#it doesn’t require years of training to learn

[orphicmeliora]

LETTERS UNSENT

SUMMARY: You have shared too much with Caleb— your childhood in middle school, your restless teenage years in high school, and the sleepless nights that came with training at the DAA. Through every phase of your life, you’ve loved him. Quietly. Desperately. While he loved someone else.

So you learned to endure it.

You swallowed your feelings and tucked them away in secret letters never meant to be read—letters inked with heartbreak, feverish longing, and fantasies too raw to speak aloud. From crooked handwriting to elegant script, each page was a confession of the love you hated to carry, the ache you never outgrew. And when Caleb vanished from your life after graduation without a word, you buried those letters in a box, and the box deep within yourself.

Years later, fate intervenes.

Caleb returns—broader, bolder, devastatingly handsome. And strangely focused on you. His touches linger too long, his eyes see too much, and his smile says he knows exactly what you’ve been hiding. He looks at you like you’re the one he’s been waiting for—and you can’t tell if it terrifies you or tempts you more.

You try to pull away. You’ve spent too many years surviving without him to fall now.

But Caleb doesn’t let go.

Because now that he’s seen the truth—every broken sentence, every filthy fantasy, every whispered ‘I love you’ you never dared say out loud—he’s not just here to catch up.

He’s here to chase you down.

And he won’t stop until you’re his.

WORD COUNT: 9.1k

NOTES: Takes place after the Main story supposedly ends. This happens far in the future. Caleb is older here, 28–29 maybe. Reader is NOT mc, keep that in mind. In this scenario mc is with another LI.

You used to love love.

Not just the idea of it—but the ache of it. The promise of it. The giddy, schoolgirl butterflies and the midnight hopes whispered into your pillow. Love was the secret language of your world, threaded through songs you hummed under your breath, the romance novels dog-eared to your favorite passages, the ink-stained pages of letters never sent.

You believed in love the way children believe in magic.

But you grew up.

And love? It grew fangs.

Now, you love to hate it.

You hate how it made a fool of you. How it made you wait and yearn and burn in silence, hoping he’d look your way and see you. Not as a friend, not as a childhood companion, but as someone worth reaching for. Worth choosing. But he didn’t. He never did. Caleb’s heart was always spoken for.

So you buried your own.

You’ve become good at pretending. You laugh at romance now, scoff at declarations, dismiss affection with a curl of your lip and a joke that lands just bitter enough to be believable. You’re not heartless—you’re just tired. Of hoping. Of hurting. Of wanting things that were never yours to begin with.

You fill your time with things that don’t require soft emotions. You keep your hands busy and your mind busier. You hum lullabies to yourself when the silence grows too sharp. You sleep with the light on sometimes—not out of fear, but because the darkness reminds you too much of waiting for someone who never came back.

And still…

Despite it all…

Sometimes, on quiet nights when your guard slips, you wonder what it would be like to be loved out loud.

To be wanted so much it’s terrifying. To be chosen first.

You don’t dare admit it aloud. You barely let yourself think it.

Because if love ever finds you again…

You’re not sure if you’ll run away from it—

Or straight into its arms.

You hear his voice before you see him.

Low. Smooth. A little deeper than you remember. It cuts through the background noise like gravity pulling everything toward it—pulling you toward it. You freeze mid-step, your spine going taut like a wire drawn too tight. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in dreams. In memories. In the echo of unsent letters you’ll never admit you still read.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Caleb.

Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. His body is broader now, sculpted with strength and silent discipline. His jaw is dusted with scruff. His posture, relaxed but alert. And those eyes—still storm-silver and searing, but steadier somehow. Knowing.

He sees you.

Really sees you.

And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you standing there like a collision waiting to happen.

A beat passes.

“...It’s been a while,” he says, and God—he smiles.

That same crooked, devastating smile that used to undo you in a single heartbeat. But there’s something different now. Less boyish charm, more… reverence. Like he’s looking at a relic he thought lost forever and can’t quite believe is real.

You swallow, throat tight. “Yeah. A while.”

There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. About the years. The distance. The versions of yourself that broke and rebuilt in his absence. But your mouth is dry and your thoughts scatter like startled birds.

Caleb steps forward—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of metal and pine and something unmistakably him.

He looks you up and down slowly, like he’s taking inventory of everything time tried to steal.

“You look…” His gaze softens. “You look like trouble.”

You scoff—too sharp, too fast, your defense mechanisms kicking in like old habits. “And you still talk like you’re trying to land a date in a bar.”

His grin flashes wider. “Would it work if I was?”

God, he’s flirting.

Like you weren’t just background noise to him once. Like you didn’t spend years trying to scrape his ghost off your ribs.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Caleb?”

He leans in, the air between you charged, crackling. His voice drops—lower, rougher.

“Because I missed you.”

You blink. That wasn’t the answer you expected. Not from him. Not with that look in his eyes—part hungry, part haunted, all real.

And just like that, the careful walls you’ve built start to shake.

You hear the door creak open behind you before the sound of his footsteps catches up.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Caleb says, his voice deeper, richer than you remember. “You look... different.”

You don’t turn around immediately. The skyline looks safer than his face.

“Yeah, well. Years pass. People change.”

“Some people stay exactly the same,” he murmurs. “You still lean to the left when you’re uncomfortable.”

You whip around, heart doing a traitorous little jump when your gaze lands on him.

God. He’s unfair. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that golden tan that makes his white shirt look criminally good on him. His smile has mellowed into something more potent—less boyish charm, more devastating man.

You cross your arms. “You’re observant now. That’s new.”

He chuckles. “I’ve always been observant. You were just too busy avoiding my eyes to notice.”

Touché.

He walks closer—too close—and you catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark, like danger disguised as comfort. His gaze drops to your lips for half a second too long before returning to your eyes with a glint that spells trouble.

“How long has it been?” he asks softly.

“Since you ditched our entire friend group without a word? Or since I gave up hoping for a message you never sent?”

His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, thick with all the things you’re too proud to say and all the things he suddenly looks desperate to.

You retreat into the safety of the couch, motioning for him to sit across—but no, of course not. Caleb drops beside you, hip pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What about Emcee?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two live happily ever after or what?”

His brow furrows. “Emcee? God, no. That was over before it ever started.”

Your heart skips. “Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in, his voice a husky whisper. “Because I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here for you.”

Your breath catches. You laugh, shaky and forced. “Wow, Caleb. You’ve upgraded your flirting. What happened to your legendary cheesy pickup lines?”

He grins. “I could still use one, if you’re nostalgic. But I figured you’ve grown out of tolerating my bullshit.”

“Smart of you.”

And yet, the way his knee brushes yours every few seconds isn’t helping. Neither is the way his hand hovers just a little too close to your thigh when he reaches for his coffee.

You’re not sure what’s worse—that he’s this charming now, or that it’s working.

Later that night, after he leaves with a promise to “see you soon” and a gaze that lingers like heat, you retreat into your sanctuary.

Your room. Your old dresser. The box tucked under the drawer like a dirty little secret.

The letters.

Every one of them stained with years of aching want and unspeakable need. A catalogue of your descent into hopeless longing, from childish hope to fevered fantasy. The kind of thing no one should ever read.

Especially not Caleb.

But fate, of course, doesn’t care what you want.

The first time he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, it's under the guise of helping you with groceries.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you snap, snatching the bag from his hands.

Caleb just laughs, leaning in. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”

His knuckles graze yours. You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending. Bastard.

—

The second time, you’re at your favorite café, the one with the uneven chairs and the cinnamon drinks he used to gag over. You’d brought him there as a joke, once. Now he takes you there seriously.

He’s seated too close, his thigh pressed against yours like a quiet claim.

“So,” he says, turning his head toward you. “No boyfriend? Fiancé? Star-crossed lover waiting in the wings?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a no, then,” he says smugly, sipping his drink.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“Just making sure I’m not stepping on any toes,” he murmurs, then adds, “when I kiss you.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “You’re not kissing me.”

“Not today, maybe,” he says easily. “But eventually.”

You hate how warm your cheeks get. You hate him a little more for noticing.

—

The third time is worse.

You’ve both had a bit too much wine. Not drunk, but soft around the edges. He’s on your couch, lounging like he belongs there, like the time between now and then never happened.

He watches you over the rim of his glass. “Why do you keep flinching when I touch you?”

“I don’t flinch.”

“You do. Like you’re scared I’m not real.”

You take a sip of your wine and stare straight ahead. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want.”

His voice goes quiet. “You.”

The word hits you like a punch.

“You wanted Emcee for years.”

“I was stupid for years.”

You meet his eyes. They’re clearer than they’ve ever been—focused, almost painfully sincere.

“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.

He sets his glass down, leans in. “No. It’s fate finally letting me try again.”

His hand reaches up, brushes your cheek with maddening tenderness. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

You freeze. The ache in your chest roars to life again. This is everything you ever wanted—but you don’t trust it. Not yet.

You turn your head. Just barely.

Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.

He sits back without a word.

—

The fourth time, it’s raining.

He brings you a coffee, his hair damp, his hoodie soaked at the shoulders.

“You didn’t have to walk in this weather,” you mutter, taking the drink anyway.

“I wanted to.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re still not letting me in.”

“Would you trust someone who vanished for years without a word?”

His smile falters. Then, to your surprise, he nods. “I wouldn’t. But I’d want them to fight for the chance to be trusted again.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking charm—a bent paper star you made him in high school.

“I didn’t forget you,” he says, voice low. “I tried to.”

That might be the worst thing he’s ever said. Because it means he felt something. Because it means you weren’t the only one suffering in silence.

Because it means he’s telling the truth.

You excuse yourself before your throat gives way to the sobs you refuse to let him see.

He doesn’t follow.

But he waits.

He always waits now.

And that’s more dangerous than any of his old pickup lines.

You agree to go with him to the observatory.

Big mistake.

It’s late, the sky smeared with stars and promises, the air just crisp enough that Caleb offers you his jacket before you can even pretend to be cold.

You don’t take it.

So, naturally, he just drapes it over your shoulders anyway, like you’re his.

“It looks better on you,” he says, voice quiet as your fingers clutch at the sleeves that still smell like him.

“Don’t start,” you murmur, but there’s no real bite to it.

“Start what?” His smirk is all mischief. “Being nice? Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to the sky, but he keeps watching you like you’re the constellation he’s been chasing all his life.

“I used to come here when I missed you,” you admit without thinking, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

The silence that follows is so sharp it could cut glass.

“When you missed me?” His voice is different now—serious. Dangerous. “How often did that happen?”

You laugh, tight and brittle. “Only every time I breathed.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then: “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll use it against me.”

He steps closer, slow and purposeful, until your back meets the cold railing. His hands cage you in, one on either side of your body, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Do you really think I’d take something that precious and weaponize it?”

“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”

“Then let me show you,” he says, and for a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

His lips hover just beside your ear, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck.

“I dreamt of you too, you know. Every damn night.”

Your knees nearly buckle, but pride is a stronger drug than longing.

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes burning. “Because I was stupid. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”

“I know,” he growls. “I know that now. And you’re still keeping me at arm’s length.”

“Damn right I am.”

His smile is tight, hungry. “Fine. You want to make me work for it? I’ll work.”

“I want to be chased, Caleb. Not collected.”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin is pure trouble.

“Then run, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.”

You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.

And maybe you hate yourself more for wanting to be caught.

It’s late. The kind of late where even the shadows seem to sleep.

The old piano room is still your secret solace—dusty, dim, filled with forgotten echoes and dreams you never dared to say out loud. The acoustics are perfect. No one ever comes in here anymore.

Except for one person.

You don't hear him at first. You’re too wrapped up in the song, the way your voice trembles on the high notes, the keys trembling beneath your fingertips. It’s the kind of melody you never intended anyone to hear. Especially not him.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out

I founded the club she's heard great things about

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

Your voice breaks. You close your eyes, breathe, keep going anyway.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

Silence. One, two, three beats of it. Then—

“You always did sound beautiful when you were sad.”

You jump.

Caleb leans against the doorway like he owns the place. Like he owns the air in your lungs. Like he owns you.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds, smile lazy, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You blink. “You heard that?”

“I always do.”

Of course he did.

You feel your cheeks burn as he strolls in, gaze never leaving yours. “That song… it’s new?”

You clear your throat, try for nonchalance. “Just something I was playing around with.”

He hums. “Right. Totally not about anyone in particular.”

You bristle. “Did I say that?”

“Nope. But you don’t have to. You forget—I know your voice. I know when it’s for fun. And when it’s ripping you open.”

You glance away, fingers tapping nervously on the ivory keys. “You're being dramatic.”

He kneels beside the bench. Just like that, he’s too close again. Always too close.

“You used to do this all the time,” he murmurs. “Sneak away to sing where no one could find you. You didn’t know I followed.”

Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”

“Why would I ruin it?” His gaze darkens. “Hearing you like that—it was the only time I ever got to feel like you needed something.”

“I didn’t sing those songs for you,” you lie.

Caleb tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Then why are your cheeks red?”

You shove away from the piano, muttering, “You're insufferable.”

He follows, not missing a beat. “You’re blushing, songbird.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You stop. He almost slams into you.

You glare up at him. “You think you’re so clever.”

He leans in, smirking. “No. I think I’ve waited too long to be this close to you, and now that I’m here, I’m not backing off.”

The worst part? Your hands are trembling. Your knees are weak. And still, somehow, you want more.

But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.

“You heard the song,” you say, voice low. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Then back up. He’s not smiling anymore.

“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”

You should have locked the damn drawer.

You don’t even know what made you check—but something prickled at the back of your neck the moment you stepped into your apartment. Like something sacred had been disturbed. And when you see the box in Caleb’s hands, your heart stops cold.

No. No.

His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.

And your world implodes.

He’s seated on your couch like he’s carved from stone, the soft golden lamp beside him casting long shadows across the muscles in his jaw and the heartbreak in his eyes.

He’s holding your soul in his hands.

The letters—dozens of them, hundreds, years of ink and agony and lust and grief—you recognize the crooked childhood handwriting, the shaky, angry teenage confessions, the flowing script of your adult longing. Pages of you. Laid bare.

Your breath catches. Your throat closes.

“I—That’s not—You weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracks. Your knees are trembling.

Caleb stands, the box still in his grip. He looks wrecked.

“I read every single one,” he says softly.

“Put them away,” you whisper, voice hollow. “Please, just… put them away.”

“I can’t.”

You turn to bolt, pure instinct.

And that’s when gravity betrays you.

A weight presses against your body—not crushing, but firm, immovable, inescapable. His Evol. 

Your hands fly to the walls, to the floor, anywhere to push back, but you’re floating. Held in place. Suspended in the moment you never wanted him to witness.

“Caleb—!”

“I need you to hear me,” he says, moving closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

Your back hits the wall.

He stops just inches from you, eyes devouring every inch of your face. His expression is ravenous, pained, like he’s starving and terrified that the meal in front of him will vanish if he breathes too hard.

“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice ragged. “I never knew.”

You shake your head. “You weren’t supposed to.”

His hand lifts. Hovers near your cheek. “I’ve been walking around blind, thinking I lost you back then. But you never stopped… You loved me. You loved me so much it hurt.”

Tears gather hot and fast in your eyes. “Caleb—don’t—”

“And I was in love with you,” he breathes. “All this time I thought I was chasing someone else, but it was you. It was always you.”

You look away. “You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You chose her.”

“I didn’t choose anyone,” he growls. “I was a coward. I ran. I shut you out and let you carry all that alone. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You weren’t,” you whisper. “You were destroying me.”

The look in his eyes breaks something in you.

“I memorized your words,” he says quietly, his forehead leaning gently against yours. “Every line. Every wish. Every desperate, filthy, aching thing you wanted to say. I felt all of it. Like I was there with you, through every goddamn year I missed.”

You tremble, caught in his pull, aching with the need to believe—but terrified to let yourself fall.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

His fingers trail lightly over your waist, your hip, anchoring you. The Gravity around you loosens just enough for your feet to touch the floor again, but you don’t move.

His mouth brushes against your temple.

“I just want to earn you. All of you. Like I should’ve from the start.”

You don’t kiss him.

But you don’t pull away either.

You can’t.

Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.

You’re burning.

He stays.

Even when you tell him to leave—quietly, then louder, then with trembling fingers pressed to his chest like a warning—Caleb stays.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“I should’ve been here years ago,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving again.”

You shove him.

He barely budges.

You shove him again.

This time, his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, fast, firm—calm.

You freeze. His skin is warm against yours, calloused where it should be gentle, familiar where it should feel foreign. Your pulse spikes in your throat.

“Let me go,” you say, breathless.

“No.”

Your breath hitches.

“No?” you echo.

His voice drops. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”

You glare up at him, furious. “You think a few words and a couple of pretty promises erase everything?”

“No,” he says again. “But I’ll keep proving myself until they do.”

You twist out of his grip—nearly—before he suddenly pulls you in.

And for one terrible, brilliant second, your bodies align like they’ve been waiting for this moment your whole lives.

His eyes search yours.

And then, Caleb whispers, “Tell me to stop.”

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

So he kisses you.

Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.

It’s a claiming.

It’s all the years you spent alone, writing down your agony like confessions to a God who never answered. It’s every fantasy you denied yourself, every moment you watched him look at someone else and wished it were you. It's him—finally, truly, desperately—here.

Your fingers fist in his shirt like you’re angry, like you’re clinging to something you swore you’d never need again.

And when you break apart, gasping, forehead pressed to his, you say—

“I hate you.”

He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”

“I hate how much I wanted that.”

“I hope you did.”

“I’m still not making this easy.”

Caleb’s lips trail down your jaw, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve never made anything easy, sweetheart. That’s why you’re worth everything.”

And still—

Still, your heart trembles with the weight of old wounds, and you pull back just enough to see the truth in his eyes.

“You’ll have to fight for this,” you warn him.

His hand finds the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. “Then prepare to be relentlessly pursued.”

You never agreed to date him.

But apparently, Caleb’s taking “relentless pursuit” as a blood oath.

He shows up at your place the next morning with coffee—your actual order, down to the way you like the foam. He doesn’t say how he remembers. You don’t ask.

That night, he texts you at 2am.

Bastard: Thinking about that song you sang. Thinking about your lips too, but that’s not important (it is).

You throw your phone across the bed.

The next day, he’s waiting outside your building. Leaning against his hoverbike, all long legs and low-lidded eyes and that grin. You think he’s here for some kind of mission.

Nope.

Just here to take you to lunch.

“Don’t say this is a date,” you grumble.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, offering his hand. “But hold on tight anyway.”

You hate how your fingers slide into his like they belong there.

—

Caleb doesn’t just flirt. He weaponizes charm like he trained for it.

He gives you compliments with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“I love your voice. Especially when you don’t realize you’re humming.”

“You roll your eyes the same way you used to when I beat you in training. It’s kind of adorable.”

“You don’t have to pretend around me. I know what you sound like when you're honest. I miss that sound.”

He touches you too often. Hand brushing your lower back when he walks past. Fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. Sitting just a little too close on your couch, his thigh pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hold strong—for a while.

Until he stays over one night, after watching some late-night sci-fi re-run and falling asleep on your couch like a smug golden retriever with abs.

You try to nudge him awake.

You fail.

Hard.

He catches your wrist in his sleep, pulls you down half-on top of him, murmurs your name like it’s a secret prayer, and buries his face in your neck.

You don’t sleep.

Your body is screaming.

But your heart?

It’s terrified.

—

When morning comes, you wake to him cooking in your kitchen like he belongs there, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, singing your song under his breath.

You freeze in the doorway.

He sees you.

And smiles.

Like you’re not the one who spent ten years hiding a love that almost broke you. Like he’s not here to crack it wide open.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Caleb says softly. “Stay.”

You almost do.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

You think you're doing a good job keeping him at bay.

You’re not.

Because Caleb is everywhere now.

He’s in your kitchen again, humming off-key as he steals bites from your cooking. He’s draped across your couch like it’s his favorite place in the world. He’s in the way he looks at you like you invented gravity, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

You keep your walls up.

But he keeps coming.

Like he knows you’re lying every time you act unaffected.

—

One night, after a long mission and even longer silence, he shows up unannounced. Eyes shadowed. Mouth grim. Shoulders tense with something unspoken.

You open the door.

He doesn’t say a word—just walks past you, breath ragged.

You follow him into your living room. “Caleb?”

“I thought I lost you again,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

He turns to face you, and it’s like the air shifts. Thickens.

“I heard your name over the comms. Brief moment of static. No confirmation you made it out. Just radio silence.”

You cross your arms. “I made it out fine.”

“I didn’t know that,” he snaps. “And for a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

You exhale. “I’m used to people not checking in.”

“I’m not people.”

He stalks closer.

You step back.

He follows.

“I don’t care how many times you push me away. You don’t get to disappear on me.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” you throw back. “Pretend like none of this hurts? Like I didn’t bleed for you in silence for years while you played hero somewhere else?”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracks. “Because I can’t let myself fall again, Caleb. Not if you're just gonna walk away when it gets hard.”

He grabs your wrist.

Not rough. Just certain.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

So he tips your chin up with two fingers.

His eyes are burning.

“I am not going anywhere. I don't care how long it takes. You can scream, you can run, you can tell me you hate me. I’ll still be right here.”

“Why?” you whisper, eyes glossy. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve loved you longer than I even understood what that meant,” he breathes. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want every single part of you.”

His other hand slides to your waist, slow and reverent.

Your breath hitches.

You can feel his heartbeat through your palm. Fast. Desperate.

The heat between you is unbearable.

One tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him again.

You want to.

God, you ache to.

But instead, you whisper, “This changes nothing.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Wrong,” Caleb whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “It changes everything.”

