chapter for many reasons. In fact, I’ll go as far to say that I don’t like where the whole story is headed for these same reasons: 

The first reason: The emotional turmoil from the previous chapters

For the past 10 or so chapters, I’d been anticipating the destruction of the gems and Adamant. I was one of the people who didn’t like the idea of it happening, though I knew they kind of deserve it. And I remember how sad I was seeing Adamant turn to nothing but dust and seeing how everything was affecting Phos after the bloodlust ceased.

But it all led up to...this. In the very next chapter, after watching those heart wrenching scenes of the gems being broken down and Adamant’s last moments with Phos...we see him and the other gems being brought back like it was nothing.  And on top of that, they are totally happy Lunarians now. Yeah. Okay.

So it feels like the emotional tole that I felt for these characters I didn’t want to see get destroyed...meant nothing. Not going to lie: I kind of wish you all stayed destroyed.

And you know what? It’s kind of funny. In my Chapter 94 post, I said I was sad that we didn’t get to see Adamant and Aechmea interact and I didn’t think there would be a way now that Adamant is dust. Well. I was wrong. It happened. I got the interaction that wanted. Wasn’t worth it. 

So to sum up this first reason: The emotional turmoil that I personally experienced watching the characters I like get destroyed... meant nothing in the end.

Now I don’t know how to feel about these characters. It sucks. I even had a post that I was starting write about on a certain controversial character that I couldn’t bring myself to hate, despite everything, but I’m now debating whether or not I should still write it. I think I will, but there will be a lot of edits.

The second reason: Negation of personal growth

One of the things that has been brought up many times by fans is about how the gems dealt with problems. Instead of trying to address the problem and talk to try to fix it, they chose to ignore it and sweep it under the rug, no matter how upsetting it is to the characters involved. All of the gems, both Earth and Moon, constantly choose to not confront the issue and stay blissfully ignorant.

And now that they’re accepting to be Lunarians, it feels like they’re just running away again. Instead of confronting the Lunarians or having the gems properly talking with each other about how things got to the point where they had to once fight each other, they are like: Oh, we can be Lunarians so we don’t have to fight with them anymore? Awesome. Let’s do it.

Everyone is once again going with the flow, just sweeping the glaring issues that they all carried for so long, and are just accepting the new reality that they are in with no problems whatsoever. No addressing of anything means no character growth for all of them. No one grew from this experience. No one learned that ignoring the problems doesn’t solve them. They aren’t solving their previous issues, they are masking it under the belief that becoming Lunarian automatically solves all of their problems. 

No talking between Diamond or Bort. No talking with Yellow about their traumas or any of the other gems in the same boat. And no talking about how everything that happened lead to Phos doing what they did. It’s even more disappointing how Antarcticite was the only one who showed any concern about Phos or even thought to bring them up in the first place.

Edit: Also to add, the other problem here is how the are conscious choosing to remove your identity. They are not only choosing to loose their identity as gems, but they are fine loosing their memories as well. Not to mention how Cairngorm is once again being given a new identity to go by, from Aechmea, and is totally fine with it. That scene was small but once again, the fact that they are fine pretty much erasing what made them who they are is...unnerving. 

So pretty much to sum up this: Once again, everything meant nothing in the end. 

Speaking of Phos...

The third reason: Phos’s miserable fate

Phos, once again, got the short end of the stick. After everything that they’ve done, from trying to save everyone but themselves, to doing what was once seen as cruel for the sake of everyone to finally do something for themselves to go back to wanting to save the others after the bloodlust was gone... to get this ending for themselves.

But wow, what a cruel twist: Phos’s old goal was fulfilled. Thanks to them, the gems don’t have to live in fear of being destroyed or taken or anything. Thanks to Phos, everyone is free. Everyone now is going to be happy for the rest of their existance...at the cost of Phos’s expense.  

Phos lost everything. 

Their body. 

Their sanity. 

Their identity. 

Everything.

What do they get in return?

10,000 years of nothing but their own miserable existence and dark, depressing thoughts.

In the end, everything that Phos experienced not only sent them crashing down to rock bottom: it sent him to the chore of the earth, back out the other side, then back into the earth, in an endless cycle of just constant misery. 

That’s a theme in buddhism, if that’s what I’m recalling right from @rinboz​‘s posts: a cycle of continuous misery. That is clearly embodied here through Phos and Phos will continue to suffer the pain of existing while everyone else got what they wanted in the end, especially Aechmea. 

Speaking of which, I also genuinely want to know if there’s still fans out there who view Aechmea as a good guy for ‘liberating’ Phos, because as far as I see, thanks to him, Phos is now stuck in an even more miserable form of existence. At least before everything, everyone was miserable together with Phos. Sort of. Still better than what we got with this chapter, in my opinion. (Please do share your thoughts, if you do. I promise, this is not an attack. I’m just interested to hear your thoughts, if you’re willing to share)

But now, there’s no there for Phos. And unlike those other instances where Phos was in a situation and someone somewhat saves them like Adamant and Padparadscha once did before, there’s no one there. So unless there’s some Admirabilis hiding around there or if the Gem/lunarians decide to come to them, which I doubt will happen, there’s no one for Phos. No one is coming to help/save them.

Phos will have to suffer all alone. For 10,000 years. Phos is the last existing gem being now...even though technically, they aren’t really a gem anymore. 

Once again, to sum up why I don’t like this chapter nor how the story has progressed: Phos’s suffering meant nothing to them in the end. That’s the other theme I’m trying to hammer in in this post: Everything meant nothing in the end.

I��ve already seen a few fans react to the chapter and I saw one state that if the Lunarians, including the gems, were to come to Phos to pray for them, the poster hopes Phos tells them to “F* off” And you know what, I hope so too. But this revelation has me fearing for what’s going to happen the series, or more specifically, how and when it’ll officially end.

No true happy ending in sight and not exactly for the reasons you think

As always, it’s hard to predict how Ms. Ichikawa is going to end this series. Us fans made many predictions and a good number of them came true, but it’s the ending that eludes us. Some hope for a happy ending for Phos, while many, including myself, predict that it’ll be anything but happy. And now, with this chapter...I think it’s set in stone now.

Last month, in response to someone asking me how I think the series might end, I made a few small predictions. Some for a good ending, a bittersweet ending, and a bad ending.... 

...and it looks like that first sad ending is where the series is heading after all:

Everyone is gone/moved on and Phos stays behind as a lonely, immortal being.

Even though this small prediction was correct, how it’s all playing out was not exactly how I’d envisioned. It’s worse. And what’s making me even more worried is that based off of where the story is headed, my gut feelings are saying that the series ending is near. And it won’t be to anyone’s satisfaction.

Whenever I get invested in a series, other than worrying about how the creators will handle their characters and story, one of my biggest worries is about how the creators handle their ending. I’m truly afraid about what Ms. Ichikawa is planning for this series because I can’t help but fear it’s not going to end well. It’s not the worry that the series will have a sad/bittersweet ending, even though that concern is still there though I’ve accepted the likelihood, but rather I’m worried that the next chapter or so will be the abrupt end to this series. This concern is because of how rushed this chapter felt and I can’t help but worry that Ms. Ichikawa is now rushing to the end of the story. And to be honest, the addition fact that Ms. Ichikawa is going on hiatus is not helping these uneasy feelings. 

I hate being the pessimistic one but what if this happens? What if Ms. Ichikawa decides to end the series here or in the next chapter? What if the next chapter is literally another time skip, with all of the characters that I once cared about just NOT progressing, and Phos continuously being stuck in this immortal and we’re expected to accept this as the ending. Because other than Phos, everyone’s story, from what it looks like, is at their end now. I really hope that doesn’t happen. I’ve seen great series end so terribly too often and I’ve loved this story for so long that I hope that doesn’t happen with this series too. I love this series a lot and it’s characters, even the ones who I don’t think I like as much as I did after this chapter. I hope the series will end nicely... but I don’t think it will.

