#no wonder i never get commissions no one's properly sharing my shit

[overchromatic]

what in God's name is this like to reblog ratio. I'm gonna start setting off grenades in people's mailboxes.

[youareunbearable]

Headcannon that Celebrimbor and Thranduil were childhood Frenemies because I don't like how the Mirkwood Elves were left out of everything that happened so pls enjoy this fliclet

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Once the Feanorians touched down in Hithlum, Thingol sent his younger brother's brother in law Oropher to be his ambassador. Oropher, of course, brings his son Thranduil along because this is a great chance for diplomatic training

Maedhros, this is during the time Morgoth is sending his own persistent ambassadors, thinks it would also be a great time to start Celebrimbor on diplomatic training, because before this he was just in the forge with Curufin and Feanor. And it doesn't look like the rest of the Sons of Feanor are going to have kids so he'll be inheriting the crown one day.

So Celebrimbor and Thranduil are pushed together on children "play dates"

They hate it, they always fight with each other and have competitions and as soon as they see each other they will throw down and scream new insults they learned since the last time they met. Sometimes they spent entire visits only speaking to each other in their own native tounges and mock the other for not properly understanding what they are saying. This particular game didn't last long, but Tyelpe did become the first of the Noldor to speak Sindarin fluently with no accent and Thranduil enjoys the annoyed tick in Galadriel's typical serene expression when she hears him speak flawless Quenya with a Feanorian lisp

Oropher is concerned, being the youngest of 4 he never had an antagonistic relationship with any of them. But Maglor (the new depressed Noldor High King) just gives a small smile and shrugs. He grew up with 6 brothers and even more half cousins. Little Tyelpe and Thrandy are just playing like boys and future best friends do

And they keep up this frenenimes relationship even after Curufin moves them to Himland. When it gets sacked during Dagor Bragollach and Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor all flee south to their cousins home, Thranduil sends them some relief supplies. When Celebrimbor disown his father, Thranduil comes to visit and generally be annoying until Celebrimbor can stop feeling like shit

When Thranduil, his parents, and their people leave eastward after Thingol's death but before the second Kinslaying (for Oropher is older then the Sun and Moon, he is not about to be led by a boy not even in his 30th year, Maiar blood or not, and many Sindar agree with him) Celebrimbor travels with them and secures them safe passage through the Blue Mountains.

They both grieve when they hear of the Second Kinslaying, then the Third, and then when the East sinks under the waves. Not many in Lindon support Celebrimbor wearing the eight pointed star again, but Thranduil just rolls his eyes and tells him red looks dreadful with his complexion

During the Second Age when Thranduil gets married, Celebrimbor is invited to the wedding and vis versa when Celebrimbor marries Narvi

(Both marriages involve lots of teasing over their partners of choice. Thranduil laughs over the fact that of course a Noldor would marry a Dwarf, they are basically the same, what with their love of rocks and metal work. Celebrimbor rolls his eyes and snorts that he's surprised Thranduil didn't end up marrying an Ent, what with his love of trees, but he supposes that marrying a lady named "tree maid" is close enough. What next? Will he name his children "sapling" or "twig" or "leaf"? Thranduil shoves him off his chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor and growls that at least his children will have original names, and not share a name with two of his forefathers like Men)

They visit each other a lot during the second age, and Thranduil tries to help him as best he can during the fallout of Narvi's death, and when Celebrimbor is designing his rings of Power with that suspicious Maiar of his (who Celebrimbor SWEARS is helping him craft to work through the grief he has no other intentions) he had Thranduil (or Oropher) in mind when he created Vilya

When Thranduil heard about what happened to his friend and his land during the War of Elves and Sauron he grieved deeply. The only thing he had to remember his friend by was some forgotten blueprints of unfinished jewelry, an Age worth of letters (mostly written in Quenya, he of course had replied in proper Sindarin), a clumsy eight pointed star he laughingly embroidered onto the breast of Thranduil's favourite robe, a set of Sindarin long knives overly embellished with Noldorian swirls, and a box of white gems Celebrimbor hand crafted and left with a promise to come back once he finished his rings and use them to make a matching crown set for Thranduil and his wife to wear whenever he inherited the crown

("There may be even enough left over for a third crown. For your 'little leaf' to grow into whenever you two get around making one." Thranduil's wife laughed with Celebrimbor and sent her husband a leer that set his ears ablaze and Tyelpe's laughter began anew)

And enough regrets to haunt him for Ages. It seemed like bad things always came in three. Celebrimbor, his father, his new homeland. Thranduil led his people north, away from everything he had loved, and kept what remained close to his chest. After his wife was slain shortly after the birth of his son, he refused to lose anyone else. Greenwood the Great began to mirror his grief and became Mirkwood

It was almost another another Age before he decided to commission the Dwarves of Erebor to turn those precious white gems into the crowns Celebrimbor intended. Not for him and his now dead wife, but maybe for Legolas and his future partner. (His little leaf, he could hear Celebrimbor's laughter every time Legolas calls himself "Legolas Greenleaf" with that cheeky grin of his) And if Celebrimbor couldn't make them himself, he would be happy to let his Dwarven friends do the job for him

Thranduil almost burned down the mountain himself when they withheld those gems and one of the last pieces of his dear friend from him

Under the bone deep fear of watching a dragon from his nightmares sack the kingdom, he was a little pleased. Jewel thieves get their due

(He knows that Celebrimbor never swore his grandfather's Oath, but sometimes late at night he wonders if he still carried the curse of it. If that Oath and the Curse of Feanor are the reason his dearest friend died that awful way he did)

It was the beginning of a forth age when those sparking white gems were finally turned into the crowns they were destined to be. And Thranduil could almost hear Celebrimbor's delighted laughter as he watched his only son and heir, his little leaf, marry a dwarf.

When it came time to sail, Thranduil stayed with his people, he has coveted them for so long he now refused to leave unless he was forced too. Legolas, who had somehow made a small boat that could barely withhold the waves of the Western Sea, was greeted with a welcoming and joyful embrace by the Elf he only heard stories about

"Hail Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, Crafter of the Rings Of Power, Husband of Narvi son of Vilarvi of Durin's Folk, and most importantly, the dearest friend of my father!" Legolas greeted in flawless Quenya with a very noticeable Feanorian lisp. The gathered crowd twitched a little and Elrond (who was hoping of news of his sons) gave a sigh. "I have much to say, and so does my husband Gimli, but first I must give you my father's message!"

Legolas cleared his throat, and then with mock superior expression, one that made him look just like Thranduil, he said: "Celebrimbor you Spider Spawn of the Shadow, if you worked on my crown instead of those thrice damned Rings like you said, my son would never have married a Dwarf. Once I am reborn you better start running because I am going to burry you in my forest and chop down the tree you become with my anger alone!"

There was a startled gasp of silence on the shores of Valinor, before Celebrimbor burst into peels of joyful laughter. Legolas smiled at his honorary uncle and laughed with him

"As you can see, father missed you very much"

[t0wnspersonb]

Hot Springs (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader)

Word Count: 2,570

Rated: Explicit

Warnings: SMUT, bad language, public, my shit writing, Ushijima being a beautiful man

Summary: You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. 

~~~~

GUYS! I know it’s been a fucking minute😫 I’m still trying to get my shit together for school lmao. BUT I’ve been working on this fic for a while tbh, I was just never motivated to finish it until recently. I apologize in advance if it’s trash😂 BUT, I do have a couple of things to go over. First of all, thank you guys so much for being patient with me the past couple of weeks, I’ve definitely missed putting content out to you guys, I’ve just been super busy with life and school. Second of all, I know I have requests sitting in my inbox, I will do them. Eventually. The only reason why I’m even posting something new is because this story was already in the works, so since it’s done I decided to post it (it’s probably garbage idk lol). Third of all, I love you guys so much  😘😘😘😘 it’s been such a joy writing for you all, and I hope I continue to put out content you guys enjoy! As always, this story is dedicated to @sunshinewitchz​ because she’s the biggest Wakatoshi simp I know, and I love her so much and her endless support. 

I hope you guys enjoy the story! Please let me know what you think of it😊😊

~~~~

“- Would you like to go?” Ushijima’s deep voice filtered through your ears; although you only heard the last part, you had no idea what he had said beforehand.

 “Hmm?” you finally looked up at him, the paint brush in your hand stilled.

 A soft frown coated his lips, sometimes you were far too engrossed in your art projects. Usually he didn’t mind, today was different though. It had been two weeks since the last time he had seen you, both of you far too busy to make time to spend together.

 Of course, he would want your undivided attention, he missed you. 

 “I’m sorry Toshi, what were you saying?” you smiled sheepishly at him, carefully setting down the paintbrush, your eyes focused on him completely now.

 “The hot springs. Do you want to go?” He asked again, his eyes flickering over your face.

 Your lips pursed, your brain wracking through the dates to make sure you didn’t already have a prior commitment. “When?”

 He let out another sigh, Ushijima loved you deeply, but when painting was involved… well, you were in a completely different world to the point that it was hard to hold a conversation with you.

 But he also loved your passion for it, he loved how talented you were, how confident you were in your skills. It was proven time and time again whenever you produced your master pieces.

 Although, all your artwork in his eyes were masterpieces.

 You were the best masterpiece of all. Ushijima could stare at you for hours, he could watch you paint for hours, but right now, he wanted to be your sole focus.

 “Do you want to go to the hot springs with me tomorrow?” he asked once more.

 “Okay.” You smiled brightly at him, you didn’t have anything to do tomorrow, except to drop off a painting. Any chance you got to spend with Ushijima you would take. 

 “Okay.” he repeated, a soft smile coating his lips. “Finish up, we’ll go get food once you’re done.”

 You definitely loved Ushijima.

 ***

 “Ushijima-senpai! Y/n-senpai!” Goshiki exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here!?”

 “Your grandma asked for a commission piece! I’m just dropping it off now.” You smiled widely. “I didn’t know you would be here today!”

 “I-I’m just visiting.” he stuttered out, his eyes awkwardly flickering over to Ushijima who paid him no mind, his eyes scanning the outer exterior of the house.

 “I need to collect the money; do you know where she is?” You asked sweetly.

 “She’s out in the garden, please come in.” He said awkwardly, stepping aside. 

 “I won’t be long Toshi!” You said cheerfully, pardoning yourself before you entered the home, leaving Goshiki and Ushijima standing at the entrance.

 “This is nice wood, is it oak?” Ushijima asked suddenly, his eyes tracing over the large door.

 “I don’t know Senpai…”

 Silence once again surrounded them, but like you had said, the exchange didn’t take too long as you came walking up to the volleyball players cheerfully.