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Not this time.

He lets you go.

And it’s infuriating—because now you want him even more.

The first thing you notice is the light—soft gold spilling through your curtains, catching on floating dust motes, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around your legs.

The second thing you notice is the heat.

Not the weather. Not the blanket.

Him.

Your breath stills.

Because Caleb’s wrapped around you like he owns you.

Which—he doesn’t.

He shouldn’t.

And yet here you are, cocooned in his arms, his entire body molded to yours like you were sculpted to fit him. Your head is pillowed on his chest, right over the steady, heavy thump of his heart. One of his hands is buried in your hair, fingers gently tangled, the other gripping your waist in a possessive clutch that hasn’t loosened even in sleep.

You remember falling asleep with your back to him.

You do not remember signing up for this full-body cuddle trap.

Then there's his thigh—wedged between your legs like it lives there.

Your cheeks burn.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Time to get out before you completely lose your mind.”

You try to slip away quietly.

You wiggle.

No movement.

You nudge his hand.

His grip tightens.

You try prying his fingers from your waist. It’s like wrestling a bear. A warm, unfairly smug bear.

You let out a frustrated sigh and attempt to roll away—but the second you shift, Caleb lets out a low, sleepy groan. His body shifts with yours, tightening the hold, his thigh sliding higher. His lips brush your neck, parting slightly—

And then he nibbles.

You whimper.

It betrays you instantly.

That quiet little sound. The one that escapes before you can swallow it.

Caleb hums. The vibrations rumble through his chest, into your cheek.

And then—

“Mm... morning,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and delicious.

You go still.

“Caleb,” you say, your voice a warning.

His lips find your pulse point. “You smell good,” he slurs, still half-asleep, tone thick with something dangerous.

His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.

You squeak.

His arms tighten like steel bands.

He’s caging you in.

“C-Caleb, get off—this is—this is not appropriate!”

Another sleepy groan. His lips ghost along your jaw. “You’re so warm.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You’re dreaming,” you say, trying desperately to breathe like a normal person. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Let me go.”

He chuckles—chuckles. A deep, lazy sound against your neck. “If I’m dreaming, I’m never waking up.”

Then his hips shift. Just barely.

But enough.

“Caleb!”

His eyes snap open.

You expect guilt.

What you get is heat.

Raw, focused, and dangerous.

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back. His nose brushes yours.

“I was trying to be good,” Caleb murmurs. “You have no idea how hard it’s been.”

You do, actually.

Because it’s been hell for you, too.

You’re seconds from giving in—completely, helplessly—when you shove at his chest with both hands and scramble out from beneath him.

You’re standing, heart racing, cheeks flushed, breathless.

Caleb just smirks from the bed, messy-haired and golden in the morning light. “What? You gonna pretend you didn’t enjoy that?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

“Out,” you snap.

He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”

You march to the door.

“Fine, fine. But next time?” He swings his legs over the edge and stands, gaze searing into yours. “You’ll beg me to stay.”

You slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.

It happens fast.

Too fast for logic. Too fast for the walls you’ve spent years constructing around your traitorous heart.

One moment you’re arguing—again. Another stupid quip from him, another reckless flirtation that turns your blood to fire. You’re trying to hold on to the last shred of distance between you, snapping something half-hearted and defensive—

And then Caleb moves.

He grabs your wrists, spinning you with dizzying ease, and slams them gently but firmly against the wall. Your back hits the cold surface. His body follows.

You gasp.

His eyes meet yours.

They are ravenous.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Caleb says, voice low, feral, shaking with restraint. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to devour you.”

Your breath catches.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Not sweet. Not tentative.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming what was always his.

Your body jerks with the force of it, your wrists still caged in his hands above your head. You try to twist free—not to escape, but because it’s too much, all-consuming, desperate.

He doesn’t let you go.

He presses closer instead, chasing your mouth with his own, drinking in every gasp, every shuddering moan you try to swallow.

You break away for air—just for a second—and he follows, mouth trailing your jaw, nipping your throat, sucking a mark into the skin just below your ear.

“Caleb—” you manage, but it comes out a whimper.

His pelvis grinds into yours, deliberate and aching. The friction draws a strangled sound from your throat.

“Oh god—”

“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “That sound. I’ve imagined it every night. Every. Damn. Night.”

His hands leave your wrists—only to slide down your arms, your sides, until they’re clutching your hips like he might fall apart if he lets go. He lifts you onto the wall, thigh pressing between your legs, grinding again.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer even as your brain screams to stop this.

But your body?

Your body is already his.

“Tell me to stop,” Caleb breathes, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

You don’t.

You can’t.

There’s no pretending anymore. No wall to hide behind.

Because the truth is—he touches you like a man starved, but worships you like you're divine.

His lips return to yours, slower this time but no less intense, and it feels like every missed moment, every unsent letter, every buried ache is burning through the kiss.

His self-control shatters.

And you let it.

Because there’s no going back now.

There’s a moment—barely a breath—after that kiss.

His forehead rests against yours, both of you panting like you’ve just clawed your way back from the edge of something too big to name.

Then he says your name.

Low.

Like a promise.

And then he moves.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, anchoring yourself to the only solid thing in the room—him. He lifts you with maddening ease, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh so tight it borders on bruising. The kiss doesn't break—it deepens. Tongue sliding past your lips, breath and need mixing with no hesitation. He’s not asking anymore. He’s taking.

And you're letting him.

Because you’re tired of pretending you don’t want to be devoured.

He carries you, mouth never leaving yours, and slams the bedroom door shut with his foot. When your back hits the mattress, his body follows—pressing, claiming. His weight is heaven and fire, the grind of his hips against your core already making you tremble.

“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he rasps, voice rough as gravel, dragging his nose along the curve of your throat.

Your only answer is a moan as you arch into him.

His hand slips beneath your shirt. Fingers splayed wide, reverent—like he needs to memorize the shape of you. He palms your breast through your bra, thumb flicking over the peak until you shudder. His mouth finds the skin just above your heart.

“Mine,” he growls, more to himself than you. “Always have been.”

He strips you slowly, deliberately—like he’s savoring every inch of newly exposed skin. His hands roam. His mouth follows. Down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach, every inch worshipped like he’s repenting for all the years he stayed away.

When his fingers finally slip beneath your waistband, you gasp—your hips jerking up into his touch. He groans.

“So wet,” he mutters. “God, baby... how long have you needed this?”

You can’t speak.

Don’t even try.

Because his fingers know exactly where to press, where to circle, how to push you to the edge with maddening precision. It’s not just hunger—it’s intimacy, like he’s reading the language your body never learned to say out loud.

And when he finally takes you—when his body surges forward and fills you completely—it’s not just a snap of tension.

It’s a detonation.

You cry out, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drives into you with smooth, powerful thrusts. His pace is brutal in the best way—controlled only by the desperation in his eyes and the grip of your nails digging into his back.

He kisses you through it.

Keeps whispering your name like a prayer he’s never going to stop saying.

And when you break—shattering beneath him, around him—he follows instantly. With a groan that sounds like surrender. Like salvation.

He collapses against you, breathless.

Sweat-slick and trembling.

But he doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

His arms like iron bands.

His face buried in your neck.

“This isn’t over,” he whispers against your skin. “I’m not letting you go now. Not ever.”

And you believe him.

For the first time, you really believe him.

You lost track of how long ago the sun set.

The air is heavy with heat and sweat, your skin slick against the sheets. You’re boneless, trembling, lips swollen from kisses too deep, too desperate. Every nerve is raw. Every breath you take shudders.

And Caleb?

Caleb is still going.

You're on your hands and knees now, your face buried in the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into you from behind—relentless, deep, so deep it feels like he’s touching places inside you no one ever dared.

Your moans have long since turned into wrecked sobs of pleasure, and yet—he doesn’t slow.

He only grips your hips harder, angling you just right, dragging a scream from your throat as he hits that perfect, devastating spot again and again.

“I can’t—Caleb, I can’t—” you cry out, arms shaking, your body trying to collapse beneath the weight of all the overstimulation.

But he’s not hearing you.

Or rather—he hears you, and it only spurs him on.

Your body starts to slip forward across the mattress, desperate to escape the flood of sensation. You try to crawl away on trembling limbs, instincts screaming for reprieve—

And then his hand shoots out, grabs your hips, and yanks you back flush against him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is dark silk, wrapped around steel. Each word punctuated by a thrust that makes your toes curl.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

You sob into the sheets, too far gone for words.

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

His hand slips beneath you, down between your legs, fingers finding your clit with merciless precision.

“Not when you’re this wet. This messy. This mine.”

You scream.

The orgasm crashes through you without warning—your entire body seizing, writhing in his hold as the pleasure tears through you like a storm. You think that has to be the end, that your body can’t possibly handle any more.

But Caleb’s not done.

Not even close.

He stays deep inside, rolling his hips slowly, dragging out every aftershock until you're sobbing from the sensitivity. Your arms give out. You collapse onto your stomach, body limp, broken open from the inside.

And he follows—grinding into you again, pressing deep and staying there, his weight pinning you down, his mouth against your neck.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmurs, voice raw with emotion. “Years. Dreams. Fantasies. You don’t get to run now.”

Your heart stutters.

You’re overwhelmed.

You’re aching.

You’ve never felt more wanted.

And still—his hips move again.

You whimper. “Caleb—please—”

He kisses your shoulder. “One more, baby. Just one more.”

You know he’s lying.

And you let him.

Because the truth is—you’ve always wanted this, too.

Even if it leaves you utterly, completely undone.

You're floating.

Barely conscious, held together by the fragile thread of Caleb’s body wrapped around yours, his breath a soft rhythm against your neck.

Your limbs are jelly. Your thighs ache. Your lips are kiss-bitten and bruised, and your core is so sensitive that every inch of you shivers when he so much as adjusts beside you.

And yet—even now, even after hours—he won’t stop touching.

Not in the same feral, frantic way as before. No. Now it’s worship.

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the back of your neck, your spine. His fingertips trace lazy, possessive patterns into your hips. He murmurs things—some unintelligible, some far too intimate.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin.

“I missed you.”

“I’ll never let you go again.”

You’re too tired to reply. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, from moaning his name over and over, but your heart responds like a bell rung too hard. It throbs.

Eventually, he gets up—only to return with a warm towel, water, a fresh shirt. He tends to you with gentle hands, murmuring apologies each time you flinch from how sensitive you are, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your knuckles.

When he finally slides into the shower with you, your body instinctively leans into his. The water is hot, soothing, washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the evidence of your complete and total unraveling.

But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.

He sits on the tiled bench and pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him, head tucked under his chin. You’re exhausted, wrecked—and he’s still hard beneath you.

You give him a look that’s half horror, half disbelief.

He smirks, eyes dark and gleaming. “I told you, I’m not finished.”

“Caleb—”

“I owe you,” he says, voice dipping low. “For every year I didn’t touch you. For every time you cried over me in silence. For every word in those letters I should’ve read sooner.”

Your breath hitches.

And then his lips descend again—slow, tender, reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of you, water-slicked and trembling in his arms, yours at last.

Back in bed, you collapse into his chest, body boneless, heart hammering.

And just when you think he’s finally done—

He shifts again.

Rolls you beneath him.

“You’re not going to let me sleep?” you rasp.

His fingers trail down your body, between your thighs, making you jolt.

“No,” he breathes against your ear. “You’re not sleeping until I’ve claimed every inch of you. Until you can’t think of anything but me.”

You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

Because the truth is: every part of you belongs to him already.

And now?

He’s going to make sure you never forget it.

The morning after feels… dangerous.

Not because you’re in any real peril—but because it’s blissfully quiet, and the man who wrecked you within an inch of your life is humming softly in your kitchen, shirtless, wearing nothing but sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, looking like the devil himself in domestic drag.

You barely make it through the doorway, each step a careful negotiation with gravity and sore muscles. Your thighs ache. Your back aches. Everything aches. But the moment Caleb glances over his shoulder and smirks at your limp?

Oh, you want to punch him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

“You’re up,” he says, voice as smug as the day is long.

“I tried to stay asleep,” you deadpan. “But someone kept me up all night.”

He chuckles—low and wicked—and sets a mug of coffee on the counter for you.

“Consider it payback.”

You squint at him. “For what?”

His eyes drop to your hips, the curve of your throat, the faint marks blooming on your skin like war medals.

“For every letter you wrote and never gave me.”

Your stomach drops.

The mug clatters slightly when you set it down too fast.

You’d almost forgotten. Almost managed to push aside the mortifying knowledge that he read everything.

And yet, here he is—utterly unbothered, possibly turned on, casually flipping pancakes like he didn’t spend the night wrecking you with the very fantasies you'd penned in lonely bedrooms and late-night heartbreak.

“You read them all,” you say, not quite a question.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Memorized. Studied. Jer—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”

He only grins wider.

You try to be casual, sip your coffee, lean against the wall like you’re not reliving every desperate, depraved word he’s now got locked and loaded in that beautiful head of his. But he’s already watching you too closely. Reading you like one of those letters.

“There's one you missed,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

He freezes.

Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”

You bite your lip.

“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”

He’s gone before you even blink.

The pancakes are burning.

And your heart is pounding.

By the time you stumble after him, he’s already sitting on the bed, letter in hand. It’s the last one. The one you wrote when you thought you’d never see him again. It was raw, feral— filled with longing so thick it could drown you.

He reads it silently. His jaw tightens. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

When he finishes, he just looks at you.

You’re not sure what you expect.

But you do not expect him to throw the letter down and stand up like that.

“I’m going to ruin you again,” he says, voice low. “And this time, it won’t stop until you beg me to believe you’re mine.”

Your knees buckle.

But he’s already crossing the room.

“Run,” he commands, voice low, raw, as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw. “Run from me.”

You blink, confused for a moment, but then the hunger in his gaze makes your heart stutter. He’s not asking. He’s daring you.

And you’re the last person who can resist a challenge.

So you do.

You turn, heart pounding in your chest, and sprint out of the room, the sound of his footsteps following close behind you like a predator in pursuit.

You think you have a head start, but no. You’ve never seen Caleb move like this. He’s on you in seconds, and just when you think you can escape into the hallway, he catches your wrist, yanking you back, pulling you into his chest with a growl.

“You thought you could outrun me?” he snarls against your ear, his breath hot, his body pressed up against yours like a solid wall.

“Caleb—” you manage to gasp out, but before you can even finish the word, he’s lifting you effortlessly, throwing you onto the nearest surface—the kitchen counter.

You barely have time to brace yourself as he dives in. His hands are everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your thighs, your breasts—and all of it is a blur of sensation that leaves you breathless, exposed, desperate.

He thrusts hard, deep, as if trying to bury himself in you—like he’s trying to carve a piece of himself into your soul.

“No more running,” he growls. “You’re mine now. Forever mine.”

You cry out, body rocking forward with every savage thrust. His grip on you doesn’t falter. His hips slam into you with a force that makes your breath catch in your throat. There’s no gentleness now. No tenderness. Just pure, unrelenting desire.

“Tell me you want me, baby. Tell me you want it as much as I do.”

You can’t form words. You’re too lost, too gone, caught between the pleasure and the pain of it all. But your body tells him everything he needs to know.

His hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling you back to meet him with each thrust.

“Good girl,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction. “So fucking good for me.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He’s relentless. He’s savage. He’s ruining you in the best way possible.

And you don’t even want him to stop.

But then, like a switch flipping in his mind, he pulls away—just enough to let you breathe, to let you feel the cool air between you.

You take a shaky breath, your body screaming for release. And then he looks at you, eyes dark, glinting with something feral, something possessive.

“I should have known,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “you liked being chased.”

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, pushing you back against the counter until you’re arching helplessly into him, your legs spread wide.

“You always did,” he adds, voice dripping with satisfaction, “even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”

You remember.

And you remember how he’d always let you win—just enough—before pulling you back into his arms with that sly smile of his, the one that made your heart race and your stomach flip.

But now?

Now there’s no escape.

Now, his hands are all over you, claiming you again and again. You scream in pleasure, your body trembling under the weight of it all. His thrusts are punishing, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“You think I’m done with you?” Caleb mutters, bending over you, his lips brushing your ear as he thrusts deeper, harder. “You’re wrong.”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, too caught up in the endless spiral of pleasure and pain, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t need you to understand.

He’s not finished with you. Not by a long shot.

You try to push him away, but he’s too strong, too determined, too hungry. The game has shifted. Now it’s a battle of wills, and you’re not sure you want to win.

With a primal groan, he pulls you back against him, his hands digging into your waist, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck as he takes you again—slamming into you with an unholy force that leaves you gasping for air.

You don’t stand a chance.

You think you can catch your breath. You think you can stop. But Caleb’s dark eyes—burning, unwavering—look down at you, and you know, with every fiber of your being, that there’s no going back. Not now. Not ever.

You try to squirm, to move away, but every time you think you can escape, his hands are there—pinning you down, forcing you to stay, to take him, to let him claim you in ways no one else can. The harder you struggle, the more determined he becomes.

“You’re not getting away from me,” he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to break you down until all you know is me. Until your body belongs to me. Forever.”

You can’t think. You can’t breathe. All you can feel is him—every inch of him buried inside you, his hips driving into you with an unforgiving rhythm. Your legs tremble, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body completely surrendered to him.

He’s relentless. He moves faster, harder, deeper, and you can’t do anything but cling to him, feel the electricity of every touch, every kiss, every mark he leaves on you. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the sharp inhale of breath, the frantic rush of your heart.

And through it all, Caleb’s eyes never leave you. He watches you as though you’re the only thing that matters—his gaze filled with something fierce, something possessive, something dangerous.

He groans, his voice low and hoarse. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long. All this time, I knew what I was missing. I knew you were mine.”

Your heart skips a beat, the rawness in his voice making your chest tighten. His hands move down to your hips, pulling you against him, forcing you to take him even deeper. You can’t escape, can’t move away from him, no matter how much you want to. The pressure inside you builds—relentless, unbearable.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice like a growl. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Instead, you let your body speak for you—clinging to him, arching into him, begging for more in every breath you take.

His grip tightens around you. He shifts, changing the angle, and a fresh wave of pleasure crashes over you. You gasp, unable to stop yourself from crying out in ecstasy.

“You can’t hide from me anymore,” he growls. “You’re mine. And I’ll make sure you know it every time.”

And then—just when you think you can’t take anymore—Caleb pulls you into him, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so deep, so desperate, that you can’t help but melt into it. His tongue invades your mouth, and you meet him with equal fervor, your hands grasping at his shoulders, your body pressed tightly against his.

“Tell me you need me,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low, demanding, and so fucking sexy. “Tell me you want me. That you’re mine.”

You do.

You say it, breathlessly, barely able to hold on.

“Yes, Caleb,” you whisper. “I’m yours.”

His eyes darken even further, a vicious smile curling on his lips. And then, with one final, savage thrust, he brings you to the edge of oblivion—breaking you completely.

You scream his name as the world shatters around you, your body wracked with pleasure, your mind consumed by the sensation of him inside you.

But Caleb isn’t finished. Not yet.

He pulls out, watches you with a wicked grin, and without a second’s hesitation, flips you over, his grip tight on your waist as he positions you again—harder this time, faster, deeper.

“You’ll never escape me,” he murmurs against your neck as he takes you again, the primal, savage rhythm pushing you to the brink.

And the only thing you can do is let go.

Let him consume you. Let him claim you. Let him ruin you completely.

[anam-mana]

It fascinates me that Alistair gets lumped in with the “Chantry Boys” in discussions about Dragon Age Archetypes because it’s just. Very untrue. But it’s an idea the text actually pushes you to connect with in a way I think is purposeful.

This guy introduces us to the lore of the Blight by asking if we want “the chantry version or the truth.” If we ask if they’re not the same thing he smirks and says with some attitude “they rarely are.”

He sums up his religious beliefs saying he’s “not especially” Andrastian, and that “believes in the Maker well enough.”

He’s actually LESS religious than Zevran, who describes himself as fully Andrastian with a regular prayer routine in optional conversation branches.

The things that people use to categorize Alistair’s supposed “Chantry Boy” boy status all have non-religious motivations.

For example, the big one, his virginity, is because 1. He’s nervous around women, which is the gender he finds most attractive 2. He’s actually the youngest Party Member, being freshly 20 years old. 3. And most importantly, he correlates sex with love and was brought up to see them as requiring the other and so feels uncomfortable having sex without what he sees as “true love.” And he just hasn’t been in love yet.

Another example would be his reaction to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He reacts with wonder akin to Leliana where many others react with a contrasting blasee attitude. Even the Andrastian Zevran.

But you gotta read between the lines here. Zevran doesn’t hold remains as sacred. He’s an assassin. So his prophet’s body is in that urn. It’s a body. The least remarkable and most mundane, perhaps even the hardest to swallow, thing she could ever be to Zevran is a corpse. Kinda takes the wonder out of faith for an assassin if she dies and rests just like any one else.

But Alistair is fascinated, in awe. 1, probably because the Chantry he doubts so much now has some kinda proof that something they said was true, unlike what he previously believed. 2, Alistair is WAY more patriotic than he is religious and we gotta remember that the Fereldans pride themselves on Alamari heritage, and Andraste was probably the most powerful and influential Alamari person to ever live. 3, he’s actually a giant history buff. He info dumps history on you often, with the memorized readings of whatever question you ask. If asked about the King and Loghain before the betrayal at Ostagar, he shows respect for Loghain’s service in the War for Independance, and knowledge of his tactics. And when speaking about his time in training with the chantry as a child, he says the education was actually what he liked most. And a lot of his gifts are things like replica soldiers, Fereldan historical things, maps, (along with his interest in magical artifacts but that’s for another day.) etc. Given his patriotism and love of learning history, yeah, the Urn is a big deal to him.