Back to predictions on how the story will progress: I made a post a few days ago about how I hope the forgotten plot elements will come into play and the fact that Aechmea isn’t omnipresent. More than ever, part of me hopes those elements will come back and have a positive impact for Phos’s story, especially the omnipresent part. But again, I don’t think I’ll hope too much for it because looking at Ms. Ichikawa’s past works... I don’t think they will, at least not in the way I’m hoping for.

Maybe I’m too used to Western (American/European) stories, where the protagonist somehow beats the odds and wins in the end. This isn’t always the case for Eastern stories, especially stories from Japan. They usually end bittersweet and I don’t think Houseki no Kuni will be the exception. I know I’ve said this saying many times before and with each passing chapter, these words become more and more true:

Phos’s suffering is never going to end. 

And unless someone does something to change the course of the story, which I don’t think will ever happen now, Phos is never going to have a happy ending. 

If I could wish for anything, it’d be that this story ends on a satisfying note. I know, I know. It’s foolish to still hope for that it’ll happen, given everything I’ve seen from Ms. Ichikawa before...But still. I don’t want to lose all of the hope that I have left for this series. Even though that hope is nearly diminished, it’s still there.

So please, Ms. Ichikawa. Please give us a satisfying ending for Phos. Please let them go.  If anyone deserves a dignifying conclusion to their story, it’s them.  Let them rest. End their suffering. Please give them the ending they deserve after everything they went through.

You’ll likely won’t though.  

Because this is Phos.

And to be Phos is to constantly suffer.

Well, regardless, I truly hope you’re hiatus goes well, Ms. Ichikawa. Even though you are a cruel troll, your work is still amazing and I applaud you for your story telling and your love to mess with us. I hope you enjoy your time away and when you return, I hope that you’ll continue to give us amazing content and eventually give Phos the ending they deserve. Please. That’s all I want.

I hope you all a nice holiday season, too, or at least try to.

Happy Holidays. 

Can’t wait for 2020 to end.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

31 from the touch list? Please?

31 (touches). doing a pinky swear

((prompt list here - still accepting!!))

u didn't request any ships/characters specifically so here's Magnus n Lucretia (platonic)

--

It was five days back into a new cycle and Lucretia still wasn't talking to him, which Magnus was trying to accept. Last year hadn't been great for any of them, he was sure, but it was specifically terrible for Magnus, Barry, and Lucretia. There hadn't been any humans on that plane but there had been a council. The world was full of strange and mysterious oddities that the council set out to study. Being freshly new and odd, the council had taken it upon themselves to-

Study was putting it lightly.

Barry had been taken first, under the prose that the council just wanted to speak to him, privately. The "private meeting" went on for much longer than they had agreed upon and when they had gone to look for Barry, he hadn't been there.

Davenport had made Lucretia and Magnus promise not to leave the ship. They did so, Magnus less willing than Lucretia, and well-

Magnus was usually good at following orders. But there were lives at stake. Humans weren't the only ones being hurt by the council and the breaking point for him had been seeing a dog-like creature dragged into the research center, as Davenport made him stand back and out of the way.

He tried sneaking out in the middle of the night, but Lucretia had caught up with him. They argued for a bit about Davenport's rule and then set out together, to go find Barry. Lucretia had made Magnus promise- promise, wholeheartedly- that he wouldn't do anything rash. Magnus agreed, knowing how he was, and without the intent to actually follow through.

He had sort of... broken that promise upon seeing what was going on inside the research center. Even now, thinking about it made him sick. He felt guilty, after re-gen, for breaking his word, but even more guilty upon the realization that his actions had lead Lucretia to death for the first time ever.

That's probably why she wasn't talking, thinking logically about it. Taako and Lup had told him the story of what happened after (once they were done mobbing Barry, that is). It had been a grizzly sight and they had even convinced Davenport to let them burn down the facility once they rescued everyone inside. The sadness of missing a revolution was outmatched by the stinging regret he felt every time he saw Lucretia.

"Just- talk to her," Lup groaned, head in her hands, after Magnus had come to her for the fifth time to talk about it. She swept the papers she had been working on aside and turned to face him.

"Look, Mags, both of you are, putting it nicely, stubborn little shits- don't give me that look, you know you are. The rest of us are, too, that's why we're not perma-dead yet. But babe, you can't just let it lie. It's just gonna end with you two crying at each other and then getting over it. C'mon dude."

"But," Magnus started. Lup rolled her eyes.

"Lucy's like a sister to you, yeah?" Lup asked and Magnus nodded, frowning. "Okay, then take it from me, someone who has a terrible, horrible brother, whom I love very dearly. This fight, or whatever, isn't helping anyone. Communication is key when it comes to any relationship, even platonic ones. Stop being so scared that she's mad at you and start being scared that you might lose your friendship if you don't do anything."

"Right," Magnus said, a little more determined. "Okay, yeah. Thank you."

"Uh-huh," Lup said, turning back to his papers. "If you see Barry on your way tell him that, uh- the experiment we started earlier is going well."

"Is that code for something?" Magnus asked, watching the way Lup's face split into a sly grin.

"Not that I'll tell," she said, winking.

--

It took until that night for Magnus to properly work up the courage to talk to Lucretia, which made him feel stupid. He could run into a swarm of the Hunger feeling nothing but excitement, but the idea of talking with Lucretia about what had happened last cycle made him feel almost sick to his stomach.

In the end, he knocked on Lucretia's door half an hour before dinner. There was a shuffle from inside and then the door opened a bit and Lucretia peaked out. She didn't look surprised to see him there. If anything, she looked just about as nervous as Magnus felt.

"Alright," Lucretia said. "Come in."

She opened the door wider and beckoned Magnus inside. He had been in here before, of course. There was a slowly filling bookshelf of her journals, and journals she had yet to use. Her sheets were a dark, royal blue, from a fabric shop from a few cycles back. There was an easel in the corner and a bucket full of different types of paints and art... things... Magnus wasn't very well versed in any of it.

She pulled the chair out from her desk and let him sit, sitting on top of the desk herself. They stared.

"Taako said-" she started, at the same time he said,

"Lup-"

She grinned at him sheepishly. It made Magnus feel a lot better to know she had gotten advice, too. She gestured at him, letting him go first.

"I went to Lup," he began, "because I didn't know exactly how to- to fix this, but she just said to talk to you, and let it come out, so, uh. I'm sorry, I guess. No, I mean- I am sorry, I just- I'm not good at thinking through things and you got hurt because of it. You died because I rushed into something and I should have thought about that. I should have kept you in mind, but when I saw all those creatures getting hurt, and thought about what must have happened to Barry, I- couldn't help myself. I'm sorry you died because of it. Because- of because of me."

Lucretia was silent for a few moments, hands resting in her lap. He had been avoiding her eye during his speech, but when he was done, he looked up at her.

"I'm not angry because I died," she said. "I'm angry because you broke your promise."

"I- what?"

"I don't care that I died!" Lucretia said loudly, slamming her hand on the desk. "It fucking- yes, yeah, it hurt, but it hurt that you promised me you wouldn't rush in, and then you did! If you're going to be rash, you need to tell me outright- that's what got us killed, Magnus! That you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you were thinking!"

"I trust you!" Magnus said, but Lucretia shook her head. She was looking a little teary.

"Did you promise with the intention of actually keeping your word?" she asked, and when Magnus couldn't respond (because, no, he hadn't been planning to be "rash" about it), she turned away from him and said, "that's what I thought."

"They were hurting the animals and people they had there," Magnus said, finally, voice wet and hurt. "I couldn't just... let them do that. I couldn't, Lucretia."

"I know," she said, taking a deep breath. "I know. I just- just as appalled you was, trust me. We could have gotten out alive, though, I think. If you had taken the time to think about what to do with me. Like Lup and Taako did, when they broke everyone out after we died."

Something uncomfortable was rooted in Magnus's chest and it was that she was right- she was a hundred percent right. He had the tendency to act instead of think and had been like that before the Starblaster mission. It was fitting for a twenty-two-year-old, fresh into the real world, but- fuck. He wasn't twenty-two, anymore, not really.