 “All set Toshi! Let’s head out yeah?” you smiled up at him.

 He nodded before taking your hand into his and waving goodbye at the male.

 “Bye Goshiki! See you around!” you called out behind your shoulder.

 Sometimes it was a wonder how you and Ushijima ended up together. The concept of “opposites attract” seemed to be in play for this. 

 Your bright and bubbly personality contrasted greatly with his. Ushijima’s blunt and rough exterior was the complete opposite of your gentle and easygoing one. 

 However, you guys shared one trait, and that was the undeniable confidence you guys had in your skills. Ushijima with volleyball, and you with art.

 But despite the contrasting personalities, your relationship worked, the love and respect you guys had for one another was always present.

 “That was really nice of that lady to give us our own spring. I didn’t even know that a place like this could have private ones!” You said happily as you guys walked towards the changing rooms.

 “Yeah.” Ushijima nodded briefly, “see you in a bit.”

 You grinned at him widely before skipping off into your own changing room. 

 You bummed softly to yourself as you began undressing. The showers felt incredible against your skin and you couldn’t help but sigh in content, a trip to the hot springs was something that you definitely needed after working so hard on your commissions.

 You carefully wrapped yourself in the towel and started heading towards the spring. The change in temperature caused a shiver to run through your body, shuddering gently as the steam curled around your damp shoulders. You breathed in the soft scent of earth, sighing softly as your body relaxed in the hot springs air. 

 Your eyes scanned over the area, before pausing on a figure that left your heart racing and your stomach flipping.

 Ushijima paid no attention to his surroundings; his stare was focused on the scenery before him. But that gave you plenty of time to drink in the tall male before you.

 He was truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever met before. His broad shoulders and rippling back muscles were completely exposed to your greedy eyes. 

 How you ended up with such a beautiful man was beyond your comprehension. 

 “What are you waiting for?” His deep voice filtered through the air, your gaze met his olive eyes and you felt your face flush immediately.

 “Just appreciating the view.” You said cheekily before dropping your towel and settling yourself down into the water.

 A long sigh escaped your lips as you submerged yourself completely. This was heaven; you couldn’t remember the last time you had been to the hot springs, and the fact that you got to spend it with the man you loved the most, it was definitely pure heaven.

 “The scenery is very nice here.” he agreed, eyes scanning over the area once more.

 You laughed softly at his statement, your hand gently pressing into the bulging muscle of his bicep. “I wasn’t talking about the scenery. I was talking about you Toshi.” 

 Ushijima felt his expression soften considerably as he looked down at you. You were resting your head against his arm, your eyes closed in absolute bliss.

 This time Ushijima decided  to scan over you, and fuck… you were the best thing he’s ever seen.

 His eyes drank in every inch of your beautiful face, his gaze trailing over the strands of wet hair clinging to your face, wrapping around your collarbone and then your shoulders and…

 Oh.

 He shamelessly stared at your exposed breasts. He could feel his heart rate beginning to pick up as he started to register in his mind that you… no both of you were extremely bare to one another.

 Ushijima couldn’t understand this sudden shyness that began to bubble up in his gut. He had seen you bare so many times before, he’s touched you so many times before, he’s had you in every way that he could think of; and yet… What was this sudden rush of arousal spiking through his blood right now?

 Your eyes fluttered open and met intense olive colored ones staring right back. You felt your mouth go dry, your stomach twisting in a way that was all too familiar.

 The only times Ushijima has ever looked at you like that was when…

 “What is it, Wakatoshi?” You teased slightly, the flush in your face was something that you could blame on the hot water, not the fact that your hunk of a boyfriend was blatantly staring at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

 “You’re beautiful.” he said simply, reaching out to tug on a strand of your wet hair. His strong, thick fingers gently began trailing against the skin of your throat, skimming across your collarbone. Despite the hot water, you couldn’t help but shiver at his gentle touch. 

 “I meant… is there something that you want Wakatoshi?” You asked, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stared at him through your lashes.

 “You. Always you.” he answered simply; his large hand curving gently around your jaw, cupping your face carefully.

 Your stomach twisted pleasantly, an all too familiar burn bubbling deep within your gut, but also... your heart. Once again you were in awe of the man before you, the amount of love you held for him was far too much for your heart to contain, bubbling up and spilling over the longer you looked at him.

 “You have me.” you said quietly, carefully pressing yourself closer to him, your hands rested gently against the bare skin of his chest, strong and oh so broad.

 “Then kiss me.” he demanded, olive eyes burning into yours. Love and passion could clearly be seen in them.

 So, you did. Your hands grabbing at his strong jaw, forcing him to stoop down to your level so you could properly kiss him.

 Kissing Ushijima was possibly the best thing on the planet, his lips were full and strong as they moved against yours, unhurried, but incredibly needy and forceful. 

 His tongue licked against your mouth, hot and wet and deliciously perfect. You eagerly pressed yourself against his large body, melting against him completely. You were too hot, your body overheating immediately.

 It was from the hot springs, right? Not from the hunk of a man that was currently grabbing at your bare waist and yanking you tighter against him, right? 

 Your head spun dizzily, pleasure rippling through your body, a soft whimper tearing through your throat as you felt his growing member press tight against your thigh.

 Ushijima heard you, his grip on your body tightened slightly as he continued to devour your mouth. He began moving you, carefully backing you up further away from the deep end of the hot spring, and then your body was being lifted up until you were no longer in the hot water, rather, you were now sitting on the ledge of the hot springs.

 Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your nipples hardening into pebbles under Ushijima’s watchful eyes.

 From your perched position on the rocks you could easily kiss Ushijima and he could easily…

 “W-What are you doing?” you whimpered out, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth, your heart was racing, faced flush, as you stared at the tall male.

 His large hands were gripping your thighs, carefully moving them apart, his eyes gazing hungrily at your weeping cunt.

 “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked slowly, and then he was stooping down until his face was between your legs… a hot, fat, tongue sliding up your slit.

 You gasped loudly, eyes fluttering shut, as you leaned back on one of your elbows, your hand covering your mouth shot out and tangled into his damp hair.

 Ushijima hummed slightly, tongue gently flickering against your throbbing clit. 

 He wanted to do this here? Now?

 A thick finger slid easily into your wet entrance, causing your thighs to tremble at the sudden intrusion.

 Apparently yes. Yes, he did.

 When you finally opened up your eyes, the scene before you was absolutely sinful. Your swollen lips parted in awe as you made eye contact with Ushijima.

 His pupils were dilated, the soft olive color completely gone. His wet hair clung to his face, you could see his tongue flickering in and out of his mouth as he continued to eat you out.

 How was he so fucking perfect?

 “Toshi… please.” you begged, pressure beginning to build up, you were so close, but you wanted him. You wanted his thick cock to stretch you out completely right now.

 “Is there something you want?” he asked, voice deep and thick with arousal. His plush lips were wet, coated in your slick.

 Oh fuck.

 How did he look so fucking good between your legs?

 “You. Please. No more foreplay, I want you inside me already, please.” you trembled, watching as he stood to full height.

 Your eyes greedily ran down his naked body. He was just so… so fucking big, in so many ways.

 The strong muscles of his arms, his chest, his stomach, stood proudly on display for you. But as your eyes traveled lower; you could almost drool over the sight of his erect cock, standing proud and ready to be engulfed in your tight heat.

 His fist enclosed over his hard member, pumping up and down his shaft a couple of times before he finally stepped between your trembling legs. Carefully rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked folds, your eyes fluttered at the touch.

 But then with a quick snap of his hips he entered you, bottoming out immediately. 

 His lips slammed down against yours, muffling the loud moan that was about to escape your lips.

 Fuck, you were so full. No matter how many times Ushijima had you, you could never quite get used to his large size. 

 It was almost too much. But he knew that, which was why he waited for a moment, allowing you the time to get used to thick intrusion.

 One of his large hands grabbed at your hip, the other was resting near your head against the ground.

 After a few moments, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, a silent invitation that he could start moving.

 Ushijima didn’t even hesitate, his hips snapping forward, his cock pressing into the deepest part of your tight heat.

 The pace of his thrusts was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to fuck you, despite the fact that you guys were at a hot spring.

 “Do you hear that?” he murmured; soft squelching could be heard from your lower region. You were absolutely soaked, drenching his thick cock as he slid in and out of you perfectly. 

 You gripped at his broad shoulders helplessly, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you trembled under his large body.

 It was too much… the hot springs, his body, his kisses, the grunts that were coming from his lips, the fact that your boyfriend was fucking you in a public place…

 “I’m close.” you squeaked out, nails digging into his skin. The familiar burn, the ache for release; was coming up quickly.

 His deep thrusts began to speed up, his hips hammering into you.

 “Then cum.” he demanded, his hand reaching down to rub harshly at your swollen clit. 

 So, you did, gushing around him easily, your slick coating his hard member. He grunted loudly, immediately pulling himself out of you, his fist once again enclosing around his member as he hurriedly pumped himself, searching for release.

 Thick ropes of his warmth shot onto your lower belly, hot and heavy against your skin. 

 You watched tiredly as he brushed the wet hair away from his forehead, his eyes trailing over your bare body, a soft expression easily covering his face now. Carefully he pulled you back into the water, situating you on his lap easily as you rested your head against his strong chest.

 You sighed in content as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

 “I love you Wakatoshi.” you said quietly, you peered up at him, a sweet smile coating your lips.

 “I love you too.” he said eyes flickering down at you, a small smile appearing on his face.

 A trip to the hot springs was definitely a good idea. 

[panda-noosh]

lost in translation {draco malfoy x reader}

words: 11.8k 

summary: draco finds a notebook filled with beautiful, painful words. he keeps it for himself. he promises he’ll give it back to the rightful owner when he eventually finds them. 

genre: angst

notes: support my writing or ask about commissions! - masterlist - i literally don’t know what plot is any more okay. also i listened to i love you by billie eilish on loop whilst writing this so feel free to put that on if you want. 