I have more things I could say, but really, I just find Alistair to be one of the most misrepresented by fandom characters. His character has a TON of subtext that challenges you to look beyond what others represent him as and the low opinion he holds of himself.

The perception of him as Andrastian and devout is one pushed on him by people like Morrigan (and others to some degree) who fights Alistair more like a straw man representing society than she engages with him as himself. She sees him as a Templar even though he left the order specifically because they abused him And he fundamentally disagreed with their practices, The Harrowing specifically being what pushed him to fight to leave.

There are, textually, two ways to interpret Alistair. Through face value aesthetics and symbolism pointing to association with the Chantry and by observing other’s opinion of him. Or through actually listening to what he says and watching what he does.

And it’s just interesting to me that a lot of people get caught in the trap of what he represents aesthetically rather than who he is.

[lqveharrington]

Family Tree | D.M.

summary: Eleven years after the second wizarding war, you find yourself making lifelong decisions on platform 9¾ once more.

pairing: ex!draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: a LONG fic, daughter’s name is melody, talks about the war, abandonment, pregnancy, implied sex, cursing, hufflepuff slander (i’m a hufflepuff, i’m sorry), Pansy being a fun aunt & friend, teddy lupin mention being the coolest second cousin, melody is a mischievous child, teddy doesn’t like his god father, cursing, mainly angst with some fluff

a/n: i love him, your honor (he was truly my first love) this took way longer than i thought it would, so sorry 🙏

Years after you fought alongside Harry Potter to defend Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding World from Voldemort’s wrath, you found yourself packing trunks for Hogwarts once more. However, the trunks you packed were no longer yours. They contained unhoused robes and new textbooks that weren’t marked with your doodles and annotations. The pet carrier didn’t hold your own owl, but instead your daughter’s snowy owl.

Eleven years old. It was finally time for your daughter to attend Hogwarts.

The entire morning — the entire week — she would go on about finally being able to learn the spells and charms that protected the witches and wizards from evil. Just like you.

When you held her hand tightly to enter platform 9¾, she would continue to talk about seeing all the ghosts and paintings that were mentioned in all your stories. Of course, you never told her all the adventures you endured. She didn’t need to know where the Room of Requirements was.

“—And Moaning Myrtle! Is she as annoying as you said she was? I hope she isn’t. I want to ask her so many questions about you—“

“Melody, my love, you can’t bother the ghosts all the time. Hogwarts is a school.” You run your fingers through her platinum blonde hair and smile playfully when she scrunched her nose at you. You dusted off her shoulders and tilted your head, “What?”

“But it’s a magical school, mum. Shouldn’t I be able to ask questions if I have any?” She challenged you with a raised brow, pushing your hand away and adjusting her perfect hair — much like her father. She always wanted to be absolutely flawless, even when presented in front of you.

Your heart clenched at how similar Melody was to her father. Her smile and her mannerisms were all the same. It felt like you were eleven again and meeting him for the first time. The only difference between him and Melody was her eyes. She was born with your eyes — the ones filled with so much emotion with every single look.

Glancing down at your watch, you sighed and cocked your head to the side, fixating your gaze on the train that once took you to a place where you found everything and everyone you loved. Where you found him.

“Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back every chance I get.” Melody took your hand in hers and squeezed, noticing your far off look. Her thumb traced the silver ring you wore on your left hand. She never knew what the M stood for on your ring — she always assumed it was for her name.

“I promise I’ll send an owl every week.”

“I know you will.” You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before your eyes caught a book being dropped by a young boy — who looked an awful lot like Tonks and Remus. Shaking your head, you bent to pick the book up and handed it to your daughter. “Can you quickly run and hand this to that young man? But come straight back. I want to properly say goodbye before you leave me forever.”

Melody rolled her eyes at your antics, but nothing could hide the smile that came with it. She made swift steps over to the boy before he boarded the train, eyes widening curiously when he faced her. The boy’s hair turned a bright pink as he thanked her, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?” Melody whispered in excitement and watched his hair turned an electric blue. Her grin widened, recalling what you told her a while ago. “My mum says my aunt was one!”

The boy finally took a good look at Melody, a light bulb going off in his head when he realized who he was talking to. He recognized her the Black Family tree back at 12 Grimmauld Place. He opened his mouth to ask her who she was when his friends pulled him into the train without a single glance to whoever he was talking to.

Melody furrowed her brows in confusion before huffing, perfectly styled hair whipping behind her as she left to find you before boarding the express herself. She thought all Hufflepuffs were supposed to be sweet, but these Hufflepuffs seemed to ignore her like she was nothing but an itty bitty fairy.

She hoped she wasn’t put into Hufflepuff.

“My mum was one of the hero’s at Hogwarts.” She muttered to herself and — once again — flicked a piece of her blonde hair behind her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a collision of trolleys to her left. “I’ll tell her all about this.”

Melody made a quick turn to where she last left you before slamming into someone, nearly toppling over from the sheer force. She caught the person’s arm and yanked herself back before she could fall on her arse, mentally cursing herself for not looking at her surroundings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She muttered and dusted herself off from invisible dust, looking up at the person only to find a man staring at her with a shocked expression. Was he really that offended by it? He was an adult and she was merely eleven.

The man blinked before shaking his head, schooling his shocked expression to one of nonchalance instead. He looked around and tilted his head at the girl standing in front of him, examining her face like she was someone he recognized before. This girl reminded him of someone he used to know. Someone he used to love dearly.

Melody pursed her lips and rocked on the heel of her Mary Jane’s, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with his staring, but she wasn’t comfortable either. Just as Melody was about to excuse herself from the man, she heard your familiar voice ring out, making her visibly relax despite your tone.

“Where were you? I told you to come straight back.” You rushed over to her and ran your fingers through her hair once more, unaware of your surroundings. You were so worried she had left before saying goodbye and it absolutely haunted you.

She looked back at the blonde man behind you for a split second before tilting her head down to the floor. Melody knew that you were waiting for an answer — she just had to suck up the embarrassment.

“I was coming to find you when I knocked into that man.” She gestured behind you and held back a whine when you tilted her head to check her for any cuts and bruises.

Melody made eye contact with the same person she knocked into again and hid her face in your jumper, hating that all the attention kept going back to her. She felt scrutinized under his gaze.

“Mum.”

You sigh softly and turn your attention to the man, still carding your fingers through Melody’s hair. You kept your eyes trained on her until she relaxed, finally looking up to meet the said person when years of memories hit you like a freight train.

“I’m so sorry about Melody. She usually isn’t this distracted — Draco?”

Your throat closed up at the sight of him — Draco Malfoy.

It was your Draco. The one who promised to love you his entire life; the one who promised to never leave your side; the one who left you alone with nothing but a broken heart and an unborn daughter.

Draco swallowed thickly and looked away. He felt horrible leaving you alone all these years, but he couldn’t figure out how to explain to you why he left so abruptly. Especially when you were about to drop your daughter — his daughter — off to Hogwarts.

Everything felt so overwhelming for the small family.

The whistling of the Hogwarts' Express immediately caught Melody's ears, her eyes widening at how little time she had left with you before departing for the next few months until holiday.

“Mum, the express is going to leave soon.” Melody’s voice snapped you out of your stupor, her small hand squeezing your ringed hand — which didn’t escape Draco’s gaze.

You cupped her face with both hands, kissing her forehead. This would be the first time you would be away from her for so long and you didn’t know if you could handle the separation.

“When you have time, send me an owl right away. Include your house in the parchment, alright? Be safe and make smart decisions.“ You instructed.

“I will.” She locked a pinky around yours before wrapping her arms around your neck, breathing in your familiar scent one last time. “I love you, mum.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl.” You held her tightly and made the horrible mistake of meeting Draco’s eyes. You looked away faster than he could mark the emotion in your eyes. “Now get on that train before it leaves without you.”

Melody ran on the train and found a compartment occupied by a couple of other first years, smiling when you waved to her as the Hogwarts’ Express left platform 9¾.

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.” Draco spoke and pushed his hair back — the initial shock finally settling in his chest.

You sigh and turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. Although it had been years, the warmth from his gaze still filled you and you hated it. You hated that all the love you had for him was still stored away.

“Why are you here, Draco?”

He narrowed his eyes at your deflection but answered truthfully. He might as well begin with the truth before anything else.

“I’m the auror assigned to protect the wizards and witches at this platform.” Draco responded before glancing at his watch, frowning at the time it read back. “I’ll be back—“

You put your hand up and stopped his excuses, shaking your head and frowning. Pulling out your own wand, you pointed it at his chest and glared. You would never let yourself be fooled twice.

“That’s what you’re good at doing, Draco.” You tapped your wand on his chest, your heart screaming to stop but your mind blocked out every emotion you felt for him besides pure rage. “You’re good at leaving. That’s all I know about you, and that’s all Melody will ever know about her father.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides but made no effort to stop you. He could tell — your eyes betraying your every emotion — that you needed to reprimand him. He could see the way you wanted to scream and shout everything you kept bottled in your mind. Every single memory you had with him building up, ready to explode with any wrong move.

“Love—“

“You have no right.” You whisper at the nickname and shake your head at him, apparating away.

Melody watched in trepidation as first years were sorted into a house after Professor McGonagall read off their names from a long roll of parchment. Each and every one of them grinning brightly at the rest of the student body when the Sorting Hat screamed their respective houses out. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to be sorted.

After all, her mother blessed her with a last name that wouldn’t take ages to be called up.

“Bellemont, Melody!”

She beamed at the professors as she made her up onto the wooden stool, flicking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder as the Sorting Hat was placed upon her head. Melody wasn’t sure what to expect when the hat fell, but she knew she would rather move to America than be sorted in Hufflepuff like that group of boys she met at the station. They were all rude except for the Metamorphmagus she held an actual conversation with.

“A Malfoy who isn’t a Malfoy.” The Sorting Hat murmured to itself — and knowingly — Melody. “Clearly, you haven’t been raised with the pureblooded status quo. Perhaps your mother’s doing… But you have your father’s confidence and pride…”

Melody’s face twisted in confusion at the hat’s words. Who was Malfoy? Was that her father? Maybe her grandmother’s previous last name? She didn’t understand the hat, and as if it read her mind — which it could — clarified for the young witch.

“Your father was a broken soul.” The hat tutted and swished around her head like it was revisiting old memories of her parents. “Your mother wormed her way into his heart until she mended him.”

She blinked and looked over at McGonagall, who merely smiled at her. Melody pursed her lips and looked out into the crowd, hoping to find any kind of familiar face. Unfortunately, all her aunts and uncles decided to have children only a few years ago.

Melody frowned as the hat continued to make random comments about her parents, ultimately boring her from the ceremony. She wasn’t sure what the hat was going on about you and her father, but she was sure to send an owl to you soon.

“Nevertheless, your father and mother were in the same house.” The Sorting Hat commented before shouting its decision for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. “SLYTHERIN!”

Melody gave the applauding hall a tight-lipped smile as she walked over to the Slytherin table, finding an empty seat beside an enthusiastic prefect. She was ecstatic to be in the same house as her mother, of course, but now only one thing circled her mind. She didn’t feel the need to ever know about this before. You were all she ever needed. Yet the Sorting Hat planted something in her head, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Who was her father? And who is Malfoy?

“I’ve been getting the same question back from Melody in every single letter. This is starting to get ridiculous.” You throw the recent letter you received from Melody on the kitchen counter, rubbing your face in frustration. “What the hell happened at Hogwarts for her to suddenly be interested in who her father is?”

On a normal day, Melody would never pester you about who her father was. Now, it felt like you got a letter everyday about who her father was. You weren’t sure what the best move was. Either way you went, everything would change drastically.

Pansy shrugged and read the letter, raising her brows at the perfect cursive that could rival Draco’s. “Maybe it’s time you should tell her. It’s been eleven years, and she’s old enough to know about him.“

You spun the stupid Malfoy ring on your finger and huffed. “It’s not about how old she is. I just don’t want her to know that Draco essentially abandoned her. Granted, he left before I could even tell him.” You glared at the silver ring. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull the piece of jewelry off. “Besides, she already met Draco. It’ll complicate the entire situation if I try to explain it now.”

“Wait — when did Melody meet Draco?” She furrowed her brows and sat up at the new information. Pansy squinted at your expression before gasping, nearly jumping out of her chair at the realization. “At the platform?”

“Yes.” You groan and bury your head in your hands. Even if you did want Melody to know about her father at some point, you didn’t want it to be like that. She doesn’t deserve such an abrupt change right before she hopped on the express for Hogwarts. “Melody bumped into him trying to find me.”

Pansy sighed and took your hands in hers, watching your reaction very closely. “It’s better that you tell her about Draco rather than someone else tell her. I don’t doubt you’ll make the right call about all of this, but please tell her sooner rather than later.” Pansy squeezed your hands and sent you a small smile.

You bit your bottom lip and glanced toward the moving photograph you hung on the wall. It was a picture of you, Pansy, and Blaise right before Draco’s final quidditch game. You were laughing at something Blaise said, but the photo only played that far into the memory before resetting.

Pansy caught your gaze and waved her wand over to the frame, changing the length of the moving photograph. Instead of you laughing at something Blaise said, you were pulling an unamused Draco to sit beside you for the photo.

Your heart clenched at the sight, finally giving into your daughter’s pleads.

“I’ll tell Melody when she comes home for the holidays. I don’t want her to find out via owl.” You sigh and wave your hand toward the photograph, setting it back to the way it was originally.

The photo was taunting you to look back over, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it anymore.

You could always tell yourself you wanted nothing to do with Draco, but everyone knew that you would run back if you found the perfect reason to. Maybe Melody was your perfect reason.

“Melody, wait!”

The girl turned to the sound of her name — blonde locks flawlessly following through — and her arms tightened around the textbooks she held. Out of all the people at Hogwarts, she least expected to see the boy from the train station jogging toward her. She looked behind him for his friends — if you could even call them friends — but it was just the boy. The Metamorphmagus boy.

“Yes?” She tilted her head and creased her eyebrows when his hair turned a horrid shade of green. The color made her feel uneasy, forcing her to wait until it faded back to its original state to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know your — er — name.”

The boy blinked before sticking his hand out, shaking her hand profusely. “I’m Teddy Lupin. I’m so sorry about my friends back on the express months ago. They found an unoccupied compartment and wanted to claim it before someone else took it.”

Melody slowly nodded and glanced at her leather watch, frowning when she realized she was already seconds late to a study session with a couple of first years she befriended. She pursed her lips and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Was that all you needed me for? I need to study for a charms exam.”

“Well — uhm — I don’t want you to not study, but I wanted to ask you if this was you. If it’s not, it looks scarily like you and has the exact same name. Except the last name matches my uncle’s — “

Melody barely processed the rest of his rambling as Teddy pulled out a photograph of a wall she couldn’t recognize. There were bits and pieces of the wall that were burnt and faces that were skeletons rather than perfectly painted — perfectly detailed — faces. It seemed like the wall went on forever until she glanced at the very bottom right.

Melody’s breath lodged in her throat as she read the last name painted beside her legal first name. Her eyes followed the family tree branch up to find — not her mother — but her father’s face painted on the wall. Although your face wasn’t painted, your name was still written underneath one—

“Draco Malfoy.” She whispered and looked up at Teddy with a shocked expression, hands gripping the photograph in confusion.

There was the last name the Sorting Hat kept muttering.

It was the same man she met at the platform months ago. The color of his hair — and the way you acted around him — should’ve been a dead giveaway that he was indeed her father. Melody shook her head and gave Teddy back the photo, determined to understand why you chose to hide this from her for so long.

“You wouldn’t mind helping me figure the rest of this out, would you?”

The wind breezing through platform 9¾ from the Hogwarts’ Express sent your hair flying through the air and your arms tightening around yourself. You were picking Melody up for the holidays and made the awful decision to not bring a stupid coat — thinking you could get out within minutes.

Silently cursing from how cold it was, you watch the students stream out of the train until you saw the platinum blonde hair you knew belonged to your daughter. Instantly, her eyes met yours and she ran. She ran until she knocked herself into your arms, nearly toppling the both of you over.

“Hi, mum.” She murmured into your neck and pulled herself impossibly closer. She tucked her chin in your shoulder, letting herself melt in your arms. “I missed you.”

You blinked away suppressed tears and kissed the side of her head. You didn’t realize how much you missed your sweet girl until she was in your arms again. “I missed you too, my love.”

You adjusted her Slytherin scarf — proudly, you might add — around her neck before pressing a kiss in her hair. You would make the most out of the two weeks you had with her if it was the last thing you did.

The commotion of the platform left the both of you unfazed as you went to grab her trunk from the express. You shrunk the trunk before tucking it away in your pocket, sending Melody a grin when she rolled her eyes at you. But as you went to leave the platform, Melody tugged you back in place with wide eyes.

You furrowed your brows and stared at her with a confused expression, hands ready to grab your wand in case she saw something that was potentially threatening. “What—?”

“Melody!” A boy ran over to your daughter and put a hand up as he took deep breaths, hair flashing many different colors before settling on purple. “I couldn’t find you after you left the compartment.”

You tilted your head at the sudden arrival of a boy before recognizing the face. You could recognize that face anywhere. After all, he was a spitting image of Remus and Tonks.

“Mum, this is Teddy Lupin.” Melody gestured to the tall boy and pushed up on her tippy toes to look past him, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Teddy.” You shake his hand and gently pull Melody back, eyeing her suspiciously before speaking to the young boy once more. “I haven’t seen you since you were an itty bitty baby.”

Teddy felt his heart kick up at the thought of you knowing him before now. You must’ve known him from when he was a mere baby. You probably knew his parents and who his parents were.

“You knew my parents?” He breathed with eyes shimmering with interest.

“Of course, I did. Your father taught me in my third year, and I absolutely adored your mother.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sighed, shaking away the thought of him being orphaned at such a young age. You would forever curse Voldemort for destroying so many families. “How are your studies going, Teddy? I heard—”

“Must we explain everything, mum?” Melody whined and interrupted your friendly demeanor. She didn’t want to stay at the platform any longer than you, but she needed to be here until he showed up, and she didn’t want to spend all that time listening to you being extra polite. It felt weird.

“Did you bring—?”

“He’s making his way over.” Teddy waved his hand in the air and rolled his eyes, slight annoyance filling them. Not because of her but because of his uncle.

He seemed to be taking his sweet time trying to find Teddy after he all but ran toward Melody the second he saw her blonde hair over crowds of reunited families. Although, he had to admit that his uncle was far better on time management than his god father. Harry Potter could save the entire wizarding world yet he still was late to all of Teddy’s milestones.

“He’s making his way through the crowds, although he was quite skeptic on why I suddenly asked him about dinner.”

You looked between the two and knitted your brows together. You knew Melody invited someone over for dinner, but you didn’t expect another person. So who was the other?

Before either of the two could speak, you interrupted with a stern tone. “Him who?”

“Ted, you can’t wander off and not tell me who we’re going to have dinner with — Oh, fuck me.” Draco caught up to his nephew, who he found standing beside the woman he loved all these years. He didn’t think running into you twice at the platform in one year would even be possible.

“Shit.” You mutter and quickly avert your eyes from staring at his disheveled figure, forcing your heart to steady itself.

Looking down at the two children, you crossed your arms and raised a brow. You couldn’t help but think the both of them planned it — and by the looks of their guilty faces — you knew you were right.

“What did you two do?”

Teddy folded before Melody could even utter a single syllable. He jabbed a finger in her direction as his hair turned a bright pink. “Melody did it.”

“Gee, thanks.” The said girl pushed his hand away from her face and met your questioning gaze. She knew she shouldn’t have surprised either of you, but she wanted the truth without you stepping on eggshells every single time. “Uhm…”

You tilted your head and waited for her to continue, feeling Draco’s looming presence right beside you. He was equally as confused by the ambush but was willing to listen to his daughter.

Melody nervously played with the ends of her hair before spilling everything, shutting her eyes tightly when she heard how selfish her plan truly was. If something horrible came out of this, it would’ve been her fault that you were upset and her father would never want to see her again.

“I just really want to know the truth! Teddy showed me the Black Family Tree a while ago and — well — I saw me on there connected to who I suppose my father is. And when I realized it was the same person we saw here, I knew I had to find a way to see him again. I want to know who my dad is, I want to really know him.”

Draco’s face twisted into surprise and looked over at Teddy for confirmation only to whip his head back to Melody.

“And your name was written underneath his, mum.”

Instinctively, you hid your left hand under your arm and bit the inside of your cheek. Though you weren’t officially married to Draco, his family signet indicated that you were promised to one another. Whether you decided to continue with the marriage or not wasn’t a controlling factor.

“You know he’s your father, what else is there to say?”

Melody peeled her eyes open and frowned. You were getting so defensive and she still didn’t know why you never told her about her father. Even Draco looked hurt by your words.

“Why did you never tell me?” She spoke softly — afraid that the only thing she’s ever known could fall apart in an instant. She loved you, but what you kept from her seemed so unfair.

“I promise I was going to tell you this week.” You matched her tone and pursed your lips when you saw her eyes swimming with sadness.

Melody shifted her attention to her father and crossed her arms, tilting her chin up with the same confidence he had at her age. “Did you come to the station on purpose?”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head, tucking his hands into his front pockets, fidgeting from habit. He hated confrontation. “No, I’m an auror stationed here when students head back to Hogwarts and come back.”

Melody looked to Teddy for confirmation — much like her father — and received a curt nod back, making her bite her lip in frustration. Neither of them was giving her the information she wanted needed. All she saw was the tension and the underlying love of two different people.

She wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, she could press on and continue bothering them. But on the other —

“I didn’t even know your mother was pregnant.”

You perked up at the mention and glared at the blonde, eyes filled with the same anger and disappointment he saw months ago. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to protect you.” Draco narrowed his eyes at you, his tone challenging yours.

Melody took a small step back. This wasn’t how she planned this to go, but this was more information she received than from the last eleven years.

“You made that decision yourself.” You whispered, voice cracking with hurt. The walls you carefully built around old memories chipped away as you recalled them all — each moment flashing in your mind. “I could’ve helped, Dray. Instead, you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

Draco furrowed his brows together and shook his head — you were always so stubborn and so correct. “You could’ve gotten killed—“

“I would have died to stay with you.” You instinctively grabbed his hand. “Do you know how long I waited? How long I used to stay up — wondering if you would ever come back?” The tears began to well up as you continued to speak, voice trembling and hands shaking.

Draco quietly listened and stared down at your ringed finger, his family signet shining for all the wizarding world to see. He promised to marry you — to take you away from the mess of the past.

Yet he still left.

“I was praying to whoever was out there for you to come find me.” You quietly spoke and finally dropped his hand. “You left me with nothing.”

The both of you stared at one another with unspoken apologies. No matter how long it’s been, you could still read him and he could still read you. To one another, it was like reading a childhood book that could be recited front to back.

After seconds of stiff silence, you turned back to Melody and Teddy — handing your daughter the miniature trunk and keys to your car. “Melody, take Teddy and wait in the car.”

“Mum—“

“Now.” You cut her off and watch her and Teddy leave the platform. Steadying your breathing once more, you looked back at Draco and twisted your ring. “Do you even have anything to say?”

He looked between your eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, voice small like the seventeen year old Death Eater he once was.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke with so much emotion you swore you could see the colors surrounding him. “I’m so sorry I left without saying anything.”

A noise threatened to leave your lips, but you made no effort to leave your position nor say anything.

“But I was vowed to follow my father’s footsteps by becoming a Death Eater.” He took your hand in his and traced the familiar lines across your palm, effectively calming him and you. “Waking up beside you brought me comfort in all the torture they made me endure. I knew you didn’t deserve to suffer with me, so I left.”

Draco watched your hand delicately hover his arm where the mark was, biting his tongue when you thumbed the space below — something you used to do back in sixth year when he got so overwhelmed with his mission.

“I can’t ever take back the day I decided to leave and never show up again, but I don’t regret it.”

You silently absorbed his words and sniffled — signs that were so clear to Draco about what was to come. He tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, giving you a weak smile.

“You raised an excellent daughter without me.” He tired to cheer you up but frowned when he saw the shimmer of a singular tear streak down your face.

“I needed you.” You frustratedly wipe your tear and look away, knowing that the vulnerability of your heart was completely at stake. “Dray, I was seventeen too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of the both of you — so young and restrained by everything.

“I was pregnant and terrified. I didn’t know if I could even raise a child on my own.” You breathed and looked up at the glass roofing, pushing the rest of the tears away. “Imagine how different our life would be if you just stayed.”

Another tear escaped and — suddenly — your barriers crumbled. The mere thought of raising Melody on your own without Draco consumed your every being. And somehow — even with just you — she ended up exactly like her father.

“Yes, Melody is amazing, but I really needed you.”

Draco caught your eyes and instantly pulled you in his arms, tucking your head under his chin — refusing to let go of you ever again. His heart continued to break at your silent sobs, each sniffle and hiccup chiseling the crack that formed years ago.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and repeated it like a mantra, voice raw with so much sincerity. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

“I needed you, Draco.” You sobbed and breathed in his familiar scent as you buried your face in his chest. You gripped the lapels of his suit, eyes squeezed shut as if you were afraid he would disappear again. “For more than eleven years, I needed you.”

“I needed you too.” Draco whispered and tilted your head up, thumbing your streaked face. His heart ached from all the time he missed out on. “I’m sorry.”

It felt like ages before you pulled away from him. The only sounds that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and the hisses of the express. You took in a shaky breath and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your jumper, mouth moving before your heart and mind could catch up.

“Would you still have dinner with us? I’m sure you’ve been here all day waiting for the arrival of the express.”

Finally listening to your own words, your freeze before slowly meeting his eyes. You were more shocked at yourself than his answer.

“I would love to have dinner with you and Melody.” He answered truthfully before waving his free hand around with the smallest smile on his face. “And Teddy.”

You match his expression and tilt your head to the right, wringing your hands together. “Maybe you could finally get to know Melody.”

Draco’s lips curled into a fully blown smile, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with delight at the idea of finally knowing his one and only daughter. “I would like that.”

“Me too.” You say softly and — for the first time in a long time — hide the rising warmth forming on your cheek.

Draco Malfoy. The biggest love and loss of your life.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[jiminomenon]

bratty beginnings

pairing: model! yu jimin x assistant! female reader

word count: 851 words

summary: in which, y/n moves to seoul with nothing but hope, only to face rejection after rejection. when she lands a job as the assistant to infamous model yu jimin, she quickly learns that dealing with jimin’s bratty attitude is harder than it seems. but when y/n unexpectedly fights back, everything changes—including jimin.

from my series: the devil wears prada

a/n: ya’ll please send ask/requests for this story, or even thoughts.

the train ride to seoul felt like a dream, the kind that y/n wasn’t sure she wanted to wake up from. the provincial district she had called home for years was now just a blur outside the window, replaced by the towering skyscrapers and neon lights of the city. y/n clutched her suitcase tightly, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. seoul was big, loud, and overwhelming, and y/n had no friends, no family, and no job waiting for her. just a dream and a whole lot of hope.

the first few days were a blur of job applications and rejections. y/n had applied everywhere—cafes, convenience stores, even a sketchy-looking karaoke bar—but no one wanted someone with no experience. the rejections piled up, and so did the doubt. maybe coming to seoul had been a mistake. maybe she wasn’t cut out for this.

but then, like a lifeline, she saw it: a job posting for an assistant position. no experience required. good pay. it sounded too good to be true, but y/n was desperate. she printed out her resume, put on her best outfit, and headed to the address listed.

the building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, and the lobby was filled with people who looked like they belonged there. y/n, in her slightly wrinkled blouse and scuffed shoes, felt out of place. the receptionist gave her a once-over before directing her to the 15th floor. the elevator ride felt like an eternity, and y/n’s reflection in the mirrored walls looked as nervous as she felt.

when the doors slid open, chaos greeted her. people rushed back and forth, shouting orders, carrying racks of clothes, and balancing trays of coffee. in the center of it all stood yu jimin—karina. even in the midst of the madness, she was impossible to miss. tall, striking, with an aura that commanded attention. she was arguing with a stylist, her voice sharp and cutting.

“i said no pink! do you not understand basic instructions?”

the stylist stammered an apology, but jimin was already turning away, her eyes landing on y/n. she raised an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over y/n with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

“who are you?” she demanded, her tone making it clear she expected an immediate answer.

“i-i’m here for the assistant position,” y/n stammered, holding up her resume like a shield.

jimin plucked it from her hands, scanning it with a bored expression. “no experience. great. just what i need.” she sighed dramatically, tossing the resume onto a nearby table. “fine. you’re hired. don’t make me regret it.”

y/n blinked, stunned. “just like that?”

“just like that,” jimin said, already walking away. “you start now. keep up.”

the first few hours were a whirlwind. jimin was every bit as demanding and bratty as the rumors suggested, barking orders and criticizing everything y/n did.

“this coffee is too cold,” she snapped, shoving the cup back into y/n’s hands. “fix it.”

“why is this taking so long? are you incompetent?”

“do you even know how to do anything right?”

y/n’s patience was wearing thin. she had taken enough of jimin’s attitude, and something inside her snapped. when jimin threw another insult her way, y/n turned to her, her voice steady but firm.

“you know what? i’m not scared of you. i’ve had enough of your attitude. i get it, you’re a big shot model, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like garbage. i’m here to do a job, not be your punching bag. so either start treating me with some respect, or find someone else to boss around!”

the room fell silent. everyone stopped what they were doing, their eyes wide with shock. no one talked back to jimin. no one. the stylist who had been yelled at earlier looked like she was about to faint, and the photographer nervously adjusted his camera, as if preparing to capture the moment jimin exploded.

but jimin didn’t explode. instead, she stared at y/n for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, to everyone’s surprise, she chuckled. it was a low, amused sound, and it sent a shiver down y/n’s spine.

“well, well,” jimin said, a smirk playing on her lips. “looks like you’ve got some fire in you after all.” she stepped closer, her eyes locking with y/n’s. “fine. you’ve got the job. don’t make me regret it.”

and with that, she turned and walked away, leaving y/n and the rest of the room in stunned silence. the stylist let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and the photographer muttered something about needing a drink. y/n, meanwhile, stood there, her heart pounding, unsure whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life or the best decision.

but as the days turned into weeks, y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, she had found her place in seoul after all. and maybe, just maybe, jimin wasn’t as bad as everyone made her out to be.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader)

Promotion to colonel has its perks. Having your own caretaker with fluffy cow years and a nice pair of...additions is one of them - and Konig is about to enjoy his new rank.

Content warning: Hybrids, Konig is a huge pervert, naive cow hybrid reader, slight dub-con, power imbalance, and inappropriate work behavior, lactation kink. Implied big chested!Reader

Humans have learned to live with monsters. Obviously, having dangerous, much more powerful neighbors in this tiny green planet, didn’t allow humans to actually thrive and succeed – the power dynamics were shifted ever since the first monster decided, that wearing a collar and identification badge doesn’t really go with their style. And humans would be much more suited to wear it. 

Unfortunately, monsters aren’t created equal – while most of them are killing machines with little to no regard to the danger of real life, there are some particularly fragile hybrids with no use in fights or even normal life. House cat hybrid girls, almost no claws and all purring and laying on their backs to let humans and other monsters pet their bellies. Sheep hybrids, all fluff and tiny, rounded horns that would never hurt anyone. Cow hybrids, adorable and silly, no use in the fights except for moral support. 

Which is exactly why König was fucking pissed. 

— G…good evening, sir. I will be your assistant for the day. I mean, every day. As long as you’re having me. 

You smile nervously, munching on your lips. When the only way up the social ladder was working in the army as an…assistant? Moral support? Waving your nurse training like you’d be able to safely secure a monster’s health when he is twice as big as you? 

Being a colonel in the army has its perks – better gear, better paycheck, better chunks of meat that he can bite off the enemies without higher-ups whining about war crimes and rules of war. Having a cute lil’ assistant with fluffy ears and a chest that physically can’t fit into the uniform, forcing you to wear permanent cleavage and just let a bit of chubbiness roll on the tight fabric is also a perk. For a pervert, maybe, but not for König who is already sworn to never deal with anyone who is this sensitive, this soft, and this…adorable. 

He thought he was quite certain in his wishes – if higher-ups really need for him to take a fuck toy, he wanted it to be resilient. Maybe a dog hybrid, maybe a vampire, just weak and hungry enough to overpower with little fights. Not someone like you, who has no idea what she is doing in the army and why her hands are trembling like he is going to devour you alive. Although, looking at the way your chest is swaying every time you flinch…maybe, he can do just that. Teach higher-ups a lesson on why he doesn’t need their handouts. 

— Dismissed. 

He doesn’t even look at you. Honestly, you’re a bit hurt – honestly, you almost want to yell at him or scream or tell all of your higher-ups that the colonel is a huge jerk who clearly doesn’t need a little cow darling to make him coffee and tend to his needs and be a huge moral support because they can’t take another fucked out recruit when the dangerous hybrid is in heat again. You feel like a glorified whore – the one that he doesn’t even want. 

— B…but…

You pout your lips, a billion questions raised in your mind – why is he like this, what is his deal and you should even look at him if he clearly doesn’t want you…and that look on your face, helplessness mixed with a bit of deliciously sweet anger, combined with your soft, doe features…

Colonel has a problem. 

He thought he knew what he wanted – a strong partner, someone resilient and fiery, someone who can take his cock anywhere without whining. Someone who wouldn’t require a lot of attention and softness, someone who knows their place. Now König looks at you, your floppy ears and trembling lips, and his gaze darts lower, his nose getting milk fragrances even under all of those layers of fabric. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know why they sent you. He doesn’t need a secretary, he doesn’t need an assistant and even if he needs help with something, there are always lower ranks ready to do whatever he says. You’re useless to him, on all levels he can imagine – and yet, he can’t find it in him, to truly dismiss you. To hate your trembling lips and obedient stare – no thought behind those pretty eyes of yours. He always thought he wanted someone strong, someone who is hard to break and resilient to any advances. 

He looks at you and, for the first time in forever, has this wild urge to protect. 

— Sir? Is everything alright? 

You tilt your head to the side, that naive stare you has makes his cock twitch in his pants. It was a long time since he had sex with anyone, especially that adorable. Some hybrids look like they are made to be fucked and loved and used in all of those delicious ways – he knows it’s problematic, he knows that having that view on fellow monsters isn’t right for someone as strong as him, but he wants to devour you. Wants to see that pretty eyes wide from desire – he knows you’d feel the urge too, it’s in your blood, to present your soft belly and even softer tits to a larger predator. 

Indulging on you would mean giving up on his attempts of constantly undermining the higher-ups – it would also mean that he would finally receive a partner for the extensive mating seasons that clash with his work and make his skilling rate go up – and not just for the enemies. Private Halseen, you will be missed. Your ass probably wouldn’t. 

— I thought you’d heard me the first time. 

— But I brought coffee.

— They make coffee machines in cows now? 

— Sir! I was just trying to…break the ice? I’m your new operator, or, um, assistant, I have nurse training, and I…

— What are you going to do with an injury? Lick it away? 

— M…my saliva has healing properties, so…

— They really sent me a magic cow, ja? 

— That’s a very…special way to put it, colonel.

You are surprisingly stubborn for someone who isn’t a confident killing machine. You balance the little tray with a cup of coffee – a big one, seems like you did your homework on that one – and he can’t help but imagine your hands gripping something else this tightly. Your body is trembling, your face switches between a sad and a surprised expression as he slowly emerges from his table to get a good look at you. 

You’re a cow hybrid – they are naturally adorable, naturally soft, and naturally made for someone like him to tower over. He is good over 7 foot, even in mostly human form, and his monster height would be almost twice your size – he'd love to take you like this, raw, bully his giant cock into your, no doubt, tight pussy, and make you squeal from the stretch. Maybe, he can help you with milk production – put another hybrid into you, make your belly swell from his cum. Keep you locked away in his room like a perfect little treat, using your soft body as a perfect pillow. 

He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation – saliva collecting in his mouth as the thinks of all the ways he can use such a pretty secretary. There is no way you don’t know why they sent you here – no way you think that your self-worth is something more than being his obedient pet, beloved toy. König never thought of settling down, the bloodshed is his one and only partner – but he looks at your rounded horns, at your twitching ears and pouty lips – and he thinks about putting his earring right into your floppy ear. lick away all the blood and calm you down as you’d squirm under the pain, soothe your panicking cow brain as he would bully his cock even deeper, claiming you as…

Ah, shit. You’re still here, waiting for his answer – your eyes are shocked and afraid, anticipated a little bit because of course you’re aroused, his pheromones are too overwhelming for a thing like you – you stare at the bulge in his pants, at nis, no doubt, hard cock – and he can almost see gears in your head turning slowly. God, you’re adorable. 

— You forgot the milk. 

— Sergeant Horangi didn’t say anything about milk. 

So, Horangi was the one to set you up. Of course, tiger shifter probably got his hots on you – pretty prey, perfect for every hunter nearby, but, just as a good officer, he let you go to his colonel first. You talk back with a surprisingly fierce tone and König appreciates the way his mask covers up his whole face – you couldn’t see his smile, the way corners of his mouth jerked up at your pout. Continue like this, and the colonel will do more than just smile at your antics. 

— Probably because he knew that our milk is shitty. 

— If…if you need me to bring you something else, I will do it right away, sir. 

— No need, Kuhen. I think you have what I need right here. 

His cock twitches in his pants again – your eyes are locked on his bulge, you slowly push the tray to the table. You’re naive, you’re cute, and he knows that KorTac probably pays you triple for being this adorable and playing dumb like the good girl you are – bastards probably know that if you’d be upfront and pushy, he would just set you away from his office. 

But standing here, munching on your lower lip, your soft, pink tongue disappearing in your mouth only to reaper to lick your lips again, your face not ever betraying the emotions you, no doubt, are feeling – König can smell your arousal, can almost see the way your pussy is glittering with juices flowing right into your soaked panties. They send a lamb – a cow – to his chambers and they know that he would never resist a good hunt. You allow him to cut through the chase, to just pin you to his desk and take what’s his – but anxiety, that stupid fucking worm eating his brain over the tiniest facts, is making him question everything again. He knows he thinks too much, he knows it’s not going to do him any good – still, he wants to be sure that you’re not too dumb to understand his advances. Still, he wants to play a bit more. Delay the moment of sex because his doubt can eat him alive otherwise. 

— Take off your shirt, Schatzen. 

He doesn’t even look at your chest, bouncing from the tight shirt you were wearing – poor buttons holding on for dear life, barely containing your soft flesh – he drinks up your expressions, embarrassment, and poorly hidden curiosity. You saw the job requirements for an operator, saw his profile – high risks, high aggression, can be very, very violent – and you decided that you can take him, for the right pay. 

— You want me to…take off something else, sir?

A smart girl would run the fuck away from him – but you just lock your hands in front of you, not even bothering to cover your chest. God, he wants to be with you forever – just for that little look on your face your nervousness. You’re standing in front of him, only wearing pants and your bra – and you’re afraid that he isn’t going to like what he sees. 

Just for this expression, he might as well push a ring on your finger already. 

— Ja. Bra is next. 

You nod like you expected this. You probably did – for a prey hybrid, you’re surprisingly smart in understanding what he needs. Your bra is lacy and cute, white, with little flat roses printed – surely not something he expected from military personnel, even if your duties are laying in under him, not with your belly in trenches and your cute hands squeezing the trigger. 

Your breasts look even bigger without a bra to keep them close. You place a hand under your chest, feeling a bit awkward with your colonel just standing here, looming over your form. You lick your lips – he cocks his head closer to you. You can hear something shifting under his hood – you don’t know what his face looks like, rumors were opting for either a bunch of tentacles tucked neatly inside of his hood, the head of some mythical animal, or a normal, but disfigured and burned human face. You don’t know which option you prefer – even the files you were reading before choosing this job didn’t give you an answer. There is something stirring inside of you when you’re thinking about tentacles, though. 

— Braves Mädchen…good girl. 

You smile, feeling the knot in your tummy getting even tighter at the praise. You like him – despite his rough exterior and the obvious arousal, you like being liked, wanted, and devoured by a much stronger predator. Not having any supernatural powers, your only survival option in this world is to appease the strongest – and it looks like you just got a really juicy target. 

Suddenly, König grabs your waist and lifts you to his table – documents go flying around and you put a bit more, thinking of how long it would take to put everything back together. He doesn’t care for your concerns – the next thing you know, you are pushed ever further into his table, and the colonel lifts the end of his hood just enough to envelop his mouth on one of your nipples. 

— S…sir! Please, a little warning next time…

He laughs, his hands pressing small, sweet bruises into the curve of your waist. His mouth feels cold at first – then he flicks his tongue at your hardened nipple, and it feels like an oven. You moan you squeak, you squirm under him – all those documents and transferring and half a dozen Suits trying to tell you of how dangerous your work is going to be, how unstable and irritated the colonel is, how he is probably going to shoo you from his office the first two weeks – all of this comes flying right out the window. 

— You already think of the next time, Schatzen? 

König never tastes something as sweet, as silky, and smooth as your breasts. There is something deep, primal, wild in the way he sucks and bites at your nipple – he devours the taste of your skin and it feels like he can come to his pants just from the feeling alone. You’re squirming in his grasp, poor thing, probably aren’t used to sensation – he closes his eyes and allows his monster to take over, to take what he wants from you. 

He shifts to your other breasts, warming and cooling them at the same time. He isn’t an expert in that weird kind of massage, but you don’t need an expert in boob sucking when all of your cow instincts telling you to spread your legs and allow him to put babies in you, to breed like the prey you are, to take care of you outside of this stupid job. You’re terrified that his sharp teeth can draw blood and arouse at the way his tongue clicks at your nipples so perfectly, so naturally, like he was doing it his whole life. 

You moan, whispering little begs and praying to deaf ears. Your hands are going to hig his neck, to just kind put your fingers on his hood and just keep it here, not daring to try and direct the movements of his tongue. All of those days of constant preparing for the worst, long nights of studying the psychology of hunters, of predator hybrids, didn’t leave you much time to milk yourself in the past week – you might just be a hybrid, but it doesn’t release you from the endless burden of constant lactation. 

— S…so embarrassing…please, sir, we need to stop or I will…

— Ja, meine Kuh? Did you want to say something to your colonel? 

— Please, I’m going to…fuck, this is embarrassing…

— Language. 

He closes his teeth on your tender bud, making you moan his name – his callsign – loudly. He grunts from satisfaction, finally tasting sweet milk pouring from his body – might be the only thing that makes cow hybrids useful for someone as strong as him. 

Your milk is sweet, rich, and creamy, and your little cries only make it tastier. He pushes his tongue deeper, swirls it around your hardened bud, waits for you to moan even more – every inch of your being makes him feel weird, protective, like he already put a baby in that soft tummy of yours and made you his. It’s dumb, you aren’t even connected on the official level – but he sucks your milk ever so passionately, forgetting about every mission trouble he had.