He saw the pain in Lucretia's eyes and realized she wasn't twenty anymore, either. Not like they were when they started.

"You're right," Magnus said, nodding. "I broke my promise, willingly, and it was stupid of me. I can't promise things like that right off the back because I'm realizing I still have a lot of growing left to do. It's- weird, I think. Being so young with so much knowledge. I don't feel like I'm living up to the age I actually am."

Lucretia nodded, slowly, and looked into his eyes. He could see the tears in them.

"I shouldn't have made you promise something so drastic for you," Lucretia said.

"Maybe not," Magnus shrugged. "But there is something I can say- I can promise, I mean. Look, pinky swear, so you know I'm not lying."

He held out his pinky. Lucretia took it apprehensively in her own, a small smile sneaking back onto her face.

"I promise I'm gonna try to grow up," he swore and Lucretia snorted. "Seriously- maybe not like, uh, like I'm still gonna be childish as fuck, don't doubt that, but- I'm gonna try to think things through more. Think of the consequences to my actions."

He shook their pinky's, a bit violently. Lucretia took her hand back, looking at him appraisingly.

"I'll hold you to that," she said.

"Please do," Magnus said.

[eternalstrigoii]

Stuck On You

Borra x Dark Fey!reader (Cassia) as requested by @squishy-jellyfish for her birthday

                       The first time Borra tried to kiss you, he never fully reached your lips.

You dropped onto the mossy, mushroom-pocked earth at the edge of the forest with him at your side. Damp with mist from the jungle’s falls, your spread your wings to dry in the muted light of the midday sun. The veins of gold within your plumage glimmered like citrine. You thought, only half-heartedly, of the flowers he’d draped over your hair a handful of days before, and how this flight had to be some sort of repayment for your initial mistrust.

“I liked them, you know.”

“Hm?” His wings were larger than yours already, the desert’s strength at work. A shallow spider’s webbing of decorative marks had begun to form at the junction of his jaw, not far below his ear, and worked their way up toward the apple of his cheek. At sixteen, the boy who loved you was not nearly as lovely as he would become, though it was hardly a labor to look at him. He was lean – strong, but not yet hard-muscled, and not yet as tall or as broad as he would inevitably grow. His horns were not even as tall as they would end up being, though they were by no means unimpressive.

“The flowers. I liked the flowers you put in my hair.” You would’ve liked them better if he hadn’t pushed them through their whole lives so quickly.

“’M glad.” He stretched as though a few laps around the high caverns was some significant strain. His stomach flexed, and you did not realize your eyes lingered there until he rolled onto his elbow to face you. “I didn’t mean to run off on you.”

“It was alright.” Strange, but understandable. Shrike never let you live down the time the first time you grew papayas on your own, and how you’d offered up your spoils only to find out the hard way that they should’ve been left alone for at least a week longer.

It was not the first time he’d grown flowers, though. Even you knew that.

“That didn’t go the way I thought it would.”

You smiled at the canopy, for it blotted out the sight of the naked stone overhead. Every so often, you conjured the memory of your childhood foray out into the night with your father and your brother as though the imagined stars were sufficient in comparison. Borra would’ve appreciated it, had you not been sworn to silence lest word ever work its way back to your mother.

“Am I allowed to give you something else?”

You shrugged. You hadn’t asked for anything, let alone from him. His company was – increasingly, though you’d gone out of your way to avoid putting much thought into why – enough.

That wasn’t an answer. At least, it wasn’t the manner of answer he’d been hoping for. He regarded you in silence for a moment before drawing up onto his knees, as though that might’ve been sufficient display of his height and his breadth and his suitability.

But you disturbed those thoughts like a flock of starlings the moment they tried to land. Suitable. It could’ve made you laugh – he was more than suitable. And in far more ways than display suggested.

“Sit up and close your eyes.”

Oh, thank the Phoenix. Another stupid circlet of flowers. One he didn’t intend to kill, this time.

You huffed out a breath and made a show of rolling your eyes. It was a terrible inconvenience, being asked not to lie on the ground when he was already above you, but you supposed it could’ve been worse. He could’ve laid with you. Drawn closer to you. Rested his warm fingers along the apple of your cheek to keep your head still as he placed them on – carefully, delicately, so they wouldn’t fall into the dirt while you lay still. You imagined the intensity of his focus, the brightness of his eyes as he studied their precarious balance in hopes of steadying them without making you rise – and if you hadn’t had to flick the dirt off of your wings, you certainly never would’ve considered what the proximity warmth of his body might’ve felt like, as close to you as he would be.

You settled on your knees just as he had. Your feet were tucked neatly under you, and you folded your hands not far above the layered hem of your wrapped-skirt. (The dress your grandmother made for your birthday was the color of the sunset, she’d said – a slowly deepening orange that was nearly red where it skimmed the earth over your knees.)

“Close your eyes.”

A few days ago, all you’d been able to focus on were the times the child version of him had asked you to do the same only to drop a slithering wood-centipede down the back of your dress, or put a slug in your hands (as though you hadn’t retaliated by “forgetting” the field mouse you’d brought into the desert, only for it to turn up standing on his chest in the middle of the night. In retrospect, you might’ve been horrible children). What did a friend do if not exploit your trust when it was a safe enough occasion to do so?

Borra studied your face. He had to hold his breath intermittently to keep the wet sound of his beating heart from being the only sound in his ears. Memorizing the shape of your nose and the thin, feathery shadows your lashes cast over your cheeks no more helped than allowing his eyes to linger upon the softness of your lips. He opened his mouth to say something – to ask if this was welcome, warranted, acceptable – and then closed it again. The brush-stroke angle of your cheeks, the perfect leaf of your ear with your fluffy curls tucked behind it. Don’t just sit there, do something!

He leaned in.

It was funny how easily I love you touched the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say it, even as the clasp of your fingers betrayed your tension. I love you. I’m sorry I ran away last time I tried to say it to you.

“Can I kiss you?” is what came out.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Yes. He was supposed to do more than ask for it, wasn’t he? Or was that too old-fashioned? It wasn’t like you needed him to build you a house (not at your age), go through some beautiful, elaborate display…

You nodded. Just a little. Then, just in case it hadn’t been enough, “Yes.”

He didn’t get any closer.

It wasn’t that he didn’t try – he tried. He tried twice before he realized what partial immobility meant, and, when he did, a familiar sort of fear widened and brightened his gemstone eyes. “Don’t ask why, but don’t move your head.”

Oh no.

Don’t ask why was a familiar precursor. Don’t ask why because something was on fire and sand was not sufficient dirt; don’t ask why Ini was tangled in fishing line – don’t ask where they got the fishing line, what happened to the fish, or how close they’d been to shore when they weren’t supposed to go anywhere near the sea-facing entrances, let alone beyond them. Don’t ask why was the graduation from childhood to adolescence, and you knew all too well what it meant.

“…are you stuck?”

Borra knew better than to give you an honest answer. He reached up, instead; felt for the difference between your horns and his, where you might’ve gotten caught up on each other, though you hadn’t the faintest idea how he managed to. His horns sat straight up, for Phoenix’s sake – yours were cocked back. It wasn’t like you were children anymore!

“…stand up slowly?” he replied. You didn’t point out that he had done no tugging – maybe it was as simple as easing back from a precarious position. Maybe you weren’t really—

You put your hands on his arms. Kept your head relatively level, and tried to draw back. There was a marked tug of resistance where, yes, one of his horns somehow managed to lodge in yours right at the curvature.

“Hold on.” He had you pause, as gentle as he could manage with his head cocked that way. “Let me—”

He pulled on his own no differently than he might try to dislodge a bothersome stone from a stream. Hard enough that it made him grunt, even, not that it accomplished anything. He tried to tilt his head, which caused a suspicious catching noise, and drew up off of his knees as though planting himself firmly on the dirt would change the circumstances. “Pull back as hard as you can.”

And if I snap them? you nearly asked. His, you meant, not that yours were in any less dangerous of a predicament. “Borra…”

“Trust me.”