---

    draco sees the words every time he closes his eyes.

   repeated stanzas, never leaving him alone. a mouthful of words no mind should ever be able to conjure. a haunting imagination capable of driving even the sanest people out of sanity.

   he found the book on a winters day at hogwarts. christmas time was just round the corner, meaning most of his friends had already fled the castle in favour of homes, somewhere out in the muggle world, where they could spend the holidays with families who cared for them as families often cared for each other.

   draco decided to stay at hogwarts.

   he didn’t want to - not really. his father was just being difficult, and he wanted to face the man even less than he wanted to spend the holidays with people like potter and teachers who didn’t like him because of his family name. 

    he is entirely on his own this holiday season, and it depresses him more than he would ever be willing to let on.

    because, you see, the thing with draco malfoy is, weakness has been a taboo subject amongst his family for as long as he can remember. his father drilled  into his conscience that malfoys always have their heads held high, that they must be able to cope entirely on their own in any circumstance, because that’s what strength is. needing no one. fending only for yourself. living life to get what you want without worrying about anybody else.

   this is why draco doesn’t sit with the other students during the christmas feast. instead, he finds himself traipsing through the library, poking at spines of books so old the writing has been smudged and worn, the contents made up of words once spoken in england, now lost to time.

    the place smells dusty. it makes him sneeze, and he grimaces when he pulls his finger away from a shelf to see it coated in a thick layer of dust which he hastily wipes on his already gravy-stained robes. his stomach grumbles with the reminder of the christmas feast waiting downstairs for him - all he needs to do is pull a chair up and dig in. none of the teachers will mind. the students might be a bit iffy, but when has draco ever cared about what they think?

    instead, he slumps against the wall, pulls a book into his lap and starts to read.

    he’s so engrossed in the old text that he doesn’t hear the library door opening. he doesn’t hear peeve’s taunting cackles until they’re right over his head, peeves pointed toes very nearly scraping his slicked back hair.

   draco’s head snaps up. above him, the poltergeist laughs, throwing his head back. 

    “peeves!” draco scrambles to his feet, swatting at the poltergeist. “oh, for christ’s sake, do you ever give it a rest?” 

    “all alone for christmas, are you, malfoy?” the poltergeist taunts. “surely daddy can afford you a way home with all that money the dark lord’s been shovelling into his pockets!”

   draco’s face burns. “go away, you annoying little roach, before i get the hoover!”

    peeves only laughs harder. “what a threat that was! wait till i tell the headmaster about that one.” and before draco can say anything else, peeves has grabbed a single, tiny book from the edge of a bookshelf and dropped it on draco’s head. 

    it crashes against the crown of his skull and bounces to the floor unceremoniously, flipping open upon the carpet. draco makes to yell, his fury bubbling over, but his voice is lost to the sudden emptiness of the room as peeves does what peeves does best and disappears.

   draco groans through gritted teeth, rubbing the spot the book bounced from. it aches a little bit, which is surprising considering the size of the book. not a textbook. not really anything any of his teachers would ask him to check out of the library. instead, it’s spiral bound, the words not typed, but handwritten in sloppy scrawl, like the author was in a rush when transferring their thoughts onto paper.

   draco frowns; why should a book such as this be in the schools library? 

    he picks it up by the corner, as if afraid the book might bite him - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. the book, however, makes no strange movements. draco feels no strange, magical pull coming from the pages. in fact, if he were to use his common sense, he would believe the book to be straight from the muggle world.

   that alone should have been enough to deter him, but his father isn’t here, so he opens it and starts reading.

    the first few pages are awkward poetry. awkward essays, a person’s thoughts and opinions filtered with the fear of someone reading over their shoulder, perhaps. draco can tell the author was holding back, but the further he flips, the looser said author seems to become. they start using words. just words, so beautiful and magical and heartfelt that draco finds himself enraptured with every one. he struggles to put the book down, curling into his tiny corner in the library, enamoured by such language. he wonders for the brief moment he is able to take his eyes off the page if perhaps the book has been cast under a spell, if perhaps there is a spell in this world that puts heaven and hell into words and has transferred it to the very book he holds in his hands.

    draco has spent so long getting lost in the talents of wizards that he sometimes forgets muggles have talents and hobbies, too. there are creatives in the world who can create emotions from such small things. there are people outside the world of magic and wizardry who can do magical things, too.

    he has the evidence in his hand.

   ---

    he keeps the evidence in his hand all throughout the year. 

    he comes back to it after particularly stressful classes to remind himself that not all is bad; that’s the magic these poems and essays have on him. he could probably recite each one word for word, but he never does, because they belong to him now. he’s claimed them as a comfort blanket, something he needs to get through the day. he’s found an addiction within these words that he can’t let go of, not just yet, not until he figures out who wrote them.

    and that’s really all it boils down to - he wants to put a face to the mind that created the world he so desperately wants to share. 

    it’s a tuesday afternoon in feburary when blaise asks him about the book. 

    “are you ever gonna share what’s in that notebook you keep carrying around?”

   the question startles draco. he thought he was being so subtle. he hardly ever brings the notebook out to face the light of day, only ever reading it behind the curtains of his poster bed in the dorms.

    nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it’s existence. he doesn’t want to sound stupid. 

    he pokes at the vegetables on his plate and, without looking up, mumbles, “not really any of your business, is it?”

    blaise scoffs. “alright, be like that then. you carry that thing around like a little girl and her secret diary.”

    “are you trying to tease me, blaise? because you just sound stupid.”

    blaise rolls his eyes; he’s one of the few people that don’t get properly offended when malfoy fails to bite his tongue.

    “and anyway,” draco continues, “i don’t carry it around. it stays in my bed.”

   “oh, really?”

   “yes, and that’s where it’s staying.”

    “so is it yours, or did you take it from someone?”

    draco pauses. “it’s mine.”

    “i’ve never seen you write in a notebook before. not even in class.”

   draco shrugs; he hasn’t got a very good answer to that, because the statement is true. he tends to get others to write his notes for him when he can get away with it.

    blaise sighs. he leans back in his seat, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “so are you a poet now? some kind of shakespeare?”

   draco raises a brow. “some kind of what?”

   blaise waves a dismissive hand. “it’s a muggle thing. just answer the part you understood.”

    “i’m not a poet,” draco grumbles. “the poems in the book aren’t even mine. i found it when i was in the library a few months back, and thought it was interesting.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like this notebook has always just been a background prop in his everyday life. “it’s stupid, really. muggle stuff.”

   “so why are you so obsessed with it?”

   “i’m not obsessed!” draco’s grip tightens on the edge of his chair; he’s tired after a long day of quidditch practice, and honestly, he doesn’t want to deal with his friends bullshit any longer than he has to. “now, blaise, can you start minding your own business before we have some issues?”

   that shuts blaise right up. together, they eat the remainders of their dinners before draco excuses himself and leaves the table. his mind is reeling, heart thumping both with embarrassment and annoyance; he knows he’s popular amongst the slytherins. in a way, he asked to be centre of attention when he started mouthing off about the importance of the malfoy household all those years back, but it’s frustrating that he can’t even do a bit of light reading without getting asked about it. he thought he was being so subtle, keeping the curtains closed every time he read, never taking the notebook from the confines of the dorms, never uttering a word about it to-

    his shoulder crashes into yours.

   “shit.”

   draco stumbles back, catching himself on the wall. he’s too dazed to say anything, but his anger is rising, and he’s prepared to start yelling-

   but then he opens his eyes and sees you there, fumbling with a pile of posters that have spilled across the glossy corridor floor. draco blinks, glancing from you to the posters and back again.

    “i’m so sorry,” you mumble. “so sorry. i knew the pile was too high, but hermione had to go to-”

    “why don’t you just-” draco flicks his wand. immediately, the posters gather in a whirlwind and fly into his outstretched arms, a neat little stack, good as new.

   you look up, dazed. your eyes are gorgeous, plagued with evidence of exhaustion, but riveting nonetheless. draco recognises you only vaguely, and the few memories he has of these quick glimpses have never left him dissatisfied.

    “oh,” you say after a moment. “right. spells. magic. i forgot about that.”

   draco narrows his eyes. 

   you stumble to your feet, wiping trembling hands on your robes. it leaves a streak of dirt against the black, and that’s when draco sees the red and gold lining of house gryffindor.

    “sorry,” you repeat. “i mean, thank you, for - like - helping me. i completely forgot i could just-” you swish your hands in a mock gesture of wand-movement before laughing awkwardly. “weird, right? that i would - uh - forget that in a school of magic. when i’m a wizard. ha ha.”

   draco nods, because he really has nothing to say. he can’t keep his eyes off you, your awkward movements, the way you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. most gryffindor’s would be hurling insults at him by now - hell, he would be hurling insults at the gryffindor’s, too, but his words are caught in his throat and he can’t even properly function.

   so he looks down at the pile of posters in his arms.

    “CREATIVE WRITING 101!”

    you snatch the first poster off the pile as if that will stop draco from reading it. “it’s nothing. something stupid, really.”

   he looks at you again. “you like creative writing?”

   you shrug.

   “that’s such a muggle hobby to have. where’s the fun in it?”

   and for the first time this entire meeting, you scowl. you hastily snatch the posters out of draco’s arms, struggling to keep them neat and tidy in your own, but when draco raises his wand to help you out a second time, you swat his hand away and say, “i don’t need your help.”

   “you’re going to drop them again-”

    you’re already backing away. “you don’t need to come, you know. me dropping these in front of you wasn’t a bloody invite.”

   draco blinks. “i didn’t mean it like-”

   you run a hand through your hair, nearly stumbling over your own shoes yet again. draco lunges forward in his attempts to catch you, but you yell something incoherent in his direction, apologise profusely to a first year you nearly elbow in the nose before you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

    draco stares at your retreating form, unable to fully comprehend what he did wrong. he doesn’t think he said anything offensive, let alone anything that would prompt you to nearly wipe yourself out in your attempts to get away.

    but then again, he isn’t really sure why he cares.

    ---- 

    it’s weird how - after one brief meeting - you suddenly appear at every corner draco takes.

    he never noticed you in his potion’s class before, but now he can’t avoid you. you sit at the back, a pen lodged between your teeth, brows furrowed together; despite your eventful meeting with draco only a few days prior, you don’t seem to have nearly as much interest in his sudden presence as he has with yours. he keeps glancing at you, not-so-subtly turning in his chair every now and then just to make sure you’re not some kind of illusion. nobody in the classroom is acting like anything is out of place, so maybe you have been his classmate for a while, and he just never noticed.

   he finds that a little hard to believe, but he has to take reality as it comes to him, or else he’ll go insane.

    he doesn’t talk to you for nearly a week, because he’s a little afraid of what you’ll have to say. he’s a little afraid you’ll say nothing at all, that you might have forgotten who he is entirely. 

    it’s you who makes the first move.

   it startles draco nearly out of his skin. he’s packing up his stuff, ignoring goyle’s ramblings to his left, when you slip your hand in his robe pocket. he jumps, spinning around just enough to dislodge your grappling fingers, and he’s seconds away from whipping out his wand to hex you when he freezes, eyes meeting your own, heart immediately plummeting into his stomach.

    you smile, wide and polite. “hello, old friend.”

   “can you get out of my pockets?” draco hisses, swatting your hand away when you make another attempt to dive into his robes. “what do you want?”

    “a pen,” you reply. “i broke mine.”