Sucking your tits feels like therapy – giving up all of his powers just to kiss you, to bite you, to drink your milk, and softly massage the flesh until your pussy starts to grind against the round corner of his table. Poor thing, he doesn’t even touch you in any way – you’re too precious for this, and he falls too deeply into your eyes and the swell of your chest. 

— Sir! Pl…please, don’t…if you’d stop, I will…

He drinks your milk swiftly, feels the liquid dripping down his chin – always a messy eater, one of the reasons he used the mask to hide his embarrassment. He can’t look at your face, the angle is too far off for this, and it disappoints him – he wants to drink your pretty expressions, wants to know that he is one to make that pretty cow this slutty. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to get your ass off his office – and now he is changing between two of your round breasts, making sure to not waste a drop. 

Fuck, this is far better than any milk the base kitchen can provide. 

He sucks a little bit more, pressing his tongue against your swollen, abused nipples. You whine at the sensation, poor little hybrid isn’t used to his teeth and his mouth – he’d have to make sure to repeat this procedure every other day, if possible, to get you used to direct milking. He’d have to spend weeks spreading your pretty cunt for him, teaching you how to milk his cock and meowl like a good prey hybrid you are – but he didn’t become colonel because he was afraid of challenges. 

He stops sucking with a little pop, final droplets of milk falling to his lips as he licks it, groaning from pleasure. His stubble made the soft skin around your nipples irritated and you tremble when the cold air hits them – you feel fragile, used, your pussy is twitching around nothing, the pulsation forcing you to grind against the corner of his table like a bitch in heat. 

König made you like this – half-naked, trembling, so fucking horny that you can’t even look at him without dropping to your knees, and it almost made you want to run away. He squeezes your tits again, enveloping the soft mounts in his large, rough hands – you whine a little bit, still all too sensitive after this pleasurable torture he created. 

— How do you feel? 

He sounds…weaker now. Almost embarrassed at his little outburst, he picks up your bra and helps you get dressed – you both want more, to check if his table is really as sturdy as it looks, but König has a training session in 30 minutes and you have König’s training session, standing behind his shoulder and watching him yelling at the recruits. It would be hard to get scared at him again, when every time his cold gaze darts to your face, he softens. When you look at him and can only imagine milk dripping down your chin – your milk, no less. 

— I’m…empty. In a good way, I mean. Thank you, sir.

You feel weird when he gently helps you get into your clothes, his fingers are simply too big for the buttons – he presses his head against your shoulder, trying to concentrate, and you awkwardly hug him for stability. He chuckles. 

— My pleasure, Schatzen. 

You stand here, awkwardly – your neck enveloped with a collar, with his name on it, and he can’t pry his eyes away from it. God, he never knew that being a colonel would allow him such a cutie as a bonus. KorTac didn’t seem like an organization that would give away wives so easily, but König isn’t going to complain. 

He just has to make sure to keep you chained to his table, that’s all. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Not-So Secretive Rendezvous

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: smut, fem!receiving, age gap

Request by anon: I'd love a Spencer X Fem Reader thing,  say season 3-4 prince charming hair version ya know?  That era is totally hot.  Anyway, reader is Hotch's sister or Daughter, 10 year age gap between reader & Spence.  I'm a total sucker for a forbidden, sneaking, secretive thing with them getting caught in a very compromising position.  Hotch is fine with it but disappointed they didn't clear it with him. Maybe she works in the BAU but maybe not?  Some hot spice with his awkward self.  I always have a thought of him being so awkward around women in social situations like with JJ in the baseball game stuff, but with his Eidetic memory he definitely knows how to please women for sure.   Any other details i'll leave you with free rein!

Summary: You and Spencer are a new couple that is hiding your relationship from the team for two reasons. Hotch is your dad and Spencer is ten years older than you are. That doesn’t stop you from being with him. Not your dad and certainly not an office full of people.

Square Filled: public sex/voyeurism (2021) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

There are two reasons why you’re at the BAU--Spencer and Hotch. This is the place you want to work when you have the proper training and have done everything that’s required of you. You graduated high school before summer started and now you’re taking college classes with a degree in criminal justice while also getting in some hours at the police academy. It doesn’t hurt that your dad is the unit chief of the BAU, but you try not to let that affect how well you’re doing in and out of school.

The other reason is Spencer Reid. You two immediately hit it off when you first met and he’s been showing you around as much as he can without getting in trouble. He can’t tell you much about the cases the team has but he can give you advice and pointers for when you get a job here. Derek helps you with the physical stuff while Spencer is your own personal library book that just so happens to have all the answers you’re searching for.

After a few months of visiting your dad and the team, you and Spencer developed a relationship that only you two know about. Keeping your relationships a secret isn’t something you normally do because if you like someone, you’re all about showing them off to everyone. However, you and Spencer are ten years apart in age, and you don’t think your dad will appreciate his eighteen-year-old daughter hooking up with his twenty-eight-year-old subordinate.

It’s not a big deal to you and Spencer since you’re not newly eighteen. It’s September and you turned eighteen back in January. He’s been so good to you and is such a gentleman. He’s a romantic and loves taking you out on dates as much as he can. Your favorite date is when he puts a tent on the roof of his building, makes everything for a picnic, and you two spend the night stargazing there.

Unlike now when your visit is anything but romantic.

It’s been over a week since you’ve seen Spencer and you’re craving his touch. You’re not normally a sex-crazed teenager but you’re ovulating and you really need to feel his body on yours. You’re not ready for kids and you don’t know if or when you will be, so you’ll be using condoms because it’s a terrible time to get pregnant.

Not to mention your dad will quite literally kill Spencer.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Derek asks when he sees you.

“Just wanted to stop by to say hi. I hear the B Team is out right now so what better time to come?”

“Your dad is in his office.”

“Where’s Spencer.”

“Bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for him. Thanks.”

You turn to leave but Derek stops you.

“Hey, we’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to learn that new self-defense technique.”

You walk straight for Spencer’s desk only to walk right past it and toward the bathrooms. Derek smirks and shakes his head knowing you’re not here to see your dad at all. Spencer comes out of the bathroom with his phone in his hand so he doesn’t see you right away. You open the door to an empty office and wait for him to pass by it before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

“Wha--?” He looks up and smiles when he sees it’s you. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were coming today.” You close and lock the door before shutting the blinds so that no one can look inside. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.”

You pull Spencer in and kiss him without warning, and he grips your hips not too hard. He gets lost in the kiss before the alarm bells ring in his head.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Spencer pulls away from you but you’re not done kissing him. You back up into the desk and sit on it while kissing down his neck. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but we can’t do this here.”

“Why not? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then get me naked and fuck me.” It’s hard to think when all Spencer is thinking about is getting you naked. He’s not a sex machine who wants it all the time but it has been a week since he’s seen you, and the last case he went on was very stressful. “School has been stressing me out and I really just want some dirty sex with you.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He spreads your legs and steps in between them before kissing you again. He runs his hands down your thighs and back up, only to slip them underneath your dress. You wanted to make sure you gave Spencer easy access. He expected to feel a barrier between his fingers and your pussy but there is none.

“You’re not wearing any panties?”

“I came here for one thing and one thing only,” you grin. “I wanted to make this easier for you.”

Spencer rolls his head back and cracks his neck before sinking to his knees. He’s not an expert in this department but he’s read enough books and watched enough amateur porn to know what he’s doing. He places a hand on your chest, pushes you down onto the desk, and bunches your dress around your waist.

“Remember, we’re at work and your dad’s office is right down the hall. You gotta be quiet.”

You’re about to respond when Spencer latches onto your clit. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out. It would be a disaster if your dad found out about this… or anyone. He kitten licks your clit and circles it before sliding his tongue down to your slit. He straightens his tongue and pushes inside of you, and his right-hand hooks up and over your leg so that he can rub your clit in hard fast circles.

“Fuck, Spencer, right there,” you gasp quietly.

“God, you taste so good,” he mumbles. “I can’t ever get enough.”

You reach down and slide your fingers into his hair before tugging on it gently. This is the exact reason why he’s been growing his hair out. He loves it when you tug on his hair. His mouth and fingers switch positions so that he’s sucking on your clit and sliding a finger into your tight hole. You squeal a bit loudly at the sudden change in pressure, and you bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying out again.

“Please, Spencer, I need more,” you moan.

He slides in another finger and curls them both so that he’s touching the spot that makes you see stars.

“Are you close?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, Spencer,” you moan.

“Go ahead, darling.”

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit that makes you come all over his face. He removes his fingers and laps up every drop you give him before standing to his full height.

“God, you’re so good at that.” You pull him down and kiss him, not minding that you can taste yourself on his lips. “I need to come again. I have a condom in the pocket of my dress.”

“You’re so needy,” he grins but doesn’t refuse you.

He pulls away and takes the condom you give him before unbuckling his pants. He’s always awkward at this part because he still can’t believe that he has someone who is interested in him like this. He’s not ripped like Derek or as confident as him but you like him because he’s none of those things. You love how socially awkward he is. You love his ramblings. You especially love it when he tells you random facts that have you questioning how he came to know that in the first place.

Spencer pulls his cock out and you almost salivate at the sight of it. You’ve given him blow jobs before but there will never be a time when you don’t want to suck him off. However this time, you just need him to be in you. He takes out the condom from the package and carefully rolls it onto his hard cock.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Spencer, please. Just get in me.”

You spread your legs wider and allow him to step closer to you. He pumps himself twice before lining himself up at your entrance. You toss your head back and gasp at the one… three… seven inches of him until he is fully seated inside of you.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Spencer groans.

“I’m ready. Please, Spencer,” you beg.

He doesn’t want to be too loud so he doesn’t fuck you as hard as he wants to. He starts at a normal pace before slowly picking up speed, and you’re trying to stop the moans from coming out but failing. He covers your mouth with his hand as if that will stop you from moaning his name.

It’s been a long and stressful time for you both so it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get close to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Hearing Spencer swear when he normally doesn’t is so hot. He hates swearing since he has such a big range of vocabulary that he can use, but he can’t help it when you feel like Heaven. “Are you close?” You nod wordlessly since Spencer’s hand is still over your mouth. “Come with me. One.” Thrust. “Two.” Thrust. “Three.”

You explode all over him just as he fills the condom up. He rides out both your highs as much as he can before slowing down. He removes his hand and you gasp when you feel him start to pull out of you.

“I don’t know how you haven’t had more girlfriends before,” you laugh as you pant.

“It’s usually my incessant need to ramble that drives them away.”

He takes the condom off and ties it at the end before pocketing it., He doesn’t want anyone to find it in the trashcan so he’ll throw it out in the dumpster outside.

“Have you seen Y/N? I saw her come in earlier.”

You freeze when you hear your dad’s voice outside the office.

“I think she went to see Garcia. You should ask her,” Rossi responds from right by the door. You hear your dad walk away before Rossi knocks twice on the door. “You two aren’t very quiet or sneaky.”

“Shit, I should go,” you giggle. You fix your dress and Spencer tucks himself back into his pants. The room smells like sex but you’re sure it will air out by the time anyone else comes in here. “I love you and I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”

You lean in and kiss Spencer before unlocking the door.

“I love you, too,” Spencer grins. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Oh, we definitely are.” You open the door and notice Rossi is in the break room. You make sure the coast is clear before leaving the office. You turn the corner and go crashing into your dad. “Daddy, hi. I was just looking for you. Someone said you wanted to see me?”

Hotch looks up and sees Spencer leave the office from which you just came out. He didn’t bother fixing his hair as much as he should have so it’s a big messed up from how much you were tugging on it, and your lipstick is a bit smudged from Spencer’s hand over your mouth.

Hotch isn’t an idiot.

“My office. Now.”

You look up to see him looking at someone behind you. You look back and see Spencer staring at Hotch with wide, fearful eyes.

“Daddy, listen--”

“Don’t you have a class to go study for? Reid, now.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods and scurries past you to get to his office.

“Daddy, I love him. Please don’t kill him. I’ll talk to you later.”

You leave before your dad can say anything else. Hotch isn’t mad that Spencer is seeing his daughter. He’s upset that you two hid it from him. He’s not gonna kill Spencer but it is sure going to be fun to watch him squirm because he thinks he is.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[lavender543]

Longing - Prologue

Yandere!Knight x (Evil?)Queen!Reader

Synopsis: You are a queen with a not so great reputation. He is your most trusted, and extremely stoic knight. Lets just say you don't know just how much he would do for you. (he's been secretly pining after you for awhile). Warnings: Topics of war, and violence

By many, you were seen as cold, Ruthless, some would even say evil. You were the queen of a large kingdom in the North, with a very widely known reputation for being cutthroat.  

Life in the North was not easy by any means. Resources were far and few, and the environment was cold and desolate. For that, you needed to rule with an iron fist in order to protect your people and keep them satisfied. You weren't afraid to use force if that was what was required.  

Many would say you were wicked, morally grey, power hungry...the list goes on. You’d like to think of yourself as dedicated.  

You were forced from a young age into the role of ruler and spent your whole life preparing to be Queen. It was your life's dedication to rule over your kingdom. You had no living relatives; your family was assassinated during the war.  

It was...hard, to say the least.  

The only person you could trust during those dark days was yourself, and eventually you learned you could trust him: The Grande knight. 

He was originally an orphan brought in by your parents when you were young. They trained him to be a loyal weapon to fight in the war.  

It was wrong, and it pained you to see him, similar in age to you, being pushed past his limits.  

You sympathized with him in a way. You yourself were forced against your will to be trained in order to become the next ruler; although your training was a lot less physically demanding than his (which is an understatement of what he had to go through).  

Despite both of you being terribly busy, there were small moments you both had together as children. They were nothing but a few words in passing, but the interactions meant a lot to two heavily sheltered kids tasked with adult responsibilities.  

Your fondest memory was when you had your first real conversation with him. Your only real interaction with him were moments of eye contact before then.

One day, when you were around ten years old, you managed to run away from your etiquette teacher and hid in the royal gardens. 

As you ran through the garden, searching for a hiding spot, you spotted a dark figure hidden in a small alcove between two bushes of winter daphne’s. They were one of the only flowers that could survive the cold climates of the north.  

You approached the figure, and realized it was him. Without really thinking, you sat beside him. He was huddled, panting heavily as if he had just run a marathon, (he probably was earlier to be honest).  

He stared at you, surprise and fear in his eyes, and your ten-year-old brain could only think of giving him a reassuring smile to show you were friendly. 

“I see that we had similar thoughts.” you said to the boy, a mischievous grin on your face. 

At that, he relaxed slightly, although still staying silent. And you decided it was safe to sit down beside him.  

He froze from the action, but didn’t protest.

“I managed to get away from my etiquette teacher, I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm convinced she’s evil. Must be why she doesn’t have any friends.” 

You were surprised when you heard a small laugh from him at your words, although it was more like a snort. This only encouraged you to go on.  

“Seriously! She was trying to make me put a book on my head! And she always whacks my wrists with a strap if I don't do something right.” 

With your casual words, he began to open up, speaking hesitantly at first. He seemed to still be quite nervous.  

“My trainer is the same way, evil I mean.” 

You giggled at that, and you looked at each other in mutual understanding. You sat together for a while, enjoying each other's company. Talking about whatever came to mind. Eventually you realized you didn't actually know his name. You had only ever heard him be referred to as “the boy,” or terms akin to that.  

You looked at him in curiosity.  

“Say, I guess I never asked, what is your name?” 

His face grew bitter, there was hatred in his eyes, and you were confused by the sudden mood switch.  

“Just call me what you want.” He said shortly. 

You looked at him in confusion. “Do you not have a name?” 

“I may as well not.” 

All you could say was “oh” in response.  

The mood suddenly got awkward, and you tried to lighten it.  

“Well, what would you like your name to be?” 

He visibly gave the question some thought and then shrugged nonchalantly.  

“I don't know, I've never really thought about it.” 

“I see....” You trailed off, not knowing what else to say. 

“What name do you like? For me I mean.” 

He said suddenly.

You definitely did not expect him to ask that. Looking to him in surprise, you replied: “You want me to choose a name for you?”  

He nodded casually, although you did not see the blush creeping up his face. This whole situation was a little odd, but you went along with it, giving it some thought. Finally, you came up with the perfect name.  

“Everett.” You said after a long pause.  

He looked up to you and smiled shyly. 

“It means brave in the old language. I learned the word today from my lessons.” 

You continued with excitement.  

The boy looked almost bashful from your words, a wide grin making its way on his flushed face.  

“It's perfect.’” he said with sincerity.  

You stayed like that for a while, but, like all good things, it had to end. Some guards eventually found the two of you, and you had to go your separate ways.  

After that, your father restricted you from seeing Everett (you’ve been referring to him as Everett now), so as to prevent any “distractions” as he worded it.  

From then on, you didn’t see much of Everett, save for small glances when crossing paths with each other. It was hard seeing him, all bloodied and bruised from training, and not being able to talk to him, or do anything to help him.  

Soon days turned into weeks, then months, then years. Your childlike naivety had long since been brushed away to reveal a cold and calculated woman. You were seventeen, and very close to being of age to ascend to the throne. Just in time for the war to begin you had thought bitterly at the time.   

The war began when your parents had had enough of neighboring countries cutting off their supply shipments. Your kingdom relied on these shipments for food and necessities. Thus began a war your parents waged. 

You hated it. You hated it all, but what could you do? You had no say in any of it, despite your insistent pleading to your father not to start a war. You knew it would only end in loss and destruction.  

With everything happening, you wanted desperately for someone to confide in. You searched for Everett, but you hadn't seen him in weeks, it was as if he disappeared. Upon question, you discovered that he was sent into the war to fight on the frontlines.  

You were devastated. You felt stupid to not have realized before. That was what all the training was for, why your parents had adopted him in the first place. To create a weapon for this war.  

You were so consumed with rage and hopelessness, and all you could do was try to help your parents finish this war. It was all you could do to stop the bloodshed. 

The exposure to everything only made you colder, however. You realized that you too had been turned into a weapon, although more in the academic sense. Your parents used your wit and knowledge from your lessons growing up.  

Two years in, your kingdom faced few losses, and many victories due to your strategizing. Although it did not stop the assassination of your family. Somehow, some way, the enemy kingdoms found a way in.  

This only fueled your rage more. You no longer cared how, but you were going to win the war. And you did.  

After four long years, you finally reached total victory. 

And with that, you gained the reputation of a tyrant. 

Next part: chapter 1

A/N: This is my first story on here yayyy. thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys this! Sorry this chapter is mostly world building, I promise there will be a lot more of Everett in the next part. I might make it in his perspective next chapter as well....we'll see!

[reverie-starlight]

kenma for the soul <3

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. this was in my drafts for so long that I forgot abt it. based off of my own routine when I get a panic attack. I believe I wrote the bulk of this after one, actually.

warnings: depictions of a panic attack, my own personal coping methods (I swear they make sense in my head) and kenma being soft for you. this was edited at like 2 am so if there’s some mistakes… no there’s not.

it’ll pass.

you know that. you’ve known that for years, actually, yet somehow the sentiment doesn’t hold up in the moments you need it to the most.

kenma watches as you switch between sitting on the edge of the bed with him and pacing the length of your bedroom.

he really feels for you. he still gets panic attacks from time to time, after all, so he knows the basics of what you’re going through like the back of his hand.

he’s still trying to learn your specifics, though.

he’s observant and he’s strategic. with those skills, he’s gathered that you do not respond well to sitting still and taking deep breaths.

you continue pacing and wringing your fingers together, clenching and unclenching your fists and shaking your arms out (he recognizes this as literally trying to dispel the panic from your body).

he watches you closely, wanting to figure you out as soon as possible so he can utilize his strategic side and end your suffering. are you trying to tire yourself out? why is it that you don’t find the breathing exercises useful? why doesn’t sitting still and meditating benefit you?

oh… of course, why didn’t he think of that sooner?

you don’t like those coping methods because you see it as another opportunity to focus on your trigger. by trying to stop it, you just end up thinking about it more. they require you to be aware of every sensation in your body, but if you’re moving around a lot instead, it acts as a distraction.

so he’ll need to help you redirect your train of thought some more.

“babe,” he calls out quietly, not having the energy or willingness to be any louder at two in the morning.

you don’t stop pacing, but you look at him and nod to let him know you’re listening.

“let’s go to the kitchen.”

you blink as he gets up and takes your hand, leading you out of your bedroom. he hopes the change of scenery and mystery of what he has planned brings you out of your head a bit.

“kenma-“ you start, voice raw from the crying you did earlier.

“do you want to make cookies?”

you watch as he goes to the fridge and gets some water and ice cubes. (he read once that the ice can shock you out of panic and act as a good redirection strategy.)

you take the glass when he hands it to you and allow the chill of the ice ground you a bit.

your head feels clearer now. the panic had mostly subsided well before you were led out of the bedroom, but you had continued pacing anyway.

in your mind it makes sense- relaxing too soon, when it’s not quite gone, gives it the chance to come back and restart the cycle all over again. tiring yourself out and distracting yourself with the familiar movement patterns that helped stopped it in the first place…

it’s always worked for you.

and now, sitting up on the barstool by the kitchen island with kenma, you definitely feel the exhaustion.

so you shake your head. “no, I’m too tired, babe.”

he nods, successfully getting a read on your energy level. “okay,” he says. “drink your water, I can make toast for us.”

you blink at him. “why?”

he shrugs. “you must’ve worked up an appetite with all that walking, right? I got winded just watching you.”

you snort, surprisingly, and the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit. “I guess so… oh but kenma, I kept you up, you must be tired too.”

he gets the bread ready to put into the toaster and glances at you over his shoulder. “you do realize you’re dating someone who once streamed for twenty-four hours straight, right? one late night is nothing.”

you sip your water and hold an ice cube in your cheek, letting it melt. “still, I’m-“

“and don’t apologize. I know that’s what you were about to do.”

you sheepishly look down into your glass and let the silence linger until he presents you some buttered toast. “remember how I told you I used to get really bad panic attacks in high school? the ones I get now aren’t nearly as intense as those, but I do still know how draining they are,” he rips off a chunk of bread and feeds it to you. “it’s not too much to care for you, okay?“ he knows the feeling of being afraid to be a burden well, too, unfortunately.

you smile and knock your head against his as you chew. “thanks, kenma. I love you.”

there’s still a lot he has to learn for you, but he knows that if this were a video game, it’d be the easiest level he’d ever complete.