It took him a moment to recognize that you were not pulling because you could’ve boiled him alive with the intensity of your eyes. He’d never actually seen you worried before. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we come up with another plan, just pull.”

You did. You planted your feet and tugged your head backward, your wings flaring of their own accord. You nearly pulled him off the ground, even as you braced your hands on his shoulders. You cycled through a litany of frustrated thoughts that accomplished nothing – How? How does anyone do this? How did he not feel—?

“Ow, ow, ow, ow! You’ve got my hair – you’re pulling my hair!”

Borra let go of the base of your horns like he’d been burned. Damp earth soaked through the knees of his trousers and streaked his calves. That was one way to carry out a Bonding Ceremony. Your face warmed all the way to your chest. Stupid. Horribly, terribly, don’t-get-ahead-of-yourself stupid.

“Where’s your brother?”

And there went all of  your soft feelings, drained away like fresh rainwater in a desert afternoon. “I would rather be stuck like this for the rest of my life than let you ask him for help, you know that, don’t you?”

He did. Quite well, actually; he was as frequent a partner in disturbing your older brother as Shrike was, and had earned just as pestilent of a reputation.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of me.”

You had half a mind to push him back into the dirt, even if he’d take you with him. You could beat your wings. That might dislodge him, and offer rightful payback for teasing you at a time like this. (Or you could climb a tree, or onto his legs, to get your head into just the right angle to properly dislodge his horns from yours.)

No, not his legs. That was not how you wanted to postpone a kiss. Don’t think about – stop thinking about his legs!

A low, familiar whistle saved you from yourself. “Did we get carried away?” Shrike’s voice came from the canopy above, filled with amusement.

“Pull us apart.” You were trying to keep your voice level, as though the radiant heat from your face hadn’t begun to rival Borra’s natural warmth.

“Really?” she faux-sympathized. “That’s how it’s supposed to fit, you know. Though, you were supposed to aim a little lower—”

“Shrike!”

There was an unusual pinkness to his face. He went out of his way to avoid looking you in the eyes, and that was just fine with you. You hadn’t thought to stop and admire his legs before you were attached to one another, but now that you had, you certainly didn’t want to think about anything else. Especially not what was supposed to fit where, like that, lower than where you were already entangled. Stars above.

A sharp downdraft made your feathers ruffle. Shrike took her sweet time closing the distance between you, as though you couldn’t hear her steps veer toward Borra while she admired the state you’d managed to get yourselves into.

She clicked her tongue playfully, and you imagined she must’ve been shaking her head. Grinning like the owl that snatched up the field mouse. “I don’t know if I can do that, Cass.”

“Try.”

You thought the threat was implicit – try because we both have claws at the tips of our wings and you don’t – though you would be reduced to stabbing blindly, and it wouldn’t matter one bit if she moved out of range. If she was not your closest, dearest friend, you never would’ve been so harsh about it. (If Borra had not intended to kiss you, you probably would’ve done the same to him.)

You felt her grip the base of one of your horns, and assumed she had a firm grip on one of Borra’s. She gave you no warning at all, just started trying to pull you apart. Your feet were planted, and you could do nothing else but keep your head in line with his and wait.

Except waiting implied that she did not start shaking with laughter once the initial moment’s effort passed.

“This isn’t funny,” you tried, though you had grown a bit warmer and Borra, a bit pinker.

“Trust me, it is.” She let go of you for just a moment and concentrated on trying to pry Borra loose.

You wondered how many other people could see you. It was one thing if she did, Shrike was practically blood to you, but you couldn’t very well skim the trees with your periphery. If word never made it back toward your brother – stars knew that mention of him should’ve been enough to summon him with luck like this – you would consider your whole life a success.

“I can’t.” There was far too much delight in her voice for your liking. You had the nagging suspicion that she hadn’t tried very hard at all. “I can’t do it, I’d need a chisel. Conall!”

Your wing jerked before the second round of your father’s name managed to fully leave her mouth. You whacked her in the chest as forcefully as you could manage (though, considering your limited range of vision, you imagined that wasn’t particularly hard). “What are you doing?!”

“Conall!” She crossed her arm over her chest in self-defense. “Cass needs you!”

Mortification came over you like one of the sea’s cold waves. You froze, rooted in place as if your father might not know it was you, there, interlocked with Borra if you stood absolutely still. If Borra empathized, you couldn’t tell – you were rather preoccupied with searching the dirt for a magical fissure that might drop you into the center of the earth.

He didn’t. It was a more appealing alternative than calling out for Eche and Kalan; his friends knew why he’d turned down hunting in the high plains. He would much rather face your father with his intentions laid bare than look to his friends for help when Shrike was a shining example of the help he’d get.

She stood back at a safe distance and brushed the dampness from her lashes. Your face was as hot as Borra’s, and you’d stopped looking at each other as if that wasn’t the most obvious admission of guilt. She didn’t even watch your father land, only glanced away from you to revel in the confusion-turned-understanding that softened his springtime eyes and made you tug on your horns self-consciously.

“That will make it worse.” Thankfully, rather than ask, your father had the decency to address the situation at hand; he closed what little distance remained between him and the both of you, and if he noticed the impressions in the dirt where you’d dug in your heels or the dirt-streaks along Borra’s bare calves, he made no mention of them.

You felt him gently grip the mid-point of your horns, and presumed he did the same to Borra’s. “Lower your head a bit more.”

You both started to. There was an audible note of laughter in your father’s voice as he nudged your back with his wing. “No, not you, Cassia. You stand still.”

You and Borra were nearly eye-to-eye. At the sound of your name, his eyes flickered to your face as if instinct drew them there, and you became painfully aware of his proximity once again. So close. He had been so close to kissing you, and you were so close to wishing that he’d been able to. You’d had your hands on his chest, on his shoulders, and hadn’t thought to revel in touching him the way you had in his fingers as they settled against the back of your arm, just above your elbow. So close, but so far…

“Brace yourselves.” It was only a momentary warning. You didn’t need more than that. Borra dug his heels in, and you reached out to grasp his wrist just in case it wasn’t enough, and – with far less preface or flourish than you imagined – your father pulled you both loose for the second time.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

Your father rubbed his thumb over the inside of your still-growing horn, and then over the outside of the other. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir,” Borra muttered. His horns were not quite as smooth as yours, and he felt for fresh gouges in them. You never asked if he got the ones he had from roughhousing with the other desert boys, or if he woke up some days and they’d grown just long enough for him to misjudge the distance between his head and the door, but, in event you caused a fresh round of them, you looked his way apologetically, and barely resisted the urge to draw your lower lip in between your sharp teeth.

“Try to be more careful.” If there was any doubt in your mind that your father knew the circumstances of how you’d ended up interlocked, it certainly wasn’t long-lived. Your face heated, and Borra had the decency to make eye contact with the ground. “I won’t always be there to pull you two apart.”

Shrike’s lips quirked. She wanted so badly to point out that next time, you might not want to be pulled apart that she nearly risked the bodily harm to do it. Had your eyes not flashed with a dangerous sort of certainty, she would’ve.

Your father kept his amusement to himself. “You’re both welcome to stay. Dinner is nearly finished.”

“Shrike was just leaving,” you replied, a bit too quickly. Of all the people to be sacrificed, your closest friend knew precisely why you had, and still feigned loud and obvious offense.

“If she changes her mind,” he said nothing of Borra, nor did you.  There was a chance you would never say Borra’s name in front of your father ever again. “There will be room.”

You nodded, though you had no intention of encouraging the extended invitation.

Your father’s understanding bordered upon the supernatural to you, then, as though his courtship of your mother was as effortless as their established union. Never once did you consider that firsthand experience peeled back the translucent husk of pride over your shared embarrassment. You were just lucky you’d inherited his feathers, and didn’t have to molt into your adult colors the way your mother had – but that was a story he would save for another day.

Whichever of you would follow, he left to. Borra still thumbed his horns with a worried expression, and barely looked up from the ground. He didn’t dare ask if he was staying for dinner – he presumed you’d tell him one way or the other.