   “i don’t have a pen.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his quill. “i have a quill.”

   “aaaah, my bad.” you snatch the instrument from him before grabbing his hand. he yelps, stumbling a little bit. he beams bright red when the noise he just made actually registers in his head, and he makes a mental note to scold goyle for snickering behind him.

   “what are you doing?” draco demands. he tries not to get too flustered at the height difference between you - your head could very easily rest in the crook of his neck, and he hates that he kind of wants to experience what that feels like.

    you scribble words into his palm. “this is the time and place for the creative writing clubs first meeting.”

   draco blinks. “what?”

   “time and place for the-”

   “why do you want me to go?”

   you scowl, not once looking up from the jagged lines of draco’s palm. “i don’t, but hermione’s asked me to gather as many people as i can find, and i think you kind of owe me one after being so rude the other day in the hallway.”

   draco falters; so you remember.

   “i wasn’t being rude at all,” he grumbles. “you’re just sensitive.”

    “maybe.” you drop his palm and shove his quill back in his pocket. “if you want to come, be my guest; it’s going to be a lot of fun. lots of - uh - writing and stuff, i can assure you.”

   draco scowls. “i won’t be going.”

   “okay.”

    “so this entire conversation was pointless.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, as if challenging him. “okay, draco. i’m not forcing you to come if you don’t want to, but - you know - i’ll save you a seat or whatever.”

   and draco doesn’t understand why that is the promise that tears him down, why that is the thing that makes his mind up for him. even as he gives you no solid answer, he knows he now has plans automatically built into his schedule to see you again, no matter how much he dreads the thought of it. 

    he looks down at the writing on his palm, and his heart stops.

   just for a second. a brief moment of death, before life is pushed back into him when his brain kicks into overdrive and he’s certain he’s going to pass away for real with how fast his heart is suddenly beating.

   he blinks rapidly. goyle is saying something, and the students are filtering out, but draco is lost, lost, spiralling as he recognises the messy scrawl, smudged even though it shouldn’t be, messy but coherent, familiar and amazing.

    he’s read heaven written in this exact same handwriting. he’s read heaven, and hell, and earth, and space, and the moon, and the stars, and he’s experienced an entire new existence written in this very handwriting. it’s the same handwriting that covers every single page of his sacred notebook, hidden in his pillow case back at the dorms. it’s the same handwriting that gives a form to the aches and pains and anxieties of the person who has just walked away from him, the person who’s brain draco has lived in since christmas.

    ----        

   “you’re actually going?”

   “it’s the least i can do.” draco fixes the collar of his robes, ruffles his hair a little bit. “i did nearly wipe them out in the hallway a few days ago.”

    “that was an accident.” pansy throws herself across draco’s bed, as she often does when she wants the attention he has never given her. he simply glares at her reflection through the mirror, silently willing her to get up and leave so he can set off for the history of magic classroom in which the creative writing club is meeting tonight.

    pansy, however, doesn’t take the hint.

   “i just think this y/n person is trying to get in your head,” she continues. “your head, your bed, all of the above...”

    draco’s face warms. “you can think whatever you want, pansy, but i’m going whether you like it or not. in case you’ve forgotten, you have absolutely no say in the way i live my life.”

   pansy rolls onto her stomach, tugs on the back of draco’s robes. “oh, you’ve made that very clear, malfoy. don’t come running back to me when you show up to this stupid muggle club and get ostracised for being who you are.”

    draco clenches his jaw, stepping out of pansy’s reach all without turning round. he knows she’s right, of course - there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to show up tonight, only to be met by the usual hostile glares he gets from everybody outside the slytherin house. he brought it upon himself, and he knows that - but he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to prove himself as a good person to you.

   to the world. not just you.

    he swallows and turns. pansy stares up at him, hands curled beneath her chin, that sleezy little smile on her face. draco grimaces, points to the door and says, “the girls dorms are up the other staircase.”

    pansy’s smile falls. she scowls, stands up and leaves without another word. draco doesn’t care that he’s pissed her off - pansy, in recent months, has become a little bit too much. he’s given her the most wiggle room he can provide, and she has done nothing but bombard him further.

    he shakes the thought of his friend from his mind as he walks over to his bed and digs around in his pillow case. inside, he finds the poetry book he so desperately cares for, flicking to a page he has marked; he’s highlighted a few passages, and he reads them over as he steadies his breathing. this is such new territory for him. if his father finds out what he’s up to right now, he’ll be getting a very stern speaking to, possibly even a back-hand to the face if his father is in a particularly bad mood.

   but then draco remembers your expression, your hand digging around in his pocket, your stumbled words that somehow manage to pull together so beautifully when you want to express yourself.

   he has to see you tonight, whether it’s in a creative writing club or not. he’ll take just running into you in the hallway again, but to reach that point, he has to actually leave the dorms.

   he stuffs the book back into his pillow case, flattens a particularly frustrating strand of hair, and walks out the door.

    ---

    the history of magic classroom is dimly lit. 

   draco has seen pictures of muggle poetry readings before; they kind of remind him a little bit of exorcisms, and the set-up he’s currently walking into is no exception. 

   there’s candles lit upon every desk, the lights dimmed to create some kind of ambience that draco doesn’t understand. people are sat in a circle - people in every colour of robe, though draco is the only slytherin, it seems. this makes him a little nervous, and he hovers in the doorway, eyes tracing the scene in desperate search of you.

   he spots you in a matter of seconds. you’re leaning over a candle, frowning into the flame like you can’t quite understand why it’s flickering like that.

   draco makes a b-line for you.

   you look up only when he’s by your side, and immediately your expression brightens. those eyes of yours widen a little bit, a smile adorning your face. you straighten up, grab draco’s arm, and he’s certain he’s going to explode.

   “you made it!” you exclaim. “i can’t believe you actually came, mate; full of surprises, you are.”

   draco frowns, feigning frustration, like this is something he went out of his way to attend. “why are you staring at the flame so intensely?”

    “i’m staring at the flame so intensely-” you put on a pompous british accent, just to tease him, and draco doesn’t mind, “-because apparently you can turn the flames a different colour with the right spell, but it’s not working for me. watch.” 

   you elbow draco in the side, prompting him to shuffle over and give you more room. draco folds his arms over his chest, watching as you kneel down until your cheek is very nearly pressed against the desk. you point your wand at the flames and wave it, just once, but nothing happens. the flames barely even flicker.

    you blow it out in frustration. “fuck that.”

    draco laughs. he doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s bursting out of him at the sight of your furrowed brows, and your pouting lips. you scowl at him, and it startles him how unsurprised you are to hear such a noise escape a man like draco malfoy. 

    draco shakes his head and nudges you to the side. “watch.”

    you grab his wrist. “no. nope. absolutely not.”

   “what? i’m gonna-”

   “you’re gonna show me up, is what you’re gonna do, and i didn’t ask for it.” you pluck his wand from his fingers and stuff it back in his robes. draco has to fight the urge to shudder, your fingertips tracing across his ribcage as you fumble for his inside pocket. 

   you pull away then, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even matter, anyway; you show me up in every other class we have together.”

    draco scoffs. “and i can assume you’re going to show me up tonight, so we’re even.”

    you grin, because draco is right, and you both know he is right. 

   you make a bit more idle chat before the final people make an appearance, and you’re finally asked to sit down. draco is confused to see hermione granger being the leader of this group of creatives, as he’s almost certain he’s never read anything more beautiful than your work; surely you should be up at the front, guiding people through the craft of writing, a craft you have so brilliantly perfected.

    draco sits beside you and says nothing. he fiddles with his fingers, coughing into his fist, rolling his eyes anytime someone makes a stupid suggestion. honestly, granger can talk forever, and draco is starting to get bored within the first ten minutes. all he wants is to hear you recite something, or for you to just. . . say anything about any of your pieces; draco could probably do it for you if that didn’t look creepy and uncalled for. he could stand at the front of this group and recite whatever piece of poetry he wanted from the notebook he took so long ago, and then maybe you’d get the recognition you deserve. maybe then you’d be able to share your potential instead of just sitting by draco’s side in a circle of poet-wanna-be’s.

   finally, hermione turns her attention on you, however.

    “y/n,” granger chirps. you jump, fumble with your wand, let it drop on the floor to roll beneath draco’s chair. he rolls his eyes and picks it up for you as you struggle to respond to hermione’s summons. 

   “uh, y-yeah? yes? did you ask me something?”

   hermione’s brows furrow. “do you ever pay attention to anything i’m saying?”

    “sometimes,” you reply, sheepishly. “definitely sometimes.”

   hermione rolls her eyes. “anyway - i was just wondering if you’ve done any writing recently that you’d like to share.”

    draco tenses. he flicks his eyes to his left to see you awkwardly ringing your hands in your lap, biting your lower lip.

   “uh....”

    “none?” hermione demands, eyes popping. “but i thought-”

   “i’ve been a bit busy,” you grumble. “it’s not that big of a bloody deal, hermione, goodness me.”

    “well, yes, i - i know that, but-” hermione gestures vaguely. “this is a creative writing club. i asked all of you to bring something with you. do you not even have an old piece of writing you could share with us?”

   “nope.”

   draco’s heart leaps. “what?”

   and suddenly, all eyes are on him.

   he slouches in his seat, but keeps his gaze on you. you stare back at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked at his contribution. 

     “you’ve got nothing?” he prompts.

    you can’t even reply. you just stare, and draco knows he’s being confusing, is aware that maybe he should just shut his mouth. or, better yet, do everyone a favour and walk out before he says any more stupid things that will do nothing but embarrass both you and him.

    “okay,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, fine. that’s fine.” he looks up, meets hermione’s eyes. “you know what, granger, i don’t think this little club is my cup of tea. i’m going to head back to bed.”

    hermione blinks. no one says anything when draco stands and walks out, but he expected nothing less. he wasn’t welcome there in the first place. he should never have even made an appearance. he should have stayed in bed and let his feelings fester until he fell asleep.

    feelings are stupid anyway.

   ----

   he ignores you.

   in fact, he starts treating you how he treats everybody else - like they’re beneath him. a habit he once wanted to escape from has yet again become his comfort blanket, the thing shielding him from talking to you. every time you try making conversation, he sneers and walks off, barely even giving you the time of day.

   in truth, he knows what happened is no big deal. everyone probably forgot about it as soon as he left the room, getting absorbed in their own works of poetry. however, draco knows you want to discuss it, that you probably want answers he is far too afraid to give you. if he starts explaining why he said what he said, he’ll have to talk about the notebook, and then you might ask for it back, and draco is selfish because he doesn’t think he can give it back just yet. it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

   and so, he just ignores you.

   he sits in potions and pretends you don’t exist. he walks past you at lunch and doesn’t even give you a smile. he looks over your head every time you stand to wave at him. he doesn’t want to risk any inkling of conversation trickling in between you.

    pansy notices this, of course, but draco isn’t surprised. with how closely pansy has taken to watching over you and him, it would be more surprising to think she hadn’t caught on to the situation.

    she sits beside him at lunch, slamming her tray of greens down just loud enough that a few heads turn - including your own. draco quickly snaps his eyes down to his plate, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at the back of your head.