“love you too. now let’s finish this and get to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@dira333 some kenma :3

[phant0mth1ef]

you’re a part time lover & and full time friend.

-

- hated anything having to do with general studies students moving to the hero course, especially that mind control “freak” (in his own words) but you were the exception because according to him you fought for your spot during the sports’ festival when you had to go up against bakugou himself.

- would often talk to you on your way to class in the morning after he’d found out that you and him both had a few common interests. but don’t get me wrong, he’d never start the conversation. he’d walk next to you huffing and puffing until you acknowledged him.

- found himself sending you tiktoks that he thought you’d like, like a new katsudon spot, different tofu recipes. but he’d always just add a comment saying “since you mentioned this stupid shit the other day.”

- he didn’t think he’d ever see the inside of your dorm room, but you’d invited him in to gossip about the blooming relationship between hatsume and iida. and although he’d just scoff and roll his eyes, he listened to every single word you’d said.

- would learn new information about kirishima and ashido and would instantly text you asking you to come over or asking if he could come over because he just had to say it in person.

- has once found you asleep in his own dorm room after training because you claimed his mattress was comfier.

- refuses to let the rest of the class know that you’re friends. but obviously you told the girls and he told kirishima. also would occasionally invite you out to eat with him and kirishima.

- one time you asked him to tutor you and he just shut the door in your face because you were already number 3 in the class academically and he refused to fall behind you more than he already was.

“can you tutor me, ‘suki? i wanna get ahead of iida. i can’t take anymore of his remarks. he doesn’t even know how condescending they are!”

“what rank are ya?”

“3.”

“get out of my face.” and with that, the door closed. leaving you to study alone.

- he eventually joined you in the library, muttering about how he won’t tutor you but at least you didn’t have to study alone.

- eventually you two ended up having the same dynamic as monoma and kendo, you’d frequently apologized to your classmates for your friend’s crude behavior.

- swore that he couldn’t stand you but would frequently seek you out anytime a class assignment required partners because “he didn’t trust anybody with his grade but you were a safe gamble.”

- when you’d both debuted as pro heroes, he called you spouting out curses, (that you knew he didn’t mean), because your approval rating happened to be higher than his.

- when he eventually did ask you out, he’d made you tonkotsu ramen, a meal that you told him you liked only once. back in first year.

- that’s when you knew you wanted to marry him, it may have only been the first date, but he’d listened to every word you’d ever said.

- when you got married, you’d kept it on the low. girls would go up to him asking for his number and he’d say “my wife wouldn’t like that.”

- LOVES theme park rides, was even more ecstatic when he found out you loved them too. he screams like a baby on the roller coasters, but you scream too.

- would definitely gossip about people he saw while working, and your kids even say that you two are so friend like that they don’t believe you’re actually married.

[narwhalsarefalling]

rey i need ya gen fic bnha recs

congratulations, i have a whole ass collection. but here's some faves. A collection of both oneshot and multichap!

Gauntlet Thrown - pikahlua

Pro hero Katsuki Bakugou has deigned to apply for a teaching position at UA, and the lucky bastard who gets to conduct the job interview is none other than Shouta Aizawa.

Second Chances - amarisllis

Aizawa’s heartbeat is pounding against Katsuki’s ear, so loud and fast that it blocks out everything else. Katsuki’s arms flail, unsure what to do now that he’s being hugged by his teacher who’s never really cracked more than a tiny smile in their presence before. Wha— Oh. Oh, oh shit. Aizawa is crying. “Sensei—” “You were dead.” His voice breaks on the last word. Oh. Shit.

candid - OwlF45

The Commission passes a new requirement for hero licenses: pass a mental simulation. For Izuku, a holder of One For All, this idea ends in catastrophe. A series focused on the simulation, and everything that comes after.

Switchblade - Cacid

"I’m only two minutes late!” Izuku protested. Had he missed the start of an important test? None of the national, standardized tests were supposed to happen this month and even being two minutes late to one of those wouldn’t elicit this sort of reaction. They were discussing their career interest forms today, but that was it. Nothing time-critical was supposed to be happening. “Midoriya, you were reported missing a week ago. No one has seen you for eight days. The police have been combing the city for you.” "I’m sorry. What?” Midoriya Izuku went missing for a week and turned up in a back alleyway with skills he's never even heard of and no memory of how he came by them. He resigns himself to never learning the truth of what happened to him, but he shouldn't waste this chance should he? He could become a hero with reflexes like these. (Russian Translation available)

Razzmatazz - xylophones

Izuku has plans for everything. He plans out what to say to the cashier when ordering coffee, he plans out his homework before even opening his textbook. He has a whole ten-year plan for how he’s going to get into UA’s hero course and get his hero license fully quirkless. He plans for every wild, unlikely scenario he can think of because his anxiety gets so bad if he doesn’t go through every possible outcome, every way his life could landslide into disaster–– but Izuku never planned for this. For once, he doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t have time to think of one. All he can see is Yagi-san’s lined, kind face looking resigned as he stares down the villain in his shop. Yagi-san, who is the closest thing to a father figure Izuku has ever had. Izuku doesn’t think. He just moves. (Or: Izuku saves the number one hero, gets a hero license way earlier than anyone wanted, realizes that maybe hero society isn’t as great as he thought it was, and everything just kind of falls apart from there.)

third couch is the charm - laurenshappenstobemyhusband

Shouto trained for years to control his ice. Encasing everything in ice whenever he sneezed, got angry or startled, or just whenever he wasn't paying attention always got him into trouble, and he's glad he finally has complete control over his right side. Unfortunately, he can't say the same about his flames. OR: Todoroki sets three couches on fire, which apparently is too many, so now he has to take quirk control classes with Kaminari and they bond over mutual destruction

All's Well - Vexfulfolly

Trigger + Katsuki Bakugou = One hell of a precarious situation OR What it's like to be a walking bomb.

El Manisero - Lila17

"that fic where Sero runs a peanut cartel at UA"

see it all in bloom - aloneintherain

Todoroki said, “It feels like a family reunion.” (Social media fic, counting down the five months to Class 1-A's ten year reunion.)

and i know these don't REALLY count because they're mine, but here's my OWN gen fics that I had a GREAT time writing

And in the forest, I can be free

His prosthetic leg was covered in stickers. Her hands were stained with marker ink in wonderful multicolor. She could color outside the lines. She could color inside the lines. She could color the skin pink or the hair black or whatever color she wished. She could ignore the lines entirely and just draw whatever she wanted. Chiasaki would have never allowed any of this. She doesn’t freeze or feel that horrible feeling in her chest at the thought of him anymore. Instead she only felt... Something else. It was a warmer feeling, one that settled in her gut. It took a few days of this new feeling to be recognized and named- anger. She wasn’t as afraid anymore, that had grown into anger. How could anything in this so-called “sick” place ever be bad? She admires her color-stained hands, the shoes that were allowed to remain dirty, the softness of fresh mud during a rainstorm under her hands. Sand between her fingers, dust wiped away from glass to reveal a view of the forest. Eri doesn’t care if she’s cursed. She doesn’t care if this entire world is covered in little germs that would make her sick. Eri loves it so much. - A look at Eri and her relationship with cleanliness

Within Rime and Reason

1. He reached up to touch the base of his scar. Somehow, without the red hair framing it, it looked almost like a birthmark. Less of a harsh, angry burn scar and more of a memory. He didn’t look like a man with a tragic past, he looked like a boy. If he wasn’t completely blind in that eye, he would almost believe it was one. “You look so manly,” Kirishima breathes. “No,” Todoroki says with a smile. “I look like my mother. I look womanly.” 2. And suddenly so many pieces of the puzzle drop into place. His eye is unseeing. White pupil. Milky iris. With the skin around it poreless and hairless. Easy to cover up with makeup. Oil-less and unmoisturized. Like a scar. Like a burn. “Todoroki,” Mina says softly. The brush she’s holding drops to her lap. “This isn’t a birthmark I’m covering up, is it?” - Todoroki gets a makeover. Emotional conversations happen.

have fun and enjoy!

[moniquill]

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/706010/to-shape-a-dragons-breath-by-moniquill-blackgoose/

ABOUT TO SHAPE A DRAGON’S BREATH

A young Indigenous woman enters a colonizer-run dragon academy—and quickly finds herself at odds with the “approved” way of doing things—in the first book of this brilliant new fantasy series. The remote island of Masquapaug has not seen a dragon in many generations—until fifteen-year-old Anequs finds a dragon’s egg and bonds with its hatchling. Her people are delighted, for all remember the tales of the days when dragons lived among them and danced away the storms of autumn, enabling the people to thrive. To them, Anequs is revered as Nampeshiweisit—a person in a unique relationship with a dragon. Unfortunately for Anequs, the Anglish conquerors of her land have different opinions. They have a very specific idea of how a dragon should be raised, and who should be doing the raising—and Anequs does not meet any of their requirements. Only with great reluctance do they allow Anequs to enroll in a proper Anglish dragon school on the mainland. If she cannot succeed there, her dragon will be killed. For a girl with no formal schooling, a non-Anglish upbringing, and a very different understanding of the history of her land, challenges abound—both socially and academically. But Anequs is smart, determined, and resolved to learn what she needs to help her dragon, even if it means teaching herself. The one thing she refuses to do, however, is become the meek Anglish miss that everyone expects. Anequs and her dragon may be coming of age, but they’re also coming to power, and that brings an important realization: the world needs changing—and they might just be the ones to do it.

PRAISE

“A thorough delight . . . To Shape a Dragon’s Breath reveals a world that is complex and political through deft, thoughtfully drawn characters who, like their world, are complicated and believable. I love Anequs!”—K. Eason, author of How Rory Thorne Destroyed the Multiverse “Imagine a world full of dragons where a newborn chooses you to be its caregiver. Imagine you have to go to a special school to learn how to train it. Imagine that almost no one at the school wants you there. This is how the well-written, compelling tale of To Shape a Dragon’s Breath begins, and once underway it doesn’t let you go.”—New York Times bestselling author Terry Brooks

[julymusings]

Dick Grayson x South Asian!Reader HCs

requested | reader is fem; like with Jason's hc post, I tried to keep it non-specific to any country, hope i achieved that😬

also it's barely mentioned but as a special treat: reader is trained in Indian classical dance😏😏😏

batboys x south asian!reader masterlist

He loves watching Bollywood movies, but gets especially into the music…like really into it

This man becomes OBSESSED with Shreya Goshal; you come early one night to find him singing along to both parts of the duet Manwa Laage from Happy New Year while doing the dishes (which, if you don't know, is a very high-pitched song). He's so off-key but so into it you don't have the heart to tell him that your neighbors texted you to ask if a feral cat got loose in your apartment💀

Then it escalates— he tries to learn Hrithik Roshan’s dance from Dhoom Again (which has nothing to do with the fact that you told him Hrithik Roshan was your childhood crush)

(if ur not desi, it starts at timestamp 0:38 I highly recommend watching it for full context it's incredible— if you are then I know you already know what i'm talking about LMAOO)

And since you're a dancer you learn it with him but he’s genuinely upset that it’s so easy for you but so hard for him

"I should be getting this! Do you know how bendy my body is?!"

For some reason I feel like he would love the strong female lead-type movies (probably because he’s so eldest daughter coded) so movies like Queen, Dangal, Chak De India, that’s his jam, but he loves Kal Ho Naa Ho when he needs a good cry

If you’ve ever seen those tiktoks of families who dress up their dogs and cats in traditional wear…you’re doing that with Haley 100%

I think Dick is familiar with hair oiling because of his Romani background, but doesn’t start doing it until you guys are dating because you do it regularly so he just starts joining you

OR he does do it, but…badly. with one of those over-priced chemical-filled Sephora brands, and he doesn’t even apply it correctly. The first time you see him do it you’re legitimately offended. You spend the entire afternoon teaching him the right way, first taking him to the Indian market (they’re in new jersey so you know there’s plenty💀) and collecting all the ingredients and explaining the benefit of each one, then going back to his place and showing him how to properly toast the herbs and spices and then warm the oil with them, how to massage it all throughout his scalp and find all the pressure points.

He’s sooo attentive and genuinely interested, plus he just loves how passionate you are about this

He loves pani puri (obviously, he’s dick and they’re balls WHO SAID THAT)

But seriously, you make them and he’s just throwing them back non stop

He calls you rani (queen), meri jaan (my love), pyaari (cutie I think)

Dick learns how to drape your sari for you— he knows where all the pins go, where to make the folds and where to tuck in the fabric. He loves how happy it makes you and how you twirl in the mirror when he’s done. Once your relationship gets more serious, he loves to buy you new ones until you have all different styles for every occasion

He loves when you wear payals. You wear them once for an event, and he encourages you to wear them around the house because the sound they make when you walk is just so pretty

Another reason why he LOVES watching you dance. The ghungroos you wear make it all the more mesmerizing

Given how flexible he is from his acrobat training, he’s great at yoga. Much better than you, and you often require his help to get the positions right. He doesn’t mind, though, as long as it means he gets to have his hands on you as he guides your body into the correct stance

Of course he’s learning your language so he can communicate with your relatives. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, though

Most teaching sessions end with tears and/or yelling

“WHY ARE THERE SO MANY POSSESSIVE PRONOUNS??? WHY IS THERE ONLY ONE SPECIFIC SCENARIO FOR EACH ONE????”

“I DON’T KNOW DICK THERE JUST ARE”

In the least foot fetish-y way possible, he thinks the tradition of wearing toe rings is so attractive. When you tell him that only married women wear them, he considers proposing just for that reason (I mean he already has the ring, so what’s he waiting for?)

Speaking of marriage (😏), he’s so excited for you to get his name hidden somewhere in your mehendi/henna. When you’re getting it done, he keeps trying to peek into the room to see if he can spot it until the artist gets fed up and locks him out😭

On your wedding night the first thing he does when you get a moment alone is start searching for it

You told him about the tradition of stealing the groom's shoes beforehand. You did not, however, tell him about the bargaining portion of the tradition

So when he and his siblings are "looking" for them (come on now, they're world class detectives, but they don't want to ruin the fun) and ultimately "give up" like "okay! you got me! where are they!" and your family starts talking about a 5-figure ransom to see them again...

He's going insane trying to tell them that his father is the billionaire, not him, but your relatives could not care less. And the whole time he knows exactly where they are but he doesn't want to be that person and make all your relatives hate him😭

He manages to coax them down to 4-figures

He wanted 3, but after your youngest cousin read him to filth ("Oh the trust fund nepo-baby can't spare some change? Is this the kind of husband you are? Is this how you plan to support your wife?"), he had no choice

You KNOW he’s doing a dance number at the reception. Bonus points if it's the Dhoom Again dance

And of course he wants you two to do a number together. When he tells you as much, he thinks it'll be fun and silly and a way to spend time together— he's wrong.

Like a true Indian classical dance teacher, you are a DRILL SERGEANT. He gets transported back to his old Robin-training days, except Bruce is 8 inches shorter and wears 5 pounds of bells around his ankles. It's worth it for the end result, though.

You obviously eat him UP but he does a very good job

Which number? I'm SO glad you asked........

It's Kala Chashma

ok this really got away from me but i loved writing it. as for kala chashma i just thought it was funny😭but if you have any other songs you think would fit i would LOVE to hear

[ice-ice-lizzie]

Lian Bichsel primer

I've been following this guy since the Stars drafted him two years ago and I find his story really compelling- from the word go, Lian has taken his development into his own hands, and chosen what he thought was best over the conventional wisdom.

(Lian playing with the Texas Stars)

Lian comes from an athletic family. His father Andre was a handball player in the late '90s/early 2000s, and his older brother Joel is a footballer (currently for FC Saarbrucken). His younger brother Finn is a hockey player- a defenseman like Lian- who is currently playing for EHC Biel-Bienne.

(left to right: Finn, Andre, Joel, Melanie, and Lian)

(Lian with EHC Biel-Bienne)

Lian also played for EHC Biel-Bienne during the 2020/21 season. As a 16 year old, he even played 4 games up with the men's team, but he wasn't satisfied.

“I gave (EHC Biel/Bienne) the chance to do something with me, and they didn’t,” said Bichsel, matter-of-factly. Bichsel’s maturity is evident in the way he doesn’t couch his statements. He’s aggressive in his pursuits, just as he is aggressive on the ice. He says his former team’s lack of interest in playing young players is part of “the way things are in Switzerland.” “They don’t want to go too fast (with young players),” he said. “I don’t understand it. When you’re young, you have really no chance to play in the first team.”

-Josh Kloke, The Athletic

(Lian with Leksands)

He made the decision to move to Sweden to play for Leksands IF for the 2021/22 season. In Switzerland, he'd been an offensive defense-man, scoring 28 points in 45 games with EHC Biel-Bienne's junior team, but in Leksands he focused on the defensive and physical aspects of his game- shaping himself into a more well rounded player.

Lian also had to learn to live alone in a foreign country. He would often cook for himself and his friend and teammate Anton Johansson, who told a documentary crew that Lian is "a good cooker and a really good friend". Anton's father, who was also the team manager, said that he'd heard a lot about Lian's risotto.

(purchasing ingredients for his famous risotto)

His specialty dish was also noted by reporters at the draft-

“I know how to cook, I know how to clean and I like to be alone sometimes. It was just the right thing for me to learn about myself,” said Bichsel. Bichsel’s specialty in the kitchen? “Risotto,” he said, with a faint whiff of a humblebrag. Wait, risotto? The dish that famously takes time and effort to cook? Not what you might typically expect from a 17-year-old. “You need patience,” Bichsel said of cooking risotto, with a tone more reminiscent of a 50-year-old trying to teach his children how to cook for the first time. “I like to cook. It brings me away from hockey

-Josh Kloke, the Athletic

(Lian being drafted)

Lian was drafted 18th overall by the Dallas Stars, July 7th, 2022. It was clear to everyone that he would not be coming to the NHL right away- Lian's game was still very raw, and there were those who said that he'd rushed to play at higher levels- and that his size masked issues with his skating and offensive game.

The 2022/23 season was busy for Lian. He represented Switzerland at world juniors that winter, in addition to playing a full season with Leksands men's team- falling to Rogle BK in the first round of the playoffs. With his team out of contention, he went into preparations to play for Switzerland at worlds, where he unfortunately broke his ankle and was unable to participate. According to Bruce LeVine the injury was serious enough to require surgery. Very shortly after his injury, Lian signed his ELC with the Stars. That July, still unable to participate in on ice training due to his ankle, Lian attended Stars development camp. He'd had a very busy year- and a busier summer- and he'd only just turned 19. He needed a break.

(Lian playing for Team Switzerland in 2021)

He chose not to go to team Switzerland's preparation camp for world juniors that August. He'd also missed their summer training camp. The higher ups for team Switzerland were not pleased by this, saying "We will not respond to his wish to join the World Junior team without any preparation. Such special treatment of a single player is not in line with our 'Team First!' philosophy". The decision was final- not only would Lian not be allowed to play at World Juniors in 2024, but he'd also be barred from playing for team Switzerland until 2026.

Without Lian, Switzerland only had three NHL drafted players- none drafted as highly as Lian. Lian continued to take his development into his own hands during the 2023/24 season. He began the year playing with the Stars' AHL team, the Texas Stars, but he negotiated with Stars management to be allowed to return to Sweden to play for Rogle BK

(Lian with Rogle)

The Stars decision to allow Lian to return to Sweden was not taken lightly. The Stars knew that if they refused they would risk damaging an important relationship with a key prospect- and they said all the right things publicly. But behind closed doors, Stars management was displeased. There was concern at the time that this would set back Lian's development and keep him out of the NHL for an additional year.

That Spring, Rogle BK lost in the first round of the SHL playoffs in time for Lian to come back to Texas and play in the AHL playoffs. Once the Texas Stars fell in the conference semifinals, Lian went to Dallas to serve as a black ace during the NHL playoffs.

Dallas's big trade deadline pick up- physical defenseman Chris Tanev was injured during the conference finals against Edmonton. It was unclear if he would be able to play in game 5. Lian was told to be ready to play.

Lian didn't end up making his debut that night- but it was a show of faith. He wasn't ready yet- but he was getting close.

He had an excellent training camp in 2024- and even though he was sent down after preseason, it was clear- Lian wasn't going to finish the year in the AHL. By December of the 24/25 season, it was clear that Dallas's blue line was struggling. Chris Tanev hadn't resigned. Miro Heiskanen had a slow start to the season, and Matt Dumba wasn't working out as well as had been hoped.

(Lian Bichsel 12/16/24 against the Capitals)

Lian was called up on December 12th- and played his first NHL game that same day, after Dumba was put on injured reserve. He's scored two goals and thrown 13 hits in his first 4 games- one of which sent the Blues' Braden Schenn into the Stars' bench.

He's a dynamic physical player, who's extremely fun to watch, and he's going to be around for a long time.