“Well, that was fun,” Shrike teased.

“I’m sorry,” Borra muttered. Entirely for you, he might add – no one else warranted apologizing to.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Your eyes finally lifted, and you might’ve touched the spots he’d been stroking if his face hadn’t turned a fair pink in reply.

“Everything’s attached.”

You nodded, and, again, reached up to stroke the places on yours where his were locked with them. There was no evidence that they had ever been; you would forget, eventually, that they ever were at all, yet that did not distract from the profoundly sacred feeling that they then possessed.

Two out of three of you were at a loss for words. You did not know how to improve the situation, so you lingered for a moment between them only to lean in without thinking. Your lips pressed to the apple of his cheek, soft and fleeting, and then you ran into the woods after your father, as though you’d heard your mother call for you well before she would’ve.

Borra’s golden eyes went wide. All of the mischief, mirth and bedevilment drained from his features like blood from an open wound. The touch of your lips came like the bite of an iron arrow, swift as an ambush and just as devastating.

Shrike whistled. “You’d thank her if she slapped you, wouldn’t you?”

For the first time, the boy who loved you did not rise to the bait. Your lips against his cheek had been almost precisely what he’d hoped for, though he had not expected initiative on your part. He had not expected anything at all. You could’ve laughed at him. Bit your lip in that worrying, familiar way as you lifted your vibrant eyes and told him that you were friends, no one felt that way about their friends. Or, as he had hoped before rotten luck intervened, you might let him kiss you. Might even kiss him back. Softly. Gently. As near to chaste as it would ever be, for he would let you lead. If you’d let him kiss you, he would’ve returned with another laurel of cactus flowers for your hair and kissed you until they bloomed. The brightness of their white-hued buds at the base of your horns, the vibrancy of their color in compliment to your springtime eyes, that was as far as he’d planned.

Because he loved you.

Wholly. Deeply. With everything that he was and everything he had.

You were his friend, and he loved you, and if you hadn’t felt the same – if you hadn’t been ready – he would’ve given you back the lead.

He hadn’t planned for what he might do if you had.

Shrike made a low, fond sound of disgust and flapped her brightly-colored wings in his direction. “Didn’t do enough gazing into her eyes when you were stuck with her?”

“Jealous you weren’t in my place?”

There he was, the sensible, snide Borra you’d grown up with. She never would’ve admitted how relieved she was to see that you two weren’t nearly as far gone as your parents. Yet.

A slow, borderline-wicked smile crossed Shrike’s face as she raised her chin. “You get what you ask for.”

The truth of it made his nerves spark like wildfire. He had, hadn’t he? And, though he didn’t dare ask for more, he looked off into the trees the way you’d gone. The place where your lips touched blazed the fiercest.

                                              ————————- Tag List: @fateischosen, @madlenfireknight, @boxxyass, @mor-ranr, @blacksirenswolf, @swim-reaper, @thetempleofthemasaigoddess, @deathonyourtongue, @squishy-jellyfish Message me if you’d like to be added to the tag list for future fics! Looking for more? Click my icon; there’s a masterlist!    

[hopeaterart]

RWBY HPTR AU: Timeline

More of my embarrassingly self-indulgent AU. It tackles the timeline of events happening before the show starts. For those for who it's the first time here: most of the antagonists in the show are students at Beacon here, hence why the 63 A.G.W. point is probably a bit confusing, as well as the presence of many, many OCs. Warning: Very Ozpin-centric, especially at the beginning, because I'm insane and constructed a whole backstory for this man. If you want me to add something to the timeline, or have questions about the AU, just ask. ^^

(REFERENCE: A.G.W. stands for After Great War.)

34 A.G.W.: Ozborn Pinhead is born to con-artists living in the mountains of Vale.

45 A.G.W.: King Ozymandias Valenoa dies. On a side-note, Aura Lycoris is born.

46 A.G.W.: Ozymandias/Ozma reincarnates into Ozborn the moment he hits puberty. A few months later, Ozborn runs away from home to join a Collibet Monastery.

(REFERENCE: Collibet is branch of religion in the world of Remnant. It's followers' main belief is that life is to be enjoyed to it's fullest, and they have to help people enjoy it. Their worship is mainly centered on the God of Light.)

51 A.G.W.: Ozborn decides to enroll in Beacon for multiple reasons. He's placed in Team DSOO with Cadmium Duat, Zephyr Olympia, and Jade Sheng. He will become very close to Jade, almost like siblings. She's the one who coins the Ozpin nickname.

52 A.G.W.: Vytal festival happens in Haven. Ozborn ends up being finalist instead of his teammate through circumstances that went against his will, and ends up befriending fellow finalist from Shade Theodore Yellowstone, as well as a Faunus competitor from Haven called Leonardo Lionheart. Theodore is the winner.

53 A.G.W.: During a training mission that brought them to Solitas, Team DSOO ends up working with James Ironwood. Even if difficult to work with, Ozborn forms a tentative friendship with him, which they'll maintain through CCT communications. Ozborn also accidently ends up mentoring a first year named Glynda Goodwitch.

54 A.G.W.: Team STRQ enrolls in Beacon. Ozborn ends up being their mentor (intentionally this time) through a mentorship program at Beacon. Summer Rose is the winner of the Vytal Festival, having beaten Ironwood. After warning them that the truth isn't pretty, Ozborn comes clean about his cycle of reincarnation to Jade, STRQ, Glynda, Theodore, Lionheart and Ironwood, as well as Salem and her immortality. The only one unwilling to get involved is Taiyang Xiao Long, who can see that Ozborn absolutely does not want to be in this situation, thinks he's in way over his head and probably needs to take some distance from Huntsman business. Qrow and Raven are given their bird powers.

55 A.G.W.: Having taken Taiyang's opinion on the situation to heart, Ozborn decides to take a step back and go back in the Monastery he grew up in in order to become a Priest. Jade joins him in a show of support.

57 A.G.W.: Ozborn gets ordained, and he and Jade promptly go on a pilgrimage together with one very clear objective in mind: fuck Salem over. They find her at the end of the year, successfully lie to Salem about Ozborn's identity and fool her into thinking they want to join her side. On a side note, Gretchen Reinhart, Hazel Reinhart and Winter Schnee are all born.

58 A.G.W.: After getting out of Salem the secret to her immortality and the location of the God of Light's pool/former residence, Ozborn and Jade run away in the night in order for Ozborn to get similar immortality. Salem finds out about the betrayal, successfully kills Jade before Ozborn can go in the pool, and permanently cripples him with a magical attack that destroys his leg in a way that the pool's magic isn't able to completely fix. Ozborn still obtains immortality, permanently changing the game. He also sheds away the identity of Ozborn Pinhead, and renames himself after Jade's nickname for him.

59 A.G.W.: Ozpin comes back, and marries Taiyang, Raven Branwen and Summer Rose together. He also enrolls in Beacon as the Myth & Religion teacher.

60 A.G.W.: Desperate to get back at Ozpin after such an humiliating defeat, Salem takes a teenage Aura Lycoris under her wing.

62 A.G.W.: Aura starts the deep-undercover operation of gaining Ozpin's trust, starting by enrolling into Beacon.

63 A.G.W.: Yang Xiao Long, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladona, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, Arthur Watts, Tyrian Callows, Cinder Fall, Mercury Black, Emerald Sustrai, Roman Brunswick, Trivia Vanille, Ochre Wedjat, Raoul Arsenic, Wilhemia Key and Lys Rosenbed are all born. On a side-note, Ozpin and Qrow start a tentative romantic relationship at the end of the year.

65 A.G.W.: Ruby Rose is born.

66 A.G.W.: Aura graduates, and goes on a small pause in her mission in order to clean up some loose ends on Salem's part.