    “so,” pansy begins.

   draco licks the stuffing from his fork.

   pansy leans in, elbow hitting against his. “so. how did it go?”

    “how did what go?”

    “your little date with y/n! you never updated me on it!”

    draco scowls. “that was days ago, pansy.”

    “exactly. so now that i’ve got you trapped, you can fill me in on all the details.” she leans even closer, if that is possible. draco can smell the old woman’s perfume wafting from her robes and has to take a glass of water to quell the itch it summons to his throat. “y/n doesn’t look too happy with you, i’ll say that much. i sit behind them in care of magical creatures, and they’ve been awfully quiet since the club meeting; care to explain?”

   “why is it any of your business?”

   pansy grins. “because i told you someone like y/n wasn’t worth the trouble; a gryffindor, draco, really? were the robes not a big enough red flag for you?”

    draco scowls. “first of all, pansy, y/n and i are just friends, and have always been just friends. i’m not doing anything to impress them.”

    pansy scoffs, finally moving away to start spearing at her dinner with her fork. “how stupid do you think i am? how stupid do you think we all are? goyle doesn’t keep your little infatuation a secret, you know. he told us all about how close you and y/n get in potions together.”

    draco’s grip tightens on his fork. “close isn’t really the right word.”

   “the bickering? the way they make you laugh? the way you help them with their potions when they’re struggling so snape won’t tell them off? that sounds awful close to me, draco.”

    he has no answer to that. his chest aches, memories of such delightful times flooding his mind and making him crave it all again. he remembers those times when he would glance over his shoulder to see you running your hands through your hair, struggling to comprehend what on earth snape has just ordered you to do; if it was anyone else, draco wouldn’t have given them the light of day, but seeing the fear in your eyes every time snape gave you even the briefest flicker of attention saw draco abandoning goyle to come save the day at your desk.

   “so what went wrong?” pansy continues. “a lovers tiff?”

    draco closes his eyes. “it was nothing, pansy; just me being an idiot again.”

   pansy gasps, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “you? being an idiot? and you’re openly admitting to it! goodness me, y/n must be a lot more skilled at magic than they let on, huh?”

    “i don’t know what to do.”

    it’s a plea. draco knows it’s a plea. in his heart, the cracks are beginning to form, and he can’t pretend any longer. he watches the back of your head - has been watching the back of your head since the meeting, because that’s the only glimpse of you he will let himself have. it hurts to see you laughing, smiling, slapping ron weasley on the arm. it shows you’re healing, moving on from your attempts to get draco to listen. 

   he’s ruined everything.

    pansy leans forward. her voice is softer now, surprisingly kind. “draco, are you serious about this? i know i’ve been teasing, but do you actually like y/n in that way?” 

   draco bites the inside of his cheek. he remembers the times he had with you, how he used to laugh so freely with little care as to who heard. you teased him and made him feel normal, and he isn’t sure when his appreciation for you went past the poetry you wrote and emerged into you as a human being, but it’s happened, and he’s nodding to pansy’s question before he can think better of it.

   pansy draws back, letting out a shaky breath. “wow, okay. . . this is definitely new territory for me. for you. i’m not sure how to go about it.”

        “i took their notebook from them,” he mumbles. 

   pansy raises a brow. “their - their notebook?”

    “y/n writes,” he explains. “beautiful things. addictive things, and i found their notebook in the library over christmas and i kept it for myself. i only found out it was theirs a few days ago, but. . . i never told them i have it. i got scared to.”

   pansy pauses. draco’s never used that word in a sentence before. it sounds fake, like he’s made it up and just thrown it at the end of his sentence for the fun of it.

    “well, that would be a good place to start, i think.”

   his eyes snap up. “what?”

    “give them their notebook back.” she says this like it’s obvious, raising her brows. “it’s a good way to start a conversation, and once the conversation’s been breached, you can go on to explain everything else - it’s pretty simple when you get your head around it, draco.”

    he blinks. it does make sense, but again, there comes that burning protectiveness he can’t seem to shake. 

    selfish, selfish, selfish.

   he glances over at the gryffindor table. you’ve got your head thrown back again, laughing so loudly and so carefree that draco’s heart trembles because he isn’t the one making you laugh like that. it’s ron. it’s harry. it’s everyone who thinks he’s an awful human being, bringing joy to the one person who’s ever seen him as decent. they’ve probably told you a joke about how draco’s scum, how he’ll never amount of anything, how he claimed his spot at the top purely because of his father.

   fury pools in the pit of draco’s stomach. he spears his food with his fork, pushes away from the table and walks out of the dining hall before giving pansy an answer as to whether he simple plan is one he’ll actually take into consideration.

   but now that he’s storming through the halls towards the slytherin common room, he knows it’s not something he can just consider. he can never move on with you with your notebook stuffed in his pillow case. he needs to be honest, and he needs to apologise, and these are all things he struggles with greatly, but all things he needs to learn before he loses you for good.

   ---

    the notebook hasn’t seen the light of day past draco’s dorm since christmas.

    it feels weird carrying it so freely now, slowly making his way through the halls with it pressed against his chest, the spirals digging into his lower arm. people look at him, but nobody bats an eye at the notebook, and why would they? it’s not suspicious. most of them probably think it’s nothing more than a school notebook, used for taking notes in classes. 

    still, his anxiety runs at a million miles per hour. he wants to yell at anyone who even glimpses the tiny square peeking from over his arms. he wants to tell them it’s none of their business.

   but he doesn’t. he keeps walking until he’s reached the gryffindor common room.

   it’s just his luck that ron weasley is the one stood outside. the ginger lad spots draco immediately, and it’s reflex when draco scowls and says, “got nothing better to do, weasley?”

   ron glares. “what are you doing here, malfoy? the slytherin common room is back the way you came.”

    “good thing i’m not going to the slytherin common room.” he nods towards the portrait hole. “is y/n in there?”

   ron pauses. “what do you want with y/n?”

   “i need to talk to them.” he swallows before gently unravelling the notebook from his arms. “i accidentally grabbed this in potions - i need to give it to them.”

   “right, give it here then.” ron reaches for it, and draco stumbles back. he stumbles, not even bothering to swat ron’s hand away as pure panic seizes him. ron pulls back hastily, eyes widening at draco’s response.

   draco, through gritted teeth, says, “just go get y/n for me, will you?”

    ron stares at him a second longer before turning on his heel and walking back into the gryffindor common room. draco tries calming himself down in the minutes it takes for ron to reappear with you at his side.  

    the attempts are futile.

   the minute he lays eyes on you, his heart starts thundering in a way that confuses him to no ends; he shouldn’t feel like this over someone so ordinary, and in truth, that’s what you are. you’re a student, just like him, struggling through school life, just like him. you go about your day in almost the exact same way as he does, and yet he’s never before felt so intrigued by another individual.

   when your eyes meet his, you don’t smile. you don’t even look surprised. you grip the front of your night gown, glaring at him, not saying a word in greeting; draco’s mouth has gone dry, however, and saying anything is the absolute last thing on his mind when you’re standing in front of him, hair a mess, more beautiful and casual than he’s ever seen you.

   ron is the one who has to break the silence. “he said he’s got a notebook for you.”

    draco inhales sharply, suddenly remembering the artefact clutched in his hands. your eyes drift to it, and for a moment, you look puzzled. your eyebrows scrunch together, head tilting a little before you say, “that’s mine?”

    draco thrusts it in your direction. “please take it.” he turns to ron. “and you - please leave.”

   ron looks offended, looking at you for back-up, but your eyes are peeled on the notebook, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to ron. in the end, the weasley man rolls his eyes and stalks back into the gryffindor common room, leaving the corridor empty besides you and draco.

   and draco feels every sliver of tension like it’s been injected into his bone marrow. flashes of his behaviour play on loop in his brain, the way he ignored you, the amount of times he scowled at you every time you tried speaking to him; he never meant any of it, of course, considering you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever come across, but he did it anyway, and that’s what he has to patch up.

   somehow, he has to patch this up.

   he looks to the floor, tucking the notebook back against his chest when you don’t take it from his hands. the silence is crushing, but draco has absolutely no idea what to say to fill it in - pansy made this all sound so easy; he would hand you the notebook, and a conversation would immediately stem from that. 

    but no. draco’s mind has gone completely blank, and you still look furious, and neither of you are doing anything to resolve the mess he has made.

    finally, however, draco can’t take it any more. “i found your notebook.”

    “yeah. ron said.” you pluck it out of his arms. “where did you even find this? it’s so old.”

    “in the library.”

   “the library? what was it doing there?”

   draco shrugs. “how would i know that?”

   “considering you’re the one who stole it-”

   “i didn’t steal it. i just didn’t know who it belonged to.” a lie. he shouldn’t be lying. that’s a bad way to go about things. “i mean, i took it back to my dorm with me, kept it safe, but - like - i was of course going to give it back once i figured out who the owner was.”

    you hum. “i’m sure you were.” you flick open the pages, immediately spotting a passage draco has highlighted in bright orange pen. “you tabbed it?”

    he shrugs. “sometimes i read it when i got bored.”

   “i should be angry at you for that, you know - that’s a big invasion of privacy.”

   “yeah. you should be.” he looks up sheepishly. “are you?”

    you pause, eyes continuing to drift over the pages of your own work, work you haven’t seen or reread since at least christmas time. you don’t look impressed, or angry, or anything at all, really. you just read the lines and nod, as if taking inventory.

   then, you look up and say, “i’m more angry at the way you’ve been treating me this past week.”

   draco wilts. he knew it was coming, that this was the main source of hostility for the both of you, but he really thought the presence of the notebook would somehow buy him some time, maybe make this conversation a bit easier. 

   you snap the notebook closed, shoving it into the pocket of your night gown. “you didn’t even tell me what i did wrong!”

    “you didn’t do anything wrong!”

   “then why were you acting like that? why couldn’t you just talk to me?”

   draco squeezes his eyes closed, trails his hands through his hair, tries to calm down before he says something he’ll immediately regret. “you know, it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

   you pull back, puzzled. “how is it complicated? you’re nearly eighteen years old, draco! it shouldn’t be complicated to talk to someone when you’re mad at them!”