Misc Fun Facts

He wears glasses

Lian during the 21/22 season

When he was asked what animal best fits him as a person and as a player in a draft interview he said “A gorilla. On the ice, a gorilla is strong. He likes to fight. He’s heavy, but also, a gorilla can be calm, he can be chill, he can be alone. That’s the perfect match.”

He was in Texas for the partial solar eclipse on October, 14th 2023

(Matej Blumel and Lian during the partial solar eclipse)

He was given a game misconduct and suspended three games after he left the penalty box to continue an argument with an opposing player.

He and Matej Blumel went together for Halloween 2023

(From Lian's insta)

He wore a pride jersey in Rogle

(Lian warming up for BK Rogle's pride night game)

During the summer of 2024 Lian spoke with Stars Broadcaster Josh Bogorad at length regarding the pronunciation of his name- requesting that the broadcasting team pronounce the 'ch' in his last name as a 'sh' sound, instead of as a hard 'k' sound.

He wears a neck guard even when he's not required to.

And last but not least, more baby photos-

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

By David Brooks

Opinion Columnist

You might have seen the various data points suggesting that Americans are losing their ability to reason.

The trend starts with the young. The percentage of fourth graders who score below basic in reading skills on the National Assessment of Educational Progress tests is the highest it has been in 20 years. The percentage of eighth graders below basic was the highest in the exam’s three-decade history. A fourth grader who is below basic cannot grasp the sequence of events in a story. An eighth grader can’t grasp the main idea of an essay or identify the different sides of a debate.

Tests by the Program for the International Assessment of Adult Competencies tell a similar story, only for older folks. Adult numeracy and literacy skills across the globe have been declining since 2017. Tests from the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development show that test scores in adult literacy have been declining over the past decade.

Andreas Schleicher, the head of education and skills at the O.E.C.D., told The Financial Times, “Thirty percent of Americans read at a level that you would expect from a 10-year-old child.” He continued, “It is actually hard to imagine — that every third person you meet on the street has difficulties reading even simple things.”

This kind of literacy is the backbone of reasoning ability, the source of the background knowledge you need to make good decisions in a complicated world. As the retired general Jim Mattis and Bing West once wrote, “If you haven’t read hundreds of books, you are functionally illiterate, and you will be incompetent, because your personal experiences alone aren’t broad enough to sustain you.”

Nat Malkus of the American Enterprise Institute emphasizes that among children in the fourth and eighth grades, the declines are not the same across the board. Scores for children at the top of the distribution are not falling. It’s the scores of children toward the bottom that are collapsing. The achievement gap between the top and bottom scorers is bigger in America than in any other nation with similar data.

There are some obvious contributing factors for this general decline. Covid hurt test scores. America abandoned No Child Left Behind, which put a lot of emphasis on testing and reducing the achievement gap. But these declines started earlier, around 2012, so the main cause is probably screen time. And not just any screen time. Actively initiating a search for information on the web may not weaken your reasoning skills. But passively scrolling TikTok or X weakens everything from your ability to process verbal information to your working memory to your ability to focus. You might as well take a sledgehammer to your skull.

My biggest worry is that behavioral change is leading to cultural change. As we spend time on our screens, we’re abandoning a value that used to be pretty central to our culture — the idea that you should work hard to improve your capacity for wisdom and judgment all the days of your life. That education, including lifelong out-of-school learning, is really valuable.

This value is based on the idea that life is filled with hard choices: whom to marry, whom to vote for, whether to borrow money. Your best friend comes up to you and says, “My husband has been cheating on me. Should I divorce him?” To make these calls, you have to be able to discern what is central to the situation, envision possible outcomes, understand other minds, calculate probabilities.

To do this, you have to train your own mind, especially by reading and writing. As Johann Hari wrote in his book “Stolen Focus,” “The world is complex and requires steady focus to be understood; it needs to be thought about and comprehended slowly.” Reading a book puts you inside another person’s mind in a way that a Facebook post just doesn’t. Writing is the discipline that teaches you to take a jumble of thoughts and cohere them into a compelling point of view.

Know someone who would want to read this? Share the column.

Americans had less schooling in decades past, but out of this urge for intellectual self-improvement, they bought encyclopedias for their homes, subscribed to the Book of the Month Club and sat, with much longer attention spans, through long lectures or three-hour Lincoln-Douglas debates. Once you start using your mind, you find that learning isn’t merely calisthenics for your ability to render judgment; it’s intrinsically fun.

But today one gets the sense that a lot of people are disengaging from the whole idea of mental effort and mental training. Absenteeism rates soared during the pandemic and have remained high since. If American parents truly valued education would 26 percent of students have been chronically absent during the 2022-23 school year?

In 1984, according to the National Center for Education Statistics, 35 percent of 13-year-olds read for fun almost every day. By 2023, that number was down to 14 percent. The media is now rife with essays by college professors lamenting the decline in their students’ abilities. The Chronicle of Higher Education told the story of Anya Galli Robertson, who teaches sociology at the University of Dayton. She gives similar lectures, assigns the same books and gives the same tests that she always has. Years ago, students could handle it; now they are floundering.

Last year The Atlantic published an essay by Rose Horowitch titled “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books.” One professor recalled the lively classroom discussions of books like “Crime and Punishment.” Now the students say they can’t handle that kind of reading load.

The philosophy professor Troy Jollimore wrote in The Walrus: “I once believed my students and I were in this together, engaged in a shared intellectual pursuit. That faith has been obliterated over the past few semesters. It’s not just the sheer volume of assignments that appear to be entirely generated by A.I. — papers that show no sign the student has listened to a lecture, done any of the assigned reading or even briefly entertained a single concept from the course.”

Older people have always complained about “kids these days,” but this time we have empirical data to show that the observations are true.

What happens when people lose the ability to reason or render good judgments? Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Donald Trump’s tariff policy. I’ve covered a lot of policies over the decades, some of which I supported and some of which I opposed. But I have never seen a policy as stupid as this one. It is based on false assumptions. It rests on no coherent argument in its favor. It relies on no empirical evidence. It has almost no experts on its side — from left, right or center. It is jumble-headedness exemplified. Trump himself personifies stupidity’s essential feature — self-satisfaction, an inability to recognize the flaws in your thinking. And of course when the approach led to absolutely predictable mayhem, Trump, lacking any coherent plan, backtracked, flip-flopped, responding impulsively to the pressures of the moment as his team struggled to keep up.

Producing something this stupid is not the work of a day; it is the achievement of a lifetime — relying on decades of incuriosity, decades of not cracking a book, decades of being impervious to evidence.

Back in Homer’s day, people lived within an oral culture, then humans slowly developed a literate culture. Now we seem to be moving to a screen culture. Civilization was fun while it lasted.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 45

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 6k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Thursday, February 4th; 9:30 AM - Parking.

Lucy revved her car up to the entrance where my mother was waiting for us. She was talking to the elderly lady at the reception, someone I’ve always liked. One of the few here, actually.

"Move to the back."

"What? Why?"

"You’re not seriously going to let your mother sit in the back, are you?"

The back door opened at the same time. Before I had a chance to react, my mother climbed onto the seat and closed the door.

"This is quite a car you have!"

"Thanks," she smiled proudly. "But you don’t have to sit in the back. Ona will give you her seat."

"Oh no! I’m perfectly fine here. And for the love of God, stop being so formal with me! It makes me feel ten years older."

I held back a laugh as I saw Lucy's expression. She definitely wasn’t expecting that response, unlike me. My mother has always been very friendly with my friends, even when we’re not on the best terms. Lucy gave up the battle and resumed driving through the streets of Manchester. On the way, she suggested we take a stroll down a pedestrian street, which seemed to delight my mother. I was pleased as well since I hadn’t had a chance to visit it yet.

"So... How long have you been doing this job?" my mother asked.

"This is my fourth year," Lucy replied. "I was trained for a year. I became independent quickly."

"Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?"

"Oh no," she chuckled. "It’s just a transitional job. My best friend and I are working on a project. We plan to start our own business."

The news caught me off guard, and I had a hard time hiding my surprise. She had never mentioned this to me before. Starting a business is a big deal. It takes a lot of motivation, but I’m not worried about Lucy in that regard.

"In what field?" my mother continued.

"Sports," she smiled. "We’re planning to open a gym with training programs and classes," Lucy explained. "Everything’s starting to come together... If all goes well, this will be my last year at Camp Wiegman."

"What!? Seriously?" I exclaimed, unable to hold back.

Silence fell after my unexpected reaction. It was already a lot to learn about her project, but finding out that this would be her last year? It was a complete shock. Lucy glanced at me briefly with a small smile.

"Sorry for breaking the news this way. We were struggling with the bank, but I just found out a few days ago that our funds to start the business have been released. So, it’s recent news."

"Hum..."

"Oh, don’t look so down. You know what you need to do now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you have no choice but to get your diploma this year. I want us to leave this school together."

"Of course... Things aren’t looking too good right now, though," I muttered.

"Defeatist. Just because you started this second semester off poorly doesn’t mean you won’t get your diploma. I’m going to make you work, just watch. We’ll even start tonight," she announced, making me groan.

"Seriously?" I complained. "Oh crap, speaking of studying! I had exams today and tomorrow!" I realized. "What am I going to do!? Do you think they’ll let me make them up?"

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "That’s good news. We can study the subjects together this weekend."

What did she just say? Judging by the way she stiffened, she seemed to realize her big mistake. There’s no way we’re spending weekends together. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, making me uncomfortable. I noticed her hands tightening on the steering wheel as my mother questioned us.

"This weekend?"

"Wiegman requires me to stay at school when Ona is there," Lucy replied instinctively.

I released the breath I had been holding until then. I had forgotten that Lucy knew how to get out of awkward situations. The best part is, she does it without lying. I immediately backed her up by continuing:

"Bronze knows I struggle with some subjects, so she sometimes keeps me at school to work on my courses together," I said, fully aware that Lucy keeps me without official permission.

"Is that why you don’t come home as often?" my mother asked. "Joan keeps asking about you."

Joan... Oh my God, I’ve completely forgotten about him these past few days! I was so obsessed with my problems that I didn’t even think about my little brother. I felt a wave of regret. I sighed, running my hand through my hair.

"I’ll call him as soon as I can... How is he?"

"He’s fine."

"And the truth?"

I saw surprise in her eyes through the rearview mirror. As if a simple "he’s fine" would satisfy me. I hadn’t checked in on my brother for a month. The least I could do was ask now. Especially since he’s probably been feeling down, not having seen me for a while.

"He’s been having a lot of tantrums since you’ve been gone, and he sleeps in your bed a lot... he misses you terribly. You should come back to Barcelona sometime. This weekend, for example. We’re going away for the weekend with Marcus. You’ll have the house to yourself."

"When exactly are you leaving...?"

"You won’t see me if that’s your question. We’re leaving Friday afternoon and returning Sunday evening."

A small smile crept onto my lips. I discreetly glanced at Lucy, who had the same reaction as me. She must know what I’m thinking. I haven’t set foot in Barcelona for a month since she forbade me because of Feli. It’s about time I went back, and if she can come with me, that would be just perfect. It’s not an opportunity that will come up often.

"It’s not up to me to decide that kind of thing," I simply replied. "As I just told you, Bronze has the final say on my outings. We’ll have to discuss it first."

"We’ll talk about it when we get back," Lucy confirmed. "For now, wipe that silly smile off your face. I haven’t said yes yet. I just told you that you need to study."

"Oh come on! Think about my brother," I said, pulling an adorable pout.

"Playing the puppy dog, really Ona? You should know that’s not going to make me soften up."

I groaned, crossing my arms. She hasn’t said yes, but she hasn’t said no either. So, I still have hope. If it was a no, she would have already said so. Or maybe she’s uncomfortable with my mother’s presence and doesn’t dare say it. That’s one possibility. I can tell she’s not as comfortable as usual.

"Stop it," she growled.

"Stop what? I’m not doing anything."

"Yes, you are. You’re looking at me. It’s distracting me."

I hadn’t even realized it. To annoy her, I kept doing it while leaning against the car door. She furrowed her brow but didn’t take her eyes off the road. I smiled at the sight. Lucy is such a beautiful young woman. I’m lucky to have her. We finally arrived at a red light near downtown, where she took the opportunity to push down on my knee that I had lifted up.

- "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling sheepish.

She sighed softly, engaging the handbrake and shifting into neutral. The traffic lights here always take a while. I’m starting to know my way around this city, having come here so often. She turned slightly to look at me.

- "Just because you're banged up doesn’t mean you’re getting special treatment."

- "Oh, I know that, don’t worry about it, Commander!"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. It's crazy how much I enjoy provoking her. She seems to hate that nickname even more than before. Good to know if I want to tease her. I suppressed my smile at the thought, not wanting to provoke her further.

- "Sorry, I can’t help it."

- "Hmm."

She settled back into her seat as it was time to drive again. I did the same, glancing into the rearview mirror. Bad idea, as I caught my mom’s eyes staring at me with a strange expression. I pretended not to notice and focused on the suddenly heavy traffic.

- "Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

- "To the pedestrian zone downtown. It’s nice to see. There are also some good restaurants if you’re interested."

- "We trust you completely," my mom replied.

Lucy managed to get us out of the traffic jams thanks to her knowledge of the side streets. I should memorize them one day if I plan to live here. Then again, with my sense of direction, I’d probably still get lost. Lucy finally parked in a spot that wasn’t too crowded or too far from where we were headed. I took a deep breath before getting out. Here goes my first mother-daughter moment in ages.

Thursday, February 4th; 12:30 PM - Restaurant.

This morning was full of surprises. I’m still struggling to process it all. Just yesterday, I was on bad terms with both my mom and Lucy, and now, here I am, sitting with them around a table. I expected the morning to be a disaster, but against all odds, it went smoothly. No one brought up any sensitive topics, which was for the best. Even so, it was exhausting. I could have collapsed on the table when we arrived, but I restrained myself to avoid Lucy’s reprimands. For some reason, she kept putting me in my place in front of my mom. I guess she just wanted to assert her role, but her reactions were often over the top.

In any case, I’m glad it’s all over. My mom insisted on going shopping. The street was lined with stores, so she wanted to enter every one that had something she liked in the windows. Let’s just say I’ve never shopped this much in one morning, let alone with my mom. Lucy was probably right in saying that she was trying to rebuild our relationship. She bought me a ton of clothes. I definitely have enough to restock my school wardrobe. I started to enjoy it once Lucy joined forces with my mom. She was lucky to have Lucy help me survive the onslaught. Lucy also gave me her opinions whenever my mom wasn’t looking. The fittings were difficult with my injuries. My abdominal pain was so intense that Lucy had to help me more than once. Luckily, my mom was too busy finding me new outfits to notice.

- "Have you decided what to order?"

We all looked at each other before nodding to the waiter. I settled on a Caesar salad, not feeling very hungry today. Lucy seemed to be on the same page since she ordered the same thing. My mom chose salmon. The waiter jotted down our orders and left.

- "Are you sure you girls don’t want anything else?"

- "I’m not very hungry."

- "That’s surprising, you’re usually always hungry," Lucy teased.

- "Hey! That’s not true!"

- "It is. You’re a bottomless pit," she said, raising an eyebrow.

I stuck my tongue out at her and puffed out my cheeks. She pinched them playfully. Damn, she’s way too adorable.

- "I’m surprised to see Ona so open with you," my mom commented.

- "It wasn’t easy," Lucy replied honestly with a smile. "It started with floor scrubbing and arguments—"

- "Don’t exaggerate," I interrupted. "You just made me  clean a bathroom and some toilets," I retorted.

- "Oh no, scrubbing is the right word," she insisted with a mischievous smile. "I’ve never seen anyone do it so well. Anyone else would have done a sloppy job."

Is she joking? I remember that day like it was yesterday! It was my second day, and she pushed me to the limit by making me clean a locker room after my classes. I didn’t think my work was perfect, but Lucy had stopped me. I thought it was because it was time to eat, but it looks like I was wrong.

- "Don’t make that face. It was a good lesson for you back then. You taught me that you could be very meticulous."

- "You were testing me?" I asked, offended.

- "It was more of an assessment. Anyway," she continued before I could respond, "all Ona needed was a bit of attention, and I gave it to her. It was my job as a supervisor, but I quickly grew attached to her and her story. That’s what built her trust in me."

- "She confided in you?" my mom asked.

- "Yes, mom," I answered myself. "I confided in her."

- "I wanted her to see a therapist for a long time, but if I had known all she needed was a lovely young instructor, I would have changed my approach," my mom joked.

Lucy laughed at her comment, while I found myself embarrassed. A strange feeling washed over me. She’d never been so complimentary about my friends before. And we’d never managed to have such a pleasant time together. If it happened before, I don’t remember. It felt like Lucy’s presence changed everything, and that made me happy.

- "To be honest, I also considered that idea for a while," Lucy admitted once she calmed down. "I mean, about the therapist," she clarified. "But knowing Ona, I knew she would resist, so I didn’t even bother suggesting it."

- "Good thing you didn’t!" I replied. "I’m not sick; I don’t need to see a doctor."

- "No one said you were sick," she rolled her eyes. "It’s just that seeing a therapist might have helped. I sensed you were in a dark place more than once, and it could have done you some good, but whatever."

- "Hmm," I sulked slightly. "Just so you know, I’d much rather confide in you or Mapi than in some stranger in a lab coat."

- "Oh my," Lucy mocked, quickly joined by my mom.

I didn’t understand why they were laughing. Maybe my reaction was exaggerated, but that’s how I feel. There’s no way I’m talking about my problems with a stranger, even though I’ve gotten better about it. Back when I first came back, the idea was unthinkable. I shut down just at the thought of outside help. I barely left my room, so there was no way I was going to venture outside the house. My mom eventually gave up, realizing I wouldn’t change my mind on the matter. I turned to Lucy, who gave me a sad smile. Her sorrowful eyes affected me deeply. I didn’t mean to make her sad, but I’m so relieved that someone finally knows my secret. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but it’s clear it has been placed on hers instead. I hope she’ll be able to process it quickly. Thankfully, the server arrived with our meals, ending our discussion. That concluded the conversation as we wished each other a good meal and began eating. My mom restarted the conversation after clearing her throat.

- "So… this might not be the right time to bring this up, but… I’m curious why you chose management as a class option. I imagine Lucy had something to do with that choice."

- "That’s a slippery slope, mom," I warned. "The last time we brought this up was at Christmas, and it didn’t end well."

- "You didn’t tell me about that," Lucy whispered, making sure only I could hear.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, remembering that I hadn’t mentioned it to her. Mapi wanted me to call her that very night, but I didn’t want to. It was a holiday, and there was no way I was going to bother her with my problems. I hadn’t brought it up again since.

- "I’m not going to judge your choices anymore, Ona," my mom continued. "It was just a simple question because it’s surprising. You were never very fond of math, as far as I remember."

"I didn’t like science either," I retorted. "But if you really want to know, it was a purely strategic choice. Management is always useful. Especially when you want to become independent quickly. »

I feel Lucy’s hand tighten on my thigh. She’s probably afraid I might lose control. She’s probably right, as I tend to snap when it comes to my mother. Her touch instantly calms me and even reassures me. I know I’m not alone.

“You want to go into the art field, don’t you?” she asks me.

“If I may,” Lucy interjects, “I’m the one who encouraged her in that direction. It might be a risky choice, but…”

She pauses for a moment to look at me before continuing with a smile on her lips.

“I would’ve preferred to tell her first, but you’re her mother, so you have the right to know as well… I’ve got a good chance of finding her some support to get started in that field.”

Her announcement makes me choke. I’m not sure I heard her correctly. Lucy helps me as I cough, patting my back and handing me a glass of water. I down it in one gulp to clear my throat, while she discreetly rests her hand back on my thigh.

“I didn’t think it would have such an effect on you,” she laughs.

“What do you mean by ‘support’?”

“I have a friend who knows people in the field. I gave him one of your sketchbooks.”

“You did what?!” I exclaim.

“Oh, listen to me before fixating on that detail,” she scolds. “He passed it on to an expert who thinks you’re very promising! You could thank me instead of complaining.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Maybe in your closet full of sketchbooks?”

She went through my closet… in my room? When? Did she see all the drawings I’ve done in recent weeks? Damn. I blush just thinking about it. I lower my head to avoid my mother noticing. Most of the sketches are of her, or places and landscapes we’ve seen together, from every possible angle. Deep down, I was desperate and just wanted to reconnect with her. My art is always better when my feelings are involved.

“I took the least personal one,” she tells me, tightening her grip on my thigh.

“You saw everything…” I breathe out as if it’s obvious.

I can’t believe it. I would’ve preferred if she had asked me before doing something like that. It’s way too personal. Yet, I can’t even be mad at her.

“What would happen if the professional took an interest in Ona?” my mother finally asks.

“I’m not exactly sure. My friend mentioned mentoring her or possibly helping her get into an art school to refine her skills. The man was very interested and plans to show it to his boss. There’s a good chance they might take her under their wing. Anyway, the most important thing is that she gets a foot in the door so she can start and get noticed.”

I’m still struggling to believe it. If she did all that, it’s to give me a golden opportunity for my future. I don’t know who her friend is, but I’ll have to thank him properly. My mother seems completely understanding of what Lucy is saying. It’s very surprising. I didn’t think she’d take it so well when she’s always preferred me to follow in her footsteps.

“I guess if it works out, she’ll stay here?”

“It’s up to her to decide…”

“I’m likely to stay here in almost any case, Mom. I like it here, and my new friends all have plans to settle down here. It’ll be my fresh start. It’s what you wanted, right?”