67 A.G.W.: Summer dies on a mission gone wrong (Unless/until we get something specific, Aura's partially responsible in my AU). Overwhelmed and disillusioned by the demise of the woman she loved, Raven abandons the rest of her family and goes back to the Branwen tribe. Both Taiyang and Qrow are left broken by this series of events, and Qrow ends up falling to alcoholism, leaving Ozpin to pick up the broken pieces of the inner circle. On a side note, both Oscar Pine and Whitley Schnee are born.

68 A.G.W.: Following a convoluted series of events that leaves Oscar orphaned for a total of maybe an hour before Ozpin adopts him, the wizard finally starts getting his shit back together, and starts formulating a plan to get back on his feet properly. On a side-note, Marcus Black steals his son's- Mercury- Semblance.

69 A.G.W.: Ozpin successfully becomes Beacon's headmaster, and promptly pulls strings to put Theodore, Lionheart and Ironwood in the same positions in their respective kingdoms. He also makes Glynda into his successor to the position. Meanwhile, Aura joins his staff as the Study Hall teacher/supervisor. Kuroyuri is destroyed by the Nuckelavee, orphaning Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie.

72 A.G.W.: Mountain Glenn is destroyed. Ozpin is able to save a few people at the last minute, including the Reinhart twins, thus inspiring Gretchen to become a Huntress. On a side note, James Ironwood becomes General, and thus Atlas' Chief of Armies, and gains a second seat on the Atlesian Council. The rest of the inner circle has mixed feelings about this, mostly negative.

73 A.G.W.: After a very long time of frustration at the Atlesian Council, Hagatha Greene snaps after a combination of her project being denied in favor of Pietro's, and being forced to work with an actual child (10 years old Arthur Watts). She's approached by Salem via Aura, and fakes her death. On a side note, the Brunswick farm is invaded by Apathy, forcing Roman to run away. He'll later stow himself away to Vale and rename himself Torchwick in order to cut ties with his past.

74 A.G.W.: Lionheart is forced to inform the Spring Maiden about what Salem can do. Overwhelmed, she runs away to the Branwen tribe. Lionheart himself latter approached by Greene, who more-or-less blackmails him into joining Salem. He calls Ozpin to know what he's supposed to do, and ends up becoming a double-agent. On a side-note, Gretchen signs up for Beacon, and Winter for Atlas in her first step to distance herself from her family.

76 A.G.W.: Gretchen is severely wounded on a training mission. Since her body was never found, it was assumed she died. Despite knowing that he'd probably be attacked on sight- and he was- Ozpin is able to provide Hazel with a bit of peace concerning the demise of his sister. Unknown to the both of them, Gretchen was actually found by Salem's circle and brought to her in order to get a new underling. On a side-note, the Spring Maiden dies and passes the power to Raven.

77 A.G.W.: Cinder and Arthur meet off-handedly while running away from Atlas for different reasons (Cinder is running from the Madame, Arthur from the military) due to sneaking on the same cargo ship. They separate after. Cinder ends up staying in Mistral, while Arthur wanders around Anima and ends up meeting Tyrian, who's part of a circus. Tyrian ends up following Arthur, who intends on getting to Vale as fast as possible. The two end up becoming fast friends after some initial frostiness. Trivia also runs away from home and meets Roman, and renames herself Neopolitan after the imaginary friend she had in her childhood.

78 A.G.W.: Cinder meets Emerald in the streets of Mistral, and the two bond over their dreams of becoming Huntresses. After Cinders remembers something Arthur told her about Beacon having a program for students like them, the two girls set off for Beacon.

79 A.G.W.: Marcus is hired to assassinate Ozpin, and fails in this task. Some time after, Cinder and Emerald, who recently got to Vale, cross path with Mercury, who's running away from his abusive father after a savage fight with him due to the man cutting off his legs. Marcus joins Salem after.

(AMBIGUOUS TIME PERIOD: Somewhere in the 70s, Aura found and started forming all the members of Team ORKL. I don't have a precise time period, but for those curious, the order she found them in was: Raoul, Lys, Ochre and Whilemia.)

80 A.G.W.: The story starts.

[aspoonofsugar]

Selflessness and Selfishness

Hello anons!

These asks can be answered together.

First of all, I will say that my feelings about the chapter changed with every different translation I received, so I think some things are purposelly left ambiguous and not completely solved because they will be later on.

As @hamliet mentioned in her meta, I think that the chapter is contrasting two different POV:

On one hand there is Hange and the alliance’s POV. They are not fighting for their loved ones. The SC have betrayed former comrades and their hometown to save their enemies. In this chapter, the Warriors too are asked to give up on their hometown and their families, so that they have a chance to save the rest of the world. They are asked to make a very selfless choice, they will be no rewarded for.

On the other hand there is Eren, who claims he is ready to destroy the rest of the world, so that his loved ones can live happily in the lie he will create afterwards, thanks to the Founding Titan powers. He is extremely selfish not only in what he is trying to obtain (destroying the world to let few people live), but also in the way he is pursuing it. As a matter of fact Eren is completely ignoring his loved ones’ feelings and pov.

At the same time, this panel:

Can be contrasted with these other two panels:

I pointed it out here as well:

Eren is so sure of his own future that he has stopped searching for an alternative. He can push forward because he only sees one thing. Mikasa and Armin have been more passive and reactive to the point that they almost stopped moving, but they are still looking for chances and for alternatives. Their vision is struggling against a deterministic perspective and this in itself adds to the idea that their path is different from Eren’s.

The panels above make it explicit. Eren is obsessed with moving forward and sees one single path. This makes him stronger in a sense, but also limited and dangerous.

In short, I think these two thematic conflicts will be solved by the end of the manga. Was there really only one way? Is it right to sacrifice one’s loved ones for the sake of the world? These questions tie to the central theme of freedom. How can humans be free if the future is set in stone? How can they be free if their loved ones are lost to a cycle of hatred? What does it even mean to be free?

In this meta I will mostly focus on the first conflict I underlined because I think it is the main one highlighted by the chapter itself. When it comes to the dychotomy selfishness/selflessness, Historia’s character is a key-one because she plays with these two concepts.

When she first appeared in the manga, Historia projected a selfless persona, but deep down her motivations were selfish. She was looking for a heroic way to die and Ymir pointed out to her how wrong that was. Throughout the Uprising, we explored Historia’s trauma and the reason behind her actions is explained. Historia was abused as a child and was taught she had to be a “good girl”, so that others would love her.

The Uprising was about her...well...”rebelling” against this mindset and fighting back. It was about her becoming a “bad girl” in the sense that she would have acted for herself. In this way, the dychotomy selfishness/selflessness, which had been present in Historia’s character since the beginning found a beautiful synthesis. In the end, Historia’s way of living for others was an unhealthy kind of “selflessness” rooted in a weak sense of self. Her willingness to live for herself was instead a positive kind of “selfishness”, which let her help others in a more genuine and effective way. This is because, all in all, people are a mixture of selfish and selfless traits and must find an equilibrium between them.

What about this chapter? In this chapter we see the lines of Historia’s new found equilibrium becoming muddled.

First of all there is this:

This line is a reference to when Levi told Historia to either run or fight. Here, Historia says there is no need to do either because she has accepted her role of queen and has chosen to do what she can to protect the island.

In short, it is as if Historia is going through the Uprising again, but in a reverse way. At the beginning of the Uprising, she had no idea what to do and by the end she chose to make the role of queen hers. It is not a role she wanted, but she still managed to make use of it to realize what she wanted. In short, she used what life gave her as better as she could.

At the beginning of the conversation with Eren, she is still trying to do the same. She sees no other option to save the Island than to go along with the MP’s plan. However, Eren challenges her and puts Historia’s whole perspective of herself into a crisis:

As people noticed, these two phrases are references to past moments. Historia is referencing Ymir when she told her to live with pride. Eren is referencing Historia herself, when she announced she would become a “bad girl”, who saves her friends.

In the cave scene, these two lines went together. This is because Historia becoming a “bad girl” is her way to fulfill Ymir’s request. However, in this chapter these two lines are juxtaposed. On one hand Historia says that she won’t be able to live pridefully if she does not stop Eren. On the other hand Eren asks her to be a “bad girl” and to save him once more.