   “ i wasn’t mad at you! i thought you were mad at me!”

   you throw your head back and laugh, and this is the very noise draco has been craving for days, but he doesn’t want to hear it now, not here, not in this context. you’re not taking him seriously. you’re not listening.

   “this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” you cackle. “is this about the fucking club meeting? you think i gave a shit about what you said?”

   draco shakes his head. “again, love, it’s not as simple as that.”

    “then explain it to me. explain to me what the hell was going through your head to make that switch flip so suddenly.”

    something inside draco snaps, a string he didn’t even realise was being pulled so taut.

   “do you wanna know what’s been going through my head recently?” his voice drops, your expression faltering. “it’s that fucking notebook of yours. it’s been all i can think about for weeks, because i can’t wrap my head around the idea of you being the author of those poems.”

    you blink. “w-what?”

   “you’re so carefree. you’re so. . . so you, y/n, and it seems impossible to me - unfathomable! - that you could be thinking such harrowing thoughts and not a single person has picked up on it besides me - and i’ve only done so by complete accident.” he inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ve read your poems a thousand times over, and even though i know they came from you, i still can’t put your face to the words. i still can’t figure out how on earth you and that notebook are related in any way, and it’s been driving me insane. i want to help you, and it’s driving me insane.”

    again, you blink. the corridor goes quiet. draco’s breathing slows, stabilises, and he has no idea what he’s just said, or if any of it makes sense, but there is a weight off his chest that provides such a great amount of relief he wants to cry.

   finally, you swallow. your knuckles protrude from your hand with how tight your grip on the notebook is. your eyes stray to the ground, throat bobbing, mouth opening for just a second before you seem to think better of it and go silent again.

    draco takes a step back. “look, you can have it back,” he says. “i don’t want it any more. i don’t - i don’t need it any more. but i just want you to know i’m sorry, and i never wanted to hurt your feelings. i was just. . . feeling things, and it wasn’t normal for me, and i got scared.” he raises his hands in mock surrender, taking another step back. “feel free to never talk to me again. i’ll understand.” 

   he waits for another second. hope springs to his chest, hope that you will tell him not to go, that you’ll forgive him on the spot and the two of you can live happily ever after, but it doesn’t work that way. you meet his eyes and nod, before turning on your heel and heading back into the gryffindor common room.

    ---       

    “how did you mess that up again?”

   draco presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if pushing goyle’s words out of his brain. he should never have told the other slytherin about his encounter with you, but goyle was the first person on the scene, and malfoy just lost control; he needed to rant to someone. he needed to get it off his chest.

   and it seems now goyle has suddenly developed a perfect memory, as two days after the meeting in the corridor, he has not let the subject drop.

   the two sit together in defence against the dark arts; their teacher has long since left the classroom in search of some more work sheets for them to get cracking with, and the class has erupted into an expected chorus of conversations. draco wants nothing more than to put his head on the table and ignore the world, take this break as a chance to catch up on some of the sleep he has been robbed of these past few weeks, but goyle doesn’t let him go that easily.

    the bigger boy leans over and taps draco on the back of the head. “come on, man, talk to me. there’s got to be something we can do.”

    “there is nothing,” draco barks through gritted teeth. “and i’m sick of repeating myself, goyle, so shut your trap before i shut it for you.”

   goyle sighs, leaning back in his seat. “so y/n just. . . didn’t even say anything? they just walked off without a word?”

    “they did, which i took as a clear sign they never want to see me again.”

   “do you not think you might be looking too deeply into that reaction?”

    draco glares, eyes bloodshot, probably more terrifying than they have ever been. “tell me where on earth i could have looked too deeply.”

    goyle shrugs. “well, you did admit to spilling this massive, emotional speech over them in the middle of the night - maybe they just didn’t know what to say at the time. i bet if you go up to them now and ask for a follow-up conversation, they’d be more than willing to sit down and discuss everything.”

    “there’s nothing to discuss. i said everything i wanted to say, and y/n rejected me - i’m man enough to take it at face value and move on.”

   a lie, of course, but draco just wants goyle to shut up. he wants to continue sulking on his own, because that’s what he does best. he doesn’t need friends patting him on the back, trying to cheer him up. he knows he’s messed up, and he’s willing to suffer in solitude for his stupidity.

    “i’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

   draco’s head snaps up. “what do you mean?”

   but he knows exactly what goyle means, because goyle is telling the truth. nobody has ever made draco this stupid. nobody has ever plagued his mind like this, and it’s driving him insane.

    goyle folds his beefy arms across his chest. “i’m not saying it’s a bad thing, draco; sometimes it’s nice to see you unravel a little bit. god knows you’ve had a stick rammed up your ass for long enough.”

   draco rolls his eyes. “well, there’s no point in dwelling on it; nothing is going to happen. whatever friendship y/n and i had is gone, and i’m just gonna have to accept it.”

    goyle scowls, but draco pays him no attention. instead, he goes back to idly tapping his pen against his bottom lip, trying desperately to put his own words into play. he just needs to get over you. he needs to go back to the cold hearted, uncaring wizard he was raised to be, because that was the only version of himself that never got hurt. he never let himself get hurt. it’s strange how you walk into his life, and suddenly that entire side of him is being stripped away, replaced by this oversensitive, overthinking, annoying piece of shit who suddenly relies on someone else to get them through the day.

    draco hates it, but he hates the idea of not having that even more.

   ----

   “so are you going to tell me why y/n won’t talk about you?”

   draco looks up, his scowl a reflex when he makes eye contact with ron weasley. he stands over him, arms folded over his chest, wearing a set of school robes with little burn marks pecked into the material; draco has half a mind to tease him for it, before finding he has absolutely no energy to do such a thing right now.

    instead, he leans back against the tree he has been sat under, gazing at the sky as mountains of homework piles up in his dormitory - piles of homework he has yet to touch, because every time he tries focusing his mind on a single task, it veers off and he can’t do anything.

    ron raises a brow at draco’s silence. “no? you’re both gonna keep your mouths shut?”

   “i don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

   “no, of course you don’t.” and then, ron does the most surprising thing - he slumps down next to draco, their shoulders clicking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you fucked things up again.”

   draco swallows, closing his eyes. “again, none of your business, weasley.”

   “good answer. it makes perfect sense now.” ron nudges his arm. “what happened?”

   and draco knows it’s out of character. of all the people he could rant to, ron weasley should - and always has been - the absolute last on his list, but he looks at ron and he’s reminded that he is your friend, that ron makes you laugh, and he’s probably cheered you on during this uncomfortable time with draco. with that knowledge comes a sense of warmth, a gratefulness he’s never felt before, one he doesn’t completely understand.

   but he leans into it, because he’s too tired to fight it off. with his cheek pressed against his knees, he tells ron the whole story, from start to finish. he goes back as far as christmas, that god-forsaken day in the library when he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a nice bit of light reading whilst he ignored the rest of the students downstairs, how peeves had dropped that notebook on his head, and he’d grown attached to it, rereading the poems every day until the day he had to surrender it back to you.

    “sounds quite stalkerish,” ron comments.

   draco scoffs. “it does, doesn’t it?”

   ron sighs, shifting slightly. in the distance, a group of first years run screaming away from the whomping willow. a stone gargoyle shakes its winds atop the astronomy tower. such beautiful sights, and yet draco can’t feel a thing.

    “okay, look,” ron says. “don’t get any of this twisted, alright? i still hate you. more than i thought humanly possible.”

    “cheers.”

   “but, i care about y/n. a whole lot. they’re like family to me. they’ve been miserable these past few days, and it’s starting to take a toll on me. so, i’m here to give you a bit of advice.” he turns, leans in, lowers his voice. “don’t give up so easily.”

   draco jerks away. ron snickers, leaning back against the tree, gazing out at the green grass without a care in the world; draco, however, is stunned, heart racing though he doesn’t even know why. those words just hold so much hope, a hope he hasn’t let himself feel since it happened. he was slowly coming to terms with the idea of never talking to you again, and here ron weasley walks into the scene, ruining everything - like always.

   draco splutters, swallows, pulls himself together. “w-why do you say that?”

   “i thought it was obvious, mate,” ron replies. “y/n clearly has a soft spot for you. god only knows why, but that’s neither here nor there. all i care about right now is the fact they’ve been moping around for days, not even laughing at my jokes or anything. it’s getting exhausting when all you need to do is talk, and this entire thing could be resolved.”

    “it’s not as easy as that.”

   ron raises a brow. “oh? and why not?”

   draco opens his mouth to respond, because he’s certain he has one. however, when he thinks about it, there really isn’t a decent answer to that question; he’s young, dumb, embarrassed. he stole your notebook, gave it back, confessed his feelings and then fled the scene - the only reason he hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day is because he doesn’t want to bring up his own embarrassing gestures ever again. the quicker he buries them, the better.

    but at the cost of you? maybe he should rethink it.

   ron laughs. he stares at the side of draco’s face, pure amusement dancing across his features. draco scowls, because that’s what draco always does when he sees even the slightest flicker of joy on the weasley boys face; it’s become routine by now, even if he doesn’t feel the same contempt he’s so used to.

    “it’s bizarre, isn’t it, that i’d be the one giving you relationship advice,” he says.

   “it’s bizarre you’re helping me out at all, to be honest.”

   “i’m not as heartless as you like to think i am, malfoy.” he stands, wiping his hands down his robes, smearing muck on the already dirty cloth. “if anyone asks, we were arguing and i won.”

   draco blinks. “thank you, weasley. i mean it.”

   ron rolls his eyes. “i’m sure you do. now never speak to me again.” he turns on his heel and strolls back down the hill without a second glance in draco’s direction. 