I’ve never been so clear about what I want for my future as I am today. The others talk about it all the time. I already know Alexia will do anything to stay here to be with Jenni. She’s subtly trying to convince her sister to stay too. As for Leah and Alessia, they already live here. Just like Lotte, who lives with her father at the school, along with Patri and Claudia. And then, of course, there’s Lucy. She’s my main motivation for wanting to stay. I’m not sure I want to live with her right away, for fear that things might move too quickly, but I’ll find a way to stay here regardless.

“I guess you’ve already made up your mind…”

“I never said that,” I sigh. “I’m just thinking about it, that’s all. You’re the one who sent me here. I just created the life I like.”

“It’s obvious,” she smiles sadly. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. That’s why I want to thank Lucy, who’s surely a big part of that. Especially with her hand on your thigh at this very moment.”

Damn. How did she notice? Lucy was so discreet. She immediately removes her hand, making my mother smile. I don’t even dare look to the side. I’m sure Lucy is just as panicked as I am.

“T-that's not what-, Lucy stammers.

“Oh, come on,” my mother interrupts her. “I wasn’t born yesterday! I already knew about Mapi, if you’re still wondering, Ona.”

I open my mouth to speak, but my mother beats me to it.

“I don’t blame you for keeping quiet. I completely understand why, given our situation, but try not to lie to me again. You tried to be discreet all morning, but your looks and gestures when my back was turned were obvious.”

“I swear I-,” my girlfriend tries.

“You still dare to deny it?” my mother gently teases.

Lucy sighs and finally looks at me. I’ve never seen her like this… So embarrassed? Worried? Her behavior affects me even more than before. She nervously runs her hand through her hair.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be honest then. I tried to ignore your daughter, but I simply couldn’t.”

“Please, feel free to address me informally. You’ve done so well up until now.”

Lucy grimaces slightly. The situation must be different for her now. I’ve never seen her so uncomfortable. It’s my turn to place my hand on her thigh to reassure her. I thought she would remove it, but she doesn’t. She takes it and intertwines our fingers. I didn’t think we’d have to have this conversation so soon.

“If you want to report me to Wiegman, I’ll accept the consequences, but there’s no way I’m staying away from your daughter.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. I look at my mother with a panicked expression. Would she dare? Her face is unreadable until a small smile appears on her lips.

“That was never my intention. Ona would never forgive me if I did something like that,” she says with a genuine smile. “It’s a beautiful gesture of love, in any case. My intention was just to confirm my suspicions, and it seems I was right.”

Lucy’s grip on my hand loosens slightly. I think her wave of panic has passed. She gently caresses the knuckles she had just been crushing.

“So… I mean, it doesn’t bother you that we’re together…?” I ask uncertainly.

“Why would it? Ona, I know we didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’ve never wanted anything but your happiness, even if you have a hard time understanding that. If Lucy is the one who makes you happy, I’m not going to stand in your way. I should be thanking her for bringing my daughter back.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. She makes me just as happy.”

I don’t know what to say. So my mother knew all along, and I didn’t even realize it. Maybe Mapi told her, or maybe I’m less predictable to her than I thought. We weren’t on good terms, but her opinion still mattered to me. It could have completely torn our relationship apart, which is why I was afraid to tell her. In any case, this conversation was unexpected. Dimples form on my girlfriend’s cheeks as she smiles. I lean in to kiss her, not caring if my mother is watching. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to convey all my gratitude for facing this with me.

“So, how long have you two been together?”

Lucy and I look at each other for a moment before a small laugh escapes us. It’s probably the tension releasing.

“To be honest… Only since last night,” Lucy admits.

“Oh… I expected it to be longer than that,” my mother says with a hint of disappointment. “And how old are you? If it’s not too intrusive.”

“Mom,” I groan, rolling my eyes.

“It’s okay, Ona,” Lucy giggles. “I’m turning twenty-six this year. I’m older, but it’s never bothered us until now. Ona is very mature for her age… Stubborn when she wants to be, but mature.”

This is the first time she’s ever said that. I didn’t know she thought that about me. She usually calls me a “cheeky kid.” I look at my mother to see her reaction. She just smiles and nods. She doesn’t seem to want to contest it. She was always interested in the people in my life, which is why I was afraid to tell her about my orientation. When I was a teenager, I sometimes brought home a few boys, and that was the only time she asked questions and seemed to care about me.

“It seems you’ve found your rare gem, Ona.”

“I hope so. She scares me sometimes, but otherwise she’s perfect.”

- "Hey!" complains my girlfriend.

- "Sorry, but I used to think of you as a tyrant at first," I admitted.

- "Nice," she mutters.

Our conversation is interrupted by laughter, not from us, but from my mother. We look at her, unsure of how to react. I gently stroke Lucy's hand with a smile.

- "You two are adorable. Since yesterday, you say? You don’t seem like it, given how you act around each other."

- "We kind of delayed things because of me," Lucy admits, briefly glancing at me.

- "You're definitely welcome in Barcelona this weekend, since that's probably what's going to happen," my mom teases us.

- "That wasn't my intention..."

- "But you knew I was going to suggest it," I said. "You're not going to make me beg, are you? She’s giving you her blessing!"

- "And why not?" she raises an eyebrow. "If I'm supposedly a tyrant, you might as well beg."

- "You’re impossible."

- "And you're a fool."

I groan in frustration. I’m sure she would be capable of saying no. I move closer and kiss her on the cheek.

- "I’m sorry for thinking that. You know, of course, that I don’t believe it anymore. Now that you’ve had your apology... Will you come to Barcelona with me? Please?"

- "Hmm... I don't know," she teases with a smirk.

- "My mom is giving you permission to come," I repeated desperately.

Seeing that she only responds with a smug smile, I pout and return to my meal. I have to let go of her hand to pick up my fork, which doesn’t seem to please her. But I don't like being teased this much either. I hope she won’t refuse to let me go home if she decides not to come. My priority is to see Joan now. I wouldn’t want her to be mad at me for forgetting him.

- "We’ll talk about it later, okay?" she says more calmly.

- "It’s already decided. Either you come with me, or I go alone," I muttered.

Lucy sighs, catching my attention. I know she won’t let me go alone given the circumstances.

- "Fine. You win."

- "Really?" I asked, more excitedly than I meant to.

- "I suppose, yeah," she says, shrugging nonchalantly. "If I’m allowed," she adds, looking at my mom.

- "I don't see any problem with it. My daughter is an adult; she’s old enough to handle her love life."

- "See! So, you’re coming with me?"

- "Alright, alright."

- "Oh my God!" I exclaimed, jumping into her arms. "You’re the best!"

A sharp pain shoots through me because of my position, but it doesn’t stop me from kissing her cheek repeatedly. I’ve wanted her to see my world for so long. Now, that’s one thing that will finally happen.

- "But I haven't forgotten about your studying."

- "Are you serious?" I groaned. "Can’t you leave your responsible side behind for once?"

- "No. I’m not repeating a year because of you."

- "I’m not asking you to do that."

- "But I’m not letting you repeat a year on your own either. Who knows what kind of disaster that would be. I guess we can study tonight and tomorrow."

- "Good idea. That way we can relax this weekend."

- "That depends on how much you get done."

I roll my eyes as she laughs. Well, she’s right anyway. I didn’t start my second semester off well, and I need to get to work if I want to succeed. Especially after what Lucy just told me about my future. The rest of the meal continues mainly with conversations between my mom and my girlfriend. My mom is very interested in Lucy’s life and, surprisingly, in mine here as well. Maybe we’re finally ready to move forward. I still think Lucy’s presence has a lot to do with it. My mom must really like her. She’s nothing like Feli or my other boyfriends. She’s smart and full of charisma. I’m lucky she chose me as her girlfriend. To think she’s helping to solve all my problems with my mom.

Thursday, February 4th; 4:00 PM - Lucy’s Room.

I smile as Lucy collapses onto her bed just after we enter her room. For a day that was supposed to be relaxing, it was surprisingly busy. We just got back. Lucy kindly offered to drop my mom off at the airport after lunch. They connected immediately. We stayed with her until she took off. My mom took the opportunity to buy our tickets for this weekend. She got three after we discussed it with Lucy. I noticed she was uncomfortable with the idea of coming to Barcelona, so I suggested we bring Ingrid along. I like her, and I’ve heard she’s getting closer to Mapi. It’s a chance to thank her and make up for things.

- "This day was so unexpected," Lucy comments, pulling me out of what must have been an intense stare.

Her smile widens, probably thinking I was watching her. I blush and look away. That’s probably not the best way to prove otherwise, but it was an automatic reaction.

- "Yeah... I-I’m going to call Mapi. I’ll let her know we’re coming to Barcelona this weekend."

- "I think your mom was afraid I’d change my mind, which is why she bought the tickets," she laughs.

- "Probably. She really liked you."

- "Isn’t that a good thing?"

- "I don’t care what she thinks."

She sits down to take off her shoes. Meanwhile, I grab my phone from the nightstand drawer. Lucy tosses her shoes onto the floor, creating a loud noise, before lying back against her pillow with a satisfied sigh.

- "You know, Ona. You can lie to anyone you want, but definitely not to me," she smiles.

- "Alright... Maybe it matters a little."

She giggles and pats the spot next to her. I don’t like that she can read me so well. It feels like I can’t hide anything from her.

- "I expected your mom to be more difficult," she confesses. "She really cares about you, you know."

- "I know," I sighed.

I sit on the edge of the bed to take off my shoes, which quickly join Lucy’s on the floor. As soon as they’re off, I gasp in surprise when she pulls me back.

- "Gently," I grumbled. "I’m still recovering!"

- "Oh, sorry hermosa," she says, freezing me in her arms.

This new nickname from her feels almost strange. She presses herself against my back, burying her head in my hair.

- "Are you okay?" she whispers.

- "Yeah," I sighed.

I turn over, groaning as I move. The painkiller is starting to wear off. But I smile when she kisses my forehead.

- "Are you still in a lot of pain?"

- "It’s manageable," I say, running a hand through my hair.

She looks at me in a way that makes me finally see what she’s feeling. I wonder how she used to hide her emotions so well.

"I’m going to put more cream on you, and you’ll take another painkiller with dinner. That should keep you comfortable through the night. »

- "It's not necessary."

- "Don't argue," she says as she gets up. "You've been complaining about the pain all day, so you're going to let me take care of you."

- "Fine," I relented.

It's hard to argue when she's already in the bathroom getting the cream. I take advantage of her absence to lie down in the middle of the bed and lift my shirt up to just below my chest.

- "I'll take this opportunity to call Mapi, if you don't mind. She's going to give me an earful for not being in touch," I added.

- "Go ahead," she says, straddling me. "I told her I'd allow you to call in the next few days. Maybe you'll be spared since she thinks I was the one keeping you from it."

- "I doubt she believed that," I giggled.

I can't help but look at Lucy with soft, tender eyes. She seems so different from usual. She's much more... open. Maybe I wasn't the most closed-off one between us after all. I must be looking at her strangely, given the way she starts to smile.

- "What? Is something bothering you?"

- "No," I said, blushing. "It's just that you're acting differently."

- "In a good way, I hope?"

- "Oh yes, yes," I stammered.

- "Well... You'd better get used to it... At least in private, of course."

My eyes linger on her hands, now covered in cream.

- "Make your call. She's just waiting for you to do it."

I nod as I dial her number, feeling a slight knot in my stomach. I'm dreading her reaction after my long week of silence. She has every right to be upset with me. The call connects just as Lucy's hands rest on my sides.

- "Wow! A call from my Onita? I thought I was hallucinating. Is it really you?"

- "Hello to you too, Mapi... Yes, it's me," I rolled my eyes.

- "Oh, well it's a good thing it's you. Just so you know, I'm hurt by your radio silence, Ona."

- "It wasn't my fault."

- "Of course. What did you always tell me...? Oh yes, I remember. 'When there's a will, there's a way.' Isn't that right?"

What was I thinking? It was obvious she'd be upset. I close my eyes as a shiver runs through me, thanks to Lucy's gentle touches. It's such a contrast to the harsh, resentful words my best friend just said.

- "If you keep pouting, I'll hang up without sharing the good news."

- "Good news?" she scoffs. "Who am I talking to? Whoever you are, give me back my best friend. She hasn't had good news to share in weeks."

- "Okay, fine, you win. I'm hanging up."

- "Oh, there it is! I think I recognize my Onita now!"

I roll my eyes in amusement as I hear her laugh. There's some commotion in the background, and I frown, realizing she's not alone. It's rare for her to be with anyone since her breakup; she had isolated herself.

- "Who are you with?"

- "Miller and Bryan. They're helping me with a project for class. They send their regards."

- "Oh, that's unexpected. You're not in for an easy time with them. Say hi to them for me too."

- "I have to spend time with people since you're not here. And you'd be surprised. They're actually decent help, against all odds."

There it is, the remark I was expecting. Mapi can be very bitter when she wants to be.

- "I'm sorry, Maps," I say, focusing on my stomach where Lucy's fingers are still working. I'm trying to make it up to her, but she won't let me get a word in edgewise.

I didn't know Lucy was so skilled at massages. It's making it hard to concentrate. My stomach is still covered in bruises, but she's being very careful not to hurt me.

- "Hey, Batlle!"

- "Hmm?" I responded absentmindedly.

- "You sound... quite occupied," she teases. "Maybe I should hang up instead of waiting for your apologies."

- "Sorry," I groaned. "I was just focused on something else."

Lucy chuckles at my response, finally looking up at me. I blush at the thought of what she might be thinking.

- "Oh, and what's so distracting that you're ignoring me, again?"

- "I'm not ignoring you," I rolled my eyes.

- "Hmm... Sure, whatever you say," she mutters. "Anyway, what's this good news? Since you couldn't manage to write to me for a whole week, you better tell me you talked with Lucy."

- "That's actually the good news, sort of," I replied, locking eyes with Lucy.

I bite my lip as I feel Lucy's hands move up my sides, a very sensitive spot for me since I'm extremely ticklish. I wonder if she can hear what Mapi's saying.

- "Explain. You owe me that much, I think."

- "Everything's sorted out. The good news is that I'm coming home to Barcelona this weekend, and she's coming with me."

- "Oh really, yo-... Wait. What!?" she exclaimed.

I smiled, imagining the expression she must have. I'd pay a lot to see it. I can hear the guys teasing her in the background.

- "She just figured it out?" Lucy asks me.

- "I think so."

- "Put her on speaker."

I comply, pressing the button before placing the phone beside us.

- "I assume you're with her? How could you hide this from me? Since when!? It's a disgrace! I’ve been supporting your relationship from the beginning and putting up with your broken hearts! I should have been informed the next hour!"

- "Calm down. It's very recent," Lucy replies.

- "Lucy!" she exclaims in surprise. "No, but seriously! I'm both mad at you and happy for you at the same time. You'd better take care of my best friend, and as for you, Ona, you'd better tell me everything! I want all the details!"

- "There she goes, we've lost her," Lucy jokes. "I don't need your threats to do that, you know," she retorts. "You've already done enough, and I've already had to face Ona's mom's threats."

- "It's thanks to my threats that you're together, in a way. Hey, wait. What did you say? Abby? What's this all about?"

- "It's a very long story," I say just as Lucy applies cream to my bruised eye.

- "You two are so mean to me," Mapi responds. "How dare you hide everything from me, of all people?"

- "We're not hiding anything from you. We'll explain everything this weekend, I promise."

- "Pff, yeah, whatever. It doesn't change the fact that you'd better take care of Ona, or you'll be hearing from me!"

- "Don't worry about that."

I chuckle as Lucy rolls her eyes. She smiles at me before leaning down to kiss me. We must not be very discreet because it triggers a disgusted noise on the other end of the phone.

- "Please, don't do that while I'm still on the line."

- "What's wrong, Mapi?" Lucy teases. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

- "Oh yes, but I'd rather not hear your kisses and cuddles. It's depressing for a single person."

- "As far as I know, you won't be single much longer."

- "What do you mean?" I asked. "Since when does Lucy know more than I do?"

- "Since you've been missing in action, duh."

- "Very petty revenge, Mapi. Once again, it's Lucy who didn't want me to text you at night."

- "No, it's not that I didn't want you to. It's just that you needed to sleep earlier, and she preferred being in Alexia's room before."

- "Yeah, whatever. Doesn't matter. Now that I'm here, is what she just said true?"

- "Of course," Lucy answers. "Mapi is just scared to take the plunge with Ingrid."

- "Lucy!" my best friend exclaims. "I thought that was supposed to stay between us!"

- "Oops?"

I giggle as Mapi sighs in frustration. So, she's scared to date my instructor. That's new and very unexpected.

- "You'd better stop stalling, Mapi. Ingrid won't chase after you forever," Lucy tells her.

- "I know," she sighs. "But it's complicated with the distance and all. I'd prefer to talk to her face to face."

- "It's your lucky day because she's coming with us this weekend."

- "What!?"

- "You heard right. I know you told her you'd give her a chance when you saw each other again, so if you want my advice, start coming up with convincing arguments. Ingrid can be a very difficult woman when she wants to be."

- "Wha-"

- "Don't say we never did you a favor. Now, I'd like to spend the rest of this afternoon with my girlfriend, if you don't mind."

- "No, no, wait, please! Don't hang u-"

- "Goodnight, Mapi."

I look at Lucy curiously as she hangs up on Mapi. She's not going to appreciate that. What bothers me more, though, is that Lucy knows more than I do.

- "What did I miss?"

- "Mapi is scared and keeps pushing things back. A bit like me. The situation is starting to frustrate Ingrid, and I just gave her some golden information. She'd better use it because Ingrid can be very unforgiving."

- "Oh... I guess she's afraid to open her heart again."

- "I don't know Mapi well enough to understand her reasons," she shrugs. "She just confided in me because I know Ingrid, and you weren't around."

- "Hmm... I hope things work out for them."

- "I'm sure they will. I said Ingrid was unforgiving, not heartless," she smiles. "She might just make Mapi sweat a little, if you know what I mean."

- "I know exactly what you mean."

I laugh against Lucy's lips as she comes in for another kiss. She doesn't stay long, though, as she gets up to return to the bathroom to put away the cream and wash her hands. Meanwhile, I don't dare move since I'm covered in cream everywhere, and I don't want to risk getting it all over. She comes back shortly after to put away my phone and then lies down next to me again. I smile as she wraps her arms around me. I hope Mapi finds the same happiness I've found. It's the best I can wish for her. One thing is certain, though: this weekend is going to be very interesting.

[timaeusresponds]

Everyday I think at length about Dirk all alone in the ocean by himself. Surviving. There’s a lack of conversation in the greater fandom about that part and so many people jump on Dirk for being a socially inept nightmare, but can you imagine??

Your entire life has been a fight to survive. Your entire life was predestined, and your predetermined destiny is marked with isolation and suffering. You have one friend on the same planet at the same time as you, she is so far away even your most expert transportation would die before reaching her(you’ve imagined dying, alone, drowning in the ocean for your hubris and desperation so many times). She is the only one who understands your situation, and even she has ‘people,’ or something like it.

You are fighting as far back as you remember, not just the environment but literal entities— the only other ‘living’ thing besides fish and birds. They are massive, loud, and they want to kill you, it is their only directive. You spend every day a little anxious they will come and you will have to defend yourself again. You cannot get sick, injured, tired, distracted— they will kill you if you do.

You spend time alone, cradled in the nest of your apartment on stilts, and it rocks in the storms in a way that makes you wonder what happens if severe structural damage takes place.

You do not have the comfort of constant access to food. You do not have the comfort of access to medicine. You do not have the comfort of people. You do not have the comfort of not just friends but strangers. You do not have family.

You talk across time with people who do not know and would not understand your circumstances.

Can you fucking imagine.

They’ve noted extreme geographic isolation can cause health problems, immune system issues, and that’s not touching the mental state. Dirk is in extreme survival settings that the comic never really pokes into, but it’s really not hard to imagine given what Dirk says and what we see? An isolated oceanic apartment, the Imperial Drones, he references fishing, it’s. Not hard to fill in the large blank spot of ‘guy alone in the ocean all by himself and two robots.’

And the two robots are not expressly alive, and he knows that. I’m sure he bonded with them, I’m sure he loved them, but they need to be maintained and they’re as much a weight as they are an aid. Yeah, having Sawtooth around has saved his life probably a huge number of times, but Sawtooth also requires repairs, resources, time, energy.

I’m not excusing everything Dirk did, I think his actions are bad and we see him harken with that fact, we see him face it when talking with Dave, we seem him make changes. But when talking about Dirk as this ‘all bad, monster’ we need to remember he spent his formative developmental years absolutely scraping out the ability to live and likely learned social interaction from movies and the internet. Yes, he needs to be the one to make those changes himself. Yes, he needs to learn how to talk to people. Yes, he is controlling and overbearing. Those are not ignored just because he suffered, but finding the origin to why is so important.

Control is probably the number one thing he had to worry about. What can he control in his situation. What can he change. He can’t control when the drones come, but he can prepare. He can train, he can build, he can prep first aid supplies, beef up Saw, he can cover his bases and make sure he’s not only ready but ready for failure. He can’t control the lack of reliable food, but he can try and prepare better. Cold storage, nets not rods, see if he can make the process mechanical so he doesn’t need to spend time physically out fishing. He can’t control getting sick, but if he keeps Sawtooth properly equipped, maybe makes extra bots, he can have defenses while out of commission— the extra food stores come in handy here, too. Control every aspect of his life that he can to survive, and it worked until the game, so he keeps using it. Control his friend’s entry, control their actions, control their feelings, because interpersonal relationships aren’t life or death but that’s all he knows at this point. It’s not good, but we can see how he got there.

Idk I just think the greater fandom likes to jump Dirk for being an unsociable, difficult, controlling person while ignoring everything pre-entry.