In order to live her life with pride, Historia should stop Eren and save the world, even if this means she will go through a high personal sacrifice (losing a friend and becoming a titan herself). However, Eren insists she should just be a “bad girl” and live her own life as if the genocide of the world did not happen.

Who is right?

As one can see, the resolution Historia gained after the Uprising is being challenged. She can’t protect the world without sacrificing herself and she can’t protect herself without sacrificing the world. At the same time, she is asked to choose between a personal connection (Eren) and the world.

The choice Historia seems to make is to help Eren. Just judging by the chapter, she seems to be regressing and to give up on the idea of living with pride. She accepts the role of “bad girl” instead.

This ties with what has been an ongoing motif with Eren after the time-skip. Eren seems to take and twists ideas and concepts, which have been with the readers since the beginning.

Things like “freedom”, “moving forward”, “saving one’s friends” used to be inspiring, but right now they have been emptied of all their meaning. They have become slogans Eren  keeps repeating to himself and to others. In a sense, Eren keeps facing the world with the same two or three ideas he has had since he was a child. However, the world has become too complex to be experienced with those same mechanisms. Still, Eren refuses to change his mindset. Because of this, what made those ideals inspiring in the beginning is absent from what Eren does and says now.

In this chapter, Eren is doing the same with what Historia said in the cave. The point of Historia’s arc was not to become a selfish girl, who would sacrifice others for her sake. The point of her arc was to live not for others, but for herself. She had to become proud of who she was. This is why since the cave she has been trying to live pridefully. However, here Eren is using the words, which were symbolic of her change, to ask her to fulfill another role for him. Eren wants Historia to be a “bad girl”, but this is not qualitatively different from being a “good girl”. It is just a different adjective and a different role, but it is still a role. It is still not what Historia wants. Historia does not want a genocide, but she seems to be giving in to the fear for her future and to the feelings Eren’s words provoke in her.

Historia and Eren are the two protagonists of the Uprising and they are the two people, who changed Paradis. However, right now they are discussing of bringing Paradis back to how it was. Eren, who used to despise people accepting their peaceful lives, wants to reduce his friends to “cattle” without will of their own. Historia, who wanted to stop with the lies of the First King, seems to be supporting a plan, which will end with a huge lie.

The world envisioned by Eren is the same world we started with. It is a world where humanity is almost gone and only the people of a tiny island have survived. Eren rebelled against that world, but when all is said and done he is going back to it because he is not able to accept a more complex world than that. Ironically, he is not moving forward, but he is going back.

What does Mikasa have to do with all of this?

It seems that in Eren’s mind, his feelings for Mikasa are connected with Historia’s line. The nature of the connection is still unknown. We can’t infer it from the chapter alone because we still lack a part of the conversation. Why does Historia immediately think of having a baby to escape the MP? There were tons of other ways to succeed at it. And why does Eren connect that moment with Zeke’s question?

We still don’t know.

What is sure is that both Historia and Mikasa are important for Eren. What is more, they will probably end up representing different things, when it comes to his character.

After all, they have been associated before in Eren’s mind:

However, it is still too soon to properly explore this juxtaposition. As for now, if what the chapter shows is to be taken at face value, Mikasa and Historia’s reaction to Eren seems to be opposite.

Historia seems to be choosing her connection with Eren (the moment in the cave) over everything else, even her promise to Ymir.

Mikasa is instead going through an arc, which will probably lead her to kill Eren in the end:

In a sense, this is the same conflict of the serum bowl through a different lens. Once again characters are asked to choose between their loved ones and the bigger picture.

There might still be more to Historia’s choice than what was shown this chapter, so I won’t comment on her anymore. I will say instead that the difference between Mikasa and Eren, which emerged in the serum bowl is showing itself fully in this arc.

Mikasa accepted the inevitability of loss and also that there is more than her and her loved ones. Eren did not. What is more, Eren also missed Levi’s teaching in that situation. It is true that Levi chose Erwin over the world, but he still did it selflessly because he understood what Erwin wanted and gave it to him, even if that was not what Levi personally wished.

Not only is Eren choosing his loved ones over the world, but he is also choosing his own personal version of the world over his loved ones. Mikasa is instead willing to stop Eren from doing what is wrong. Moreover she is willing to stop him precisely because she loves him:

Similarly, she is slowly breaking free of the ideal image she used to have about Eren. She is coming to a full understanding of who Eren is as a person. Despite this, she still cares about him.

When it comes to this, it is interesting that Eren is so conflicted about Mikasa’s feelings for him. As a matter of fact, it is as if Eren is not fully able to grasp how and why Mikasa cares so much for him.

This is why he asks her about it in Marley and later on questions Zeke about the Ackermans. A contrived genetical explanation seems to him more plausible than Mikasa simply being in love with him.

At the same time, Eren is trying to refuse these feelings and to force Mikasa to hate him. He deeply hurts her in chapter 112 and apparently even tells Luise to destroy Mikasa’s scarf.

This has probably to do with the fact that Mikasa reminds Eren of a part of himself he is trying to repress:

Mikasa loves the kind side of Eren, but this is a side Eren refuses because it is also his most vulnerable one.

These are my main thoughts on the chapter and they answer many questions by the anons. To some of the more specific asks, I will give short and individual answers.

[florencewritez]

The cycle

AN: hope yall doing good, i am tired and listenting to kids by mgmt and only kids by mgmt.

WC: 1543 Words 

WARNINGS: lowkey toxic relationship but lowkey the point. alexs jumper gets ruined

"I can't wait to do this again." That's what he'd said the last time we broke up, messing with his hair and casually scrolling through his Instagram. I'd rolled my eyes at the time, saying it was the last time he'd ever see me long enough to say a word to my face. He didn't even look up from a screenshot of a football match, barely even hummed.

At the time, I'd believed my words, pushing past a very confused Alex holding two cups of tea, mumbling an apology before I slammed the front door closed and fell to my knees crying. I hadn't stopped crying till a deliveroo driver had to awkwardly sidestep past me and asked if I was waiting for the food. The taxi drive home had been silent, only noises being my sniffles and incessant typing on my phone.

Y/n: I broke up with George for real this time.

Will: You always say that

Will: By the way did you spill tea on Alex? He's very upset about some expensive hoodie being stained or something

At the time I'd left Will on read, sending Alex a half hearted apology with a few hearts and clicking off my phone. It was then the taxi man turned in his seat and asked if I had had a rough day. I just nodded back, sniffing extra loud for dramatic effect. Yes, I had the worst rough day ever. First, George forgot we had a date, again, and I had to go to his flat to remind him. Then it turned out he'd forgotten to book the damn restaurant and we had to just go back and order takeout. It started with a simple comment of "Maybe we'd be eating actual Italian food and not fucking dominos if someone had remembered to book the restaurant," and spiraled into an extremely heated and quick argument that I can't remember half of. It was just spitting words in each other's faces, not meaning any of them, a crappy movie playing in the back. At one point, Alex came home and attempted to solve things with reason. Of course, such things aren't welcome during stupid fights and he quickly made himself busy with 'editing' in his bedroom.

By the time I'd stumbled in my apartment door, giving a half assed explanation to my very stoned roommate, the idea it was over cemented itself in my head. This time, I'd told myself, biting my lip till it bled, this time I'm not going back.

Easier said than done considering we're in the same friend group and have to consistently film together.

James: Hey y/n, Will wanted me to ask you to come over to his today to film if you're free

Y/n: Yeah I'm free. What's he need me for?

James: Probably a reddit video knowing him though the fact he asked all of us over is a bit suspicious, not to mention he made me text you instead of doing it himself

Y/n: What do you mean he asked everyone over?