   ----  

    draco’s heart is going to burst from his chest. 

   he’s been in this state far too often these past few weeks. he wants it to stop. he wants to go back to a life where he didn’t have a care in the world, where he owned this school, where he had the confidence that has carried his family name for decades.

   the only way he’s going to reach that point again is by sorting things out with you.

   or at least letting you know how he feels, because he can’t deny any of it any more. he can’t go around pretending you mean nothing to him. no, he still can’t explain where these feelings came from, if they started with the poetry and grew, or if they started that very day he laid eyes on you in first year and thought you were the prettiest one of his lousy classmates. he can’t explain any of it, but he doesn’t need to try. he doesn’t need to go as far back at that. all he needs to do is talk to you, let you know that you have changed him in very scary ways, and then he can move on. no matter your reaction, he can move on.   

   at least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks through the school corridors in search of you. it’s already getting dark, the january days lasting what seems like only a handful of minutes. students are flooding from their last classes of the day, and it’s only when draco spots a gryffindor bustling through the crowd does he stop.

   he grabs the unsuspecting student by the arm, not even surprised nor offended by his look of pure disgust. draco simply grins, because that’s reflex for him, before saying, “have you seen y/n l/n anywhere?”

   the boy furrows his brows. “i saw them talking to filch when i was walking to class. what do you want with them?”

   draco raises a brow; talking to filch? what could you possibly want with argus filch of all people?

   draco shoves the gryffindor away, thanking him with a nod before he turns and starts towards the caretakers office. he’s never been there before, mainly because he’s never wasted his time trying to hold a decent conversation with the caretaker, but he finds it in good enough time - an ordinary brown door, decorated only with the name ‘argus filch’ written across it in what looks like normal, muggle sharpie pen.

   draco racks his knuckles against it, uncertain if he’s doing any of this right. in all his years at hogwarts, he’s seen filch in his office only a handful of times, and even if he just happens to be in his office now, what will draco even ask him? what he was talking to you about? if he somehow knows where you went after the conversation was over? 

   he waits there, however, because he has no other leads, and he needs to talk to you. he needs to get this over with, or else he won’t be able to sleep, and he can’t afford to be groggy during quiddith practice; he’s been performing bad enough these past few weeks, and if he can just get this off his chest-

    the door swings open.

   it isn’t filch.

    “argus, i promise i’ll be done in-”

   you pause. your eyes widen. your mouth snaps closed, grip tightening on the door frame, and draco is certain he’s going to explode at any moment.

    “y/n.”

   your name is a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his racing heartbeat. he doesn’t even know if he said it, or maybe it was just a thought. at this moment in time, the two things are interchangeable. 

    “draco.” you swallow, shuffle awkwardly, look to the floor in a rare look of timidity. “w-what are you doing here?”

    “i was looking for you.” he speaks fast, like he’s running out of time, and maybe he is. maybe you’re only giving him a few seconds before the memories flood back and you slam the door on his face, ruining his chances once and for all. maybe you think his attempts are idiotic, embarrassing, and you’re only letting him talk out of pity. 

    but you don’t slam the door on his face. not at all. you stand there, looking more beautiful than draco has ever seen you, even though nothing has really changed. 

    draco swallows, curling his fingers into fists. “someone told me you - you were in here.”

    your eyes snap up. “i didn’t tell anyone where i was. that was kind of the whole point.”

    draco nods like he understands, because part of him kind of does - hiding away, pretending you are the only person to exist. it’s a comfort sometimes. 

    “what do you want, draco?”

    and just like that, everything he wanted to say is swept from his brain. 

    you fold your arms over your chest, one foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “d-did you have anything to say to me?”

    you almost sound hopeful.

    “ron told me not to give up so easily.”

    you pause.

   draco rushes on, because he knows he hasn’t done this right. he’s gone so far off script, and he hasn’t even got to the main point of his argument.

    “i don’t listen to weasley - ever. quite frankly, his advice is usually more detrimental than helpful, but - but he told me earlier to come find you. he told me you weren’t doing so good-”

   “ron-”

  “and i don’t know if that’s true on your end, but it’s true for me.”

    you blink. 

   draco exhales shakily, running a ringed hand through his hair. “i’m not doing so good, y/n. i don’t like the way we left things. i don’t like the fact that we left things at all. i should have explained myself a bit better, or come to you sooner, but you know how i am. god, you know how i am better than anyone else in the world, so please, please understand that i’m trying so hard to put my dignity aside to let you know how much i care about you.”

       there is a silence. a silence so heavy that draco feels crippled beneath it, unable to do anything but wait in anticipation for a response he might not even deserve. he’s done so many things wrong - not just with you, but with life in general. he is a bad person, and he knows this, and he’s trying to change, because you don’t deserve a bad person. 

    you swallow. he watches your throat bob. 

    “i don’t know if i believe you.”

    your words are a whisper, but they shatter everything around him like they were screamed at the top of your lungs.

    he shakes his head dumbly, like that is answer enough. he wants to say something to argue his case, but his tongue feels heavy and a cloud has passed over his brain.

    “draco, i don’t know if i believe you,” you correct, sounding almost desperate. “y-you treated me like shit for no reason. you took my notebook and didn’t give it back. you’re a dick to my friends-”

    “i know,” he bursts through gritted teeth, like he is in physical pain. “y/n, i know. i know, and i’ve been beating myself up over it for weeks. but that’s what i do - that’s what i’ve always done. i play the victim card and blame everybody else for my wrongdoings, and it’s childish. i’m trying to stop. i’m really, really trying.”

    you open your mouth to respond, but draco takes one look at the tears in your eyes and barrels on, suddenly desperate to dig himself further into the dirt.

    “you know what? i don’t even know why i’m here. i’m sorry. i should just - i should just leave you alone and let you get on with your life. you and i were never meant to be together, and i just need to accept that and move on.” he can’t stop talking. he can’t stop hating himself. “i’m sorry, though. for everything i did to upset you. for every stupid thing i said or did - know i didn’t mean it. from the bottom of my heart, y/n, i would never hurt you. never. so that’s why i’m gonna go. i’m gonna leave you alone. i’m g-gonna support you in whatever you want to do in the future. as long as you’re happy.”

   he tries for a smile, because that’s the way you’re meant to end these things, isn’t it? you smile, and you shake their hand or something, but draco can’t bring himself to do that, so he turns on his heel instead. he turns away from you, knowing this will be the last time, that there is absolutely no going back, no matter what horrible advice ron weasley gives him. he needs to get over you. he needs to let you go once and- 

   “draco.”

   you grab his wrist and he stumbles. he stumbles because of your grip, but he stumbles, too, because his name on your lips will never get old. it’s music to him, music he never listens to because his father always said it was a waste of time. he basks in it, spinning around to meet your eyes, and his heart crumbles at the tears now rolling down your cheeks.

   his own eyes widen. “y/n-”

   “you’re so stupid,” you sob. “so fucking stupid, do you know that?” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate hug. you sob into his shoulder, and draco is frozen, hands hovering over the small of your back, unsure how to take this reaction. “you’re literally the most idiotic person i’ve ever met in my life. how is it you? how is it always you?”

   draco blinks. “how is what always me?”

   “everything!” you wail, hugging him tighter. “it’s just always you, draco. always.”

    and draco still has no idea what you mean, but he’s learning to understand that maybe he doesn’t need to know what you mean all the time. maybe he just needs to be there for you to yell and cry and make no sense, and that will be enough.

   he wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. he’s never been any good at hugs, but he’s melting into this one. 

    “idiot,” you whisper into his neck. “thinking i’m just gonna let you leave like that. . . thinking i don’t like you back. . . thinking i’ve stopped thinking about you for even a second these past few days. . .”

    draco holds you tighter. 

   you pull away after a moment, quickly swiping your hand beneath your eyes. they are puffy now, red-rimmed, and draco knows he will have to explain this to ron in some way or the other without giving ron the benefit of knowing his advice might have actually been beneficial for once.

   “i think we both messed up a little bit,” you mumble through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “my reaction wasn’t exactly very helpful, was it?”

   “well. . . no, but-” draco exhales. “i meant what i said, y/n; i never meant to hurt you. i would never do that.”

   your smile trembles. draco has only a second to smile back before you’re throwing your arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug that he is getting strangely fond of.

    ----        

    your pen scratches against the paper. draco can’t sleep; he doesn’t really want to sleep, despite the hours of classes and quiddith practice he has to endure in a few hours time.

   you never sleep. not really. draco is convinced you live entirely off caffeine and words, staying up into the early hours of the morning with that notebook of yours, your muggle pen darting back and forth over the pages. he scolds you for it sometimes, but he’s always smiling, and you always roll your eyes in response.

    now, however, he has one arm thrown over your shoulders, watching you work. it’s already three in the morning, but he’s too enamoured to bother falling asleep; he’d rather stay up and watch you work.

    “bic,” he says out of nowhere, shattering the hours of silence the two of you had collected.

   you pause, looking up. your eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. draco smiles. 

   “what?”

    “bic.” he nods at the pen in your hand. “that’s the name of your fancy muggle quill, isn’t it?”

   you frown, taking another second to catch onto what he means, despite the clear explanation he has just given. however, it eventually dawns on you, and you frown even more.

   “oh, right. yeah. bic. that’s the brand name.” you place it in draco’s hand. he holds it close to his face, squinting to read the tiny letters written in the plastic. “the best pens in the world, i’d say; much more practical than those bloody quills we have to use in class.”

   “nothing wrong with our quills,” draco says, tilting the pen back and forth, examining every inch of it. “mine cost me a good lot of money.”

   you scoff, snatching the pen back. “i’m sure it did. waste of a good lot of money, too, when you could have just bought a pack of twelve bic pens for a fiver.”

   draco furrows his brows. “a fiver? what’s that in real money?”

   you roll your eyes, smiling fondly, and it’s that very smile that has draco leaning forward to peck you on the lips. it takes you out of your work, which he knows will frustrate you in the morning when you wake up to see you didn’t get as much done as you might have liked, but for now, he doesn’t really care. not when you’re melting against him, dropping your dumb bic pen into the crease of your notebook so you can cling to him with both hands. 

   there are some days when draco thinks you love him only out of pity. he was the boy who lost himself to his feelings for you. he was the boy who came crawling back, the boy who was lost when he didn’t have you by his side. some days, draco has to ask you if you really want to be part of this relationship.

   but then you go and kiss him like this, and he is left with no doubt that you’ve meant every single “i love you.” then you go and hold his hand at the gryffindor table, smile fondly at him as he bickers with your friends, and he knows this relationship is not a chore for you. maybe, if he lets himself hope, he can convince himself that you love him as much as he loves you. 