James: Haven't you seen the groupchat? Alex, George and Mia said he asked them too. Knowing Will he'll need us for two minutes and then abandon us to edit or something

Y/n: Oh how lovely :)

And now I was here, sitting on Wills couch in between a very scared looking Alex and my ex of two days, listening to Will explain his video idea in great detail. I wish I could lie and say I was listening ever so carefully and definitely not hyper focusing on how George's fingers kept brushing against me accidentally as he moved to drink, wasn't taking notice of ever slight movement of his leg, inching ever so closer to mine. Every so often I'd dare flicker my eyes to his, always at the exact moment he happened to be looking my way. I'd just stick with Mia I told myself, hand curling into a tight fist and gulping, Mia would understand.

"Right so I'm going to film quickly with Mia first because she has to mind her nephew later, can't be late. Shouldn't be too long though so no one get any ideas and leave," Will announced, stating a wiggly Alex down at the last part. Mia stood up, saying she was fine with that. I gave her a pleading look, begging her to stay, to make an excuse and make someone, anyone else, go first. She only gave me a guilty smile back, following Will up the stairs, patting the watch on her wrist. Of course Will chose to film the one day Mia wasn't free for the day.

As soon as they were gone, Alex and James shared a look and quickly excused themselves to the kitchen, Alex nearly tripping over himself as he scurried away. Great friends I have.

For a moment, an awkward silence filled the air, heavier than any scientist thought possible. I gulped and tried to subtly move to where Alex had been sat before but only managed to make a disgustingly loud noise as the leather squelched under me. Curse the summer heat and it's strange sweat noises.

George looked at me properly for the first time, stupidly perfect blue eyes settling carefully on mine. "You look nice."

I squirmed. "Thanks. New skirt."

"Yeah I know, I bought it for you last week." Ouch. I physically cringed and heard George sigh beside me. "Can we talk?"

Crap, the true signal the cycle wasn't over yet. There was always the beginning, crazy and wild and perfect, the pinnacle of a young couple in love in the city. Then came the coziness, nights out turning into nights in and bars turning into movie nights. After that came the fizzle down period, usually lasting for about two weeks before one of us snapped and said it was over. A week later, someone would say can we talk then two minutes later it was back to heavy making out and laughter as the cycle begun again.

Of course this time would be no different, what was two days ago me thinking? This thing with me and George had been going on for nearly three years now, pissing off friends and fans alike with our mysterious relationship status. Still, it suited us pretty well huh?

So, I let out a breathe and nodded, curling my legs under me as I turned to face him.

"Okay fine," I agreed, resting my hand on the couch just near enough his for him to notice. "But only if we take it seriously this time."

He nodded, smiling softly for the first time I'd seen that day, lips turning up at the end and my stomach went all dopey, any hesitation melting away. He'd always have that effect on me it seemed.

"I'm sorry for forgetting about our date, I've just been pretty stressed lately with my upload schedule and stuff and it slipped my mind. It won't happen again." Of course it won't. Every-time we broke up, we never repeated the mistake again. Maybe one day, we'd run out of mistakes to make and things would be the perfect couple we wanted to be.

"And I promise I'll be more reasonable next time something upsets me. We should have mature conversations about stuff like this, like normal couples do." And I would if it meant never feeling that strange tightness that had filled me the past two days without him. One day, we'd get it right, I was sure.

"So does that me-" I cut him off with a quick peck to the lips, laughing when his eyes widened.

"Will you be my boyfriend George?" He didn't reply and only repeated my peck, my hands coming to rest in his hair as I deepened it to something more. "Do you think we'll actually make it to the end?" I asked between kisses, mumbling dangerously close to his lips, having swung my legs over his already.

"Jesus Y/n we haven't even been dating for two minutes yet, might be regretting my decision already." I chuckled, knowing that was his off handed way of saying 'yes of course'. I leaned back in, feeling his hands pull my waist closer before we heard an extremely loud sigh.

"Right next time you break up, wait until I put on something cheap yeah?" Alex groaned, turning back around and walking straight back into the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea again.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing, leaning my for head against George's and relishing in the warmth that came with the contact.

"You know there's a new club open near here. We could go later?" His hands somehow found themselves intertwined with me. It was the same thing over and over again, the same old cycle.

I smiled. "My roommates gone for the night, you can stay at mine after."

It was the same cycle over and over and I lived for it, every part of it. One day, we'll get it right and maybe most of the excitement comes from wondering it this is the time we do everything perfectly. A spark in his eyes reminds me I won't care anyways.

I'm addicted to the cycle as long as it's with him.

[istaricelebelasse]

I'm going to regret the angst but Ghost Sansa angst!! It sounds too good to resist!

Robb was alone. His tent was a mess. Broken furniture and scattered papers surrounded him, wine dripped from a cracked jug, and even Grey Wind had fled from him.

No one would approach him for a while. They feared his rage, what he would yell and do after receiving word that he had failed again. The raven had brought him a letter sealed with a signet he would gladly see scoured from the world.

He knew he should go and find his mother, to offer her comfort that she sorely needed, but his rage and pain kept him rooted in place. He wanted to start screaming again, to swear and throw things, or take his sword and slam it into a tree until it was blunt.

He wanted to rush against an army, to lose himself in the blood lust and have a target at which he could direct his rage properly.

His breath came in short pants, his limbs ached. The adrenaline slowly left his body, and as it did so the tears began to fall. Slowly at first, they soon became a torrent, sliding down his cheeks and dropping to the floor with what seemed like a thunderous sound.

A footstep sounded behind him, too light to be any of his men, too soft to be his mother. A footstep that sounded almost like that of a child’s.

He turned but there was no one there. No source of the sound at all.

Footsteps sounded behind him again. Still light, still childlike.

Robb whirled around, quicker than before and this time he was fast enough. He managed to see who it was that made the footsteps.

A small girl with red hair, clad in a purple gown. A girl he knew.

It was his sister, taller than when he had last seen her, but so painfully thin.

“Brother.” She said softly, “You left me.”

“Sansa?” Desperate hope filled his voice, hope that the letter had been a lie.

“You said you would protect me. You said you cared about me.” Sansa hissed, her eyes flashing with rage.

Each word struck Robb like an arrow, piercing through him right down to his very soul. He wanted to defend himself but could not find the words.

Not when he could see the mortal wound that bisected his sweet, angry sister’s neck.

Not when the evidence of his failure was before him.

“Sansa.” He croaked, somehow finding his voice, but she just looked at him with scorn.

“You promised that you would come for me. You swore that no one would hurt me while you lived.” She said, her voice quiet yet still full of a simmering rage, “You broke your oath.”

“Sansa-“ He tried once more, but she cut him off with a sharp motion.

“I died.” She said, all anger gone from her voice, “I died at the whim of a mad king. I died thinking you would come for me.”

He reached out to her, to pull her into his arms or cradle her face in his hands, but his hands passed through her. He could not touch her, nor offer any comfort except that small amount contained within his words.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, “So very sorry. I tried to come for you, raised the banners for you, but I failed.”

He bowed his head, and waited for something, anything. For the gods to strike him down as an oath breaker, for his sister to breathe again, for his apology to be accepted.

A coolness brushed his cheek, as though Sansa herself had tried to reach out to him. “Apologies will change nothing. I am dead, that cannot be changed.”

“Then I will avenge you.” He swore softly, intently, “I will avenge you, the ground will run red with Lannister blood and Joffrey will rue the day he dared to lay a finger upon you.”

“Vengeance never solved anything. It is as useless as an apology.” Sansa said, fading slightly before his very eyes, “You avenge me and some Lannister will come and avenge their family. The cycle will never end.”

“Then I will bring you home.” He swore instead, “I will bring your bones home to Winterfell, so that you can rest with the rest of our kin.”

Sansa smiled, a sweet smile, a sad smile. She faded even more, until she was but an outline and the merest splash of colour. “Brother.” She said, “Robb.”

And as she faded away completely, her last words hung in the air. Somehow, Robb knew that she had forgiven him. Somehow she was at peace.

He had sworn that he would avenge his sister, that he would take her bones home so that she could be buried where she belonged. It was a promise that he would keep, or die trying to fulfil.

But before he did that, before he even thought of starting; Robb Stark, the King of the North and the Trident, stood among the debris of his war tent, and cried.