[writingbakery]

“childhood, interrupted”

after seeing the new clips of my poor baby blindfolded & training so young, i wrote this to give him the childhood he didn’t get to have <3 enjoy! ✨ taglist; @keigos-dove @secondhand-trash @sparkncharge @degenerate-yandere @redbeanteax

[pairing; hawks x gn!reader]

[warnings; tooth rotting fluff, one (1) excited bird, mentions of past child abuse, light angst]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

at first glance, hawks has everything.

number two pro hero in the country, more money than he knows what to do with, a list of friends so long he can’t go anywhere without seeing a familiar face. hawks, the speed hero, fastest in the game & nationally adored.

you knew better.

underneath the layers of charm and cocky bravado, he was flawed, cracked like a porcelain teapot in too-rough hands. too thin to be seen by the eye, but felt with loving hands, pressed against the damage.

he’d been born into poverty, raised by shitty parents with shittier coping mechanisms and for a while, all he had was himself and his imagination - and one ratted, well-loved endeavor plush, a bright spot in a dark memory.

once the hero commission had gotten ahold of him, well. out of the frying pan and into the fire.

he’d never gotten the chance to be a child, live carefree and smiling with whatever material items had caught his fancy that week. he’d never gotten to smile lopsided at the ice cream man, two teeth missing and a quarter for a sundae. he’d never gotten to laugh with the easy joy that comes from tender childhood, safe and well-loved and protected. he’d never gotten to just be a child, warm and full of wonderous innocence.

you were determined to change that.

you know hawks like the back of your hand now, after two years of dating & quadruple years friendship; you know when the stress gets to be too much on his weary shoulders, feathers ruffled and eyebags too dark for his cheery face. you also know he never likes to admit when he’s overwhelmed - determined to shoulder the burden on his own, like he’s used to.

at those times you’re quick to act, calling his agency and cashing in on one or two vacation days in his stead, keeping him close and cuddled at home where you can protect him from the pain of his worries. usually, you’ll pair it with a present, something small or distinctly angled at his childhood interests - a slime kit, a puzzle, legos once in the theme of his favorite childhood show.

this time, it’s a little more.... universal.

hawks has three days off now [thanks to your endless nagging at his secretary] and you’ve been saving this present for weeks, waiting impatiently throughout the afternoon for him to settle into relaxation. you can’t give it to him too early, else he won’t nap in favor of using it; you also can’t give it to him too late, or he’ll stay up too long on it and the cycle will continue.

finally, he’s stumbling out of the bedroom in loose sweats and a fitted band tee that’s seen better days, a hole in the shoulder and frayed edges. his hair’s fluffy and pointing in eighty-five different directions, and you’re certain there’s drool along his jaw.

he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever seen, and you smile warmly at his sleepy efforts to whine at you for leaving the “nest” - your shared bed, covered in excessive amounts of blankets and pillows.

“come here, you big winged baby. i have a surprise for you,” you tease, holding out your arms. he’s quick to comply, tucking his wings against his back as he buries his face in your chest, arms curling protectively around your waist.

“surprise? i keep tellin’ ya, chickadee, you gotta stop buying me shit.” his words are muffled into your shirt, but you can still hear the shyness in them, the muted embarrassment - still the stubborn child, unused to receiving gifts.

you roll your eyes lightly, one hand coming to card through the birds’ nest - ironic - of his hair, poking at his cheek till he sits up. “says the man who hid a cartier bracelet under my pillow a week ago. you’re one to talk, chicken little.”

ignoring his immediate protesting of “that’s different” & “i don’t look like him, he’s a coward”, you pull the plain cardboard box out from your side, holding it out to him excitedly. you can’t wait to see the look on his face once he opens it, watching as he sits up to tear into it.

it’s a nintendo switch, custom gold and red with his name - keigo takami, the cursive neat and clean - engraved on the back. he’s awestruck, childlike wonder overtaking his handsome features as he examines every inch of it.

“do you like it? don’t leave me hangin’ here, chicken lit— oof!” he’s cutting off your nervous teasing with a rib crushing hug, peppering little pecking kisses all over your face as you laugh. “i guess - aha! keigo that tickles! i guess i have my answer huh?”

he’s too excited to properly speak, feathers ruffling and shivering as he puts it all together. you’re just glad he’s happy with it - you didn’t need big declarations of thanks. his cheerful, overeager expression is all the thanks you want, as he leans back against your stomach to play through the games of a childhood he never got to have.

it won’t magically heal him, won’t erase the memories of his past and rewrite them better. it’s a bandaid on a gunshot wound, if you’re honest with yourself. but it helps to soothe the sting of it all, eases him into himself over and over again until one day, hopefully, he’ll look back at his childhood with a hint of hope for the future, instead of pain and regret.

for now, you’re more than content to hold him in your arms, fingers carding softly through his hair and pressing kisses to his forehead every time he shoves the screen in your face, rambling about how “you gotta look, dovey, i won again!” for now, you’ll heal the everyday scrapes and bruises - you’ve got a lifetime to worry about the big things. right now, you’re just helping the child in him find his way, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

you’ll be there for keigo for as long as he’ll let you, and then some.

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.

[airi-p4]

Songfic: The listening

Hi! I can finally share this songfic I finished a while ago!  It’s based on the song ‘The listening’ by Lights. (After hearing the lyrics I thought it was so Marinette and I had to write it down. It was HARD. But I think I managed well enough?)

Notice: Song lyrics are in bold. Notice2: Scroll slowly! There’s art included 💙 Notice 3: A comic based on this fic is -> HERE <-. I recommend to read the fic first, though.  AO3 Comic: The Listening ________________________________

Marinette POV

What the hell I’ve just-!? Is this for real? Oh no!

I mean- it’s usual Marinette to stumble, trip on her own feet and mess everything up... but kissing Luka out of the blue? On his lips? That’s new. Problematic, even. Not because I haven’t been wanting to kiss him for a while- of course not (I’ve been dying to do so)-, but because his blue eyes are staring back at mine, confused, surprised, indecisive and expectant. I certainly took him unprepared. Not that I was prepared either! With mere seconds to think, panic is taking over me.

"Please excuse me, I'm not thinking clear. It must just be stress…"

Shit. I can feel my cold sweat down my spine as the hotness on my cheeks increases, and my nervousness is ready to take my body next. Not that I’m lying: I really am stressed out and I can’t find inspiration. But today… It's not really stress what took me here. I still have tons of work to do, yet here I am: with Luka at the park, messing things up again.

"I- I just saw you from my balcony and I thought to say hi...

But I likely shouldn't be here…

I’mSorryForDistractingYouWhenYou’reMeditating-! IShouldNotHaveKi-DoneTha-! Ugh…” Here I am, rambling again… “I'm such a mess…"

Why am I so bad with talking when it involves romantic feelings? Everyone knows what happens when Marinette is in LOVE. Stumbling, tripping, mistakes… and unexplainable stuff like the kiss just now. A complete mess...

'I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way I'm just trying to get us on the same page'

Why can’t I just confess to him already? I’ve been trying to confess for a while. Opportunities to do so always either wasted or ruined by a hurricane of emotions. Words always incoherent and incomprehensible- and that's only when they actually make it out of my mouth... 

I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard

Luka always manages to give me some encouragement after, a different meaning to my words even, so I don't feel embarrassed after the failed attempts to confess my feelings to him.

How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

Why is it so hard to say those words? Why can’t I convey my feelings to Luka? Why is he not getting my message? It’s been a while since I noticed my feelings for him. I really want to confess and tell him how I feel. I need to!

And yet, chances to confess are not outnumbered. Most of the time I’m either busy or rushing somewhere. Interferences. It’s always the interferences.

Wish I could explain the things that I have to work out

School, sewing, commissions, helping out at the bakery, being Ladybug… add recently becoming the guardian of the Miraculous and having to deal with Lila’s lies, too.. and even more: new feelings for the guitar boy… It’s too much for a 15 year old girl. I doubt anyone but Tikki knows actually how much pressure and stress I’m under.

I don't feel right What has come over me, I'm about To lose my mind

I’m overwhelmed with responsibilities, excuses, work and recently, Lila’s lies have become unbearable. I can't keep up with everything, resulting in me failing at everything. Maybe that's why my feet took me here, in look of Luka’s calm and freedom.  

Maybe I’ve already lost my mind. No, I must have. I mean- kissing Luka like that isn’t something normal sane Marinette would do, that’s for sure...

I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way

I’m determined to tell him my feelings, yet here we are again: messing things up and wasting my chances to do so. It’s frustrating how I can't make sense around Luka anymore...

I'm just trying to get us on the same page (Wish I could explain)

If only I could confess! And I can't tell him everything I'm going through either...

Why is it so hard to tell Luka I want him by my side? That I want to spend more time with him? I just want him to like me as much as I like him. Why is it so difficult to explain my feelings?

Just like the kiss right now. I’ve really done it this time...

I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard

But I’m Ladybug, so I’m going to find a way to improve the situation… even if it’s too late to erase the kiss or the embarrassment I’m feeling right now, I have to find a way to dismiss any misunderstanding.

How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

But how can I tell him? Why can't I just tell him my feelings?

Wish I could explain

I want to tell him. I wish to tell him. I wish to explain that I kissed him because I love him.

And despite all these minutes of random thoughts, he's still staring at me. Waiting. Immobile. Impassible. With breathtaking handsomest.

Why can't I just get something else to do my job and convey my feelings on my behalf? Like:

Can I let the trees do the talking

They would definitely not stumble as much as me, as wise, flowing and calm as they are.

Can I let the ground do the walking

At least the ground won't be calling my body as a magnet if he was! Surely no tripping or falling either. The ground would be good to do the walking...

Can I let the sky fill what's missing

Ah, yes. I feel what I'm missing is as massive as the sky. I wish I had something or someone to fill me for my incomplete imperfect self. Something to make me forget about all the work and pressure I’m under. It would be nice to, even if just for a while, become one with the sky. Serene. Vast. Clear. Blue. The same color of the eyes that are still focused on me while I look up at the sky: so pretty...

Can I let my mouth do the listening,

That one is the silliest. I’m really out of my mind, aren’t I? How is the mouth supposed to listen? It doesn’t work like that, does it? The thought makes me close my eyes and sigh.

And that’s when Luka’s silence ends. He doesn’t speak. His voice never leaves his throat… No words are pronounced.

Yet I can hear: my mouth can hear.

Not my ears, not my eardrums. But my MOUTH. My mouth is doing it: The listening. And I can hear as clear as pure water. With Luka’s lips pressed over mine, his message is conveyed clearer than a cloudless summer sky, over and above from what words could ever express. How is it even possible? How can my mouth do the listening? I don’t know, but I don’t care.

My mouth has listened to him and I open my eyes again.

‘I love you’

The received message is automatically amplified by Luka’s expression: his loving smile and the soft look on his eyes. And I’m melting.

Ah, those sky blue eyes. Like the sky that I wish it would fill me.

His calm and steadiness could become my ground to secure my walking, to always take the right path- his same path.

And his wisdom, flowing and natural self could certainly help me with my talking: say the right thing at the right time, express my true feelings, stop the stumbling and keep a steady flow of words... Or talk without words, like he just did. Could I do that too?

A match with Luka would mean all the Chinese elements aligned for me: the wood of the trees, the earth of the ground, the water of the blue sky, the fire of his lips and the metal of his golden heart.

And that’s it. All that I need. With only one way for me to describe it:

‘Perfect balance’

Before that, though, I still have to assimilate what has just happened. Is it even real?

I need to answer him, but the old same Marinette is back in action, stumbling and panicking. I can’t help it but wonder how to express myself properly. How can I talk when I’m speechless?

I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way I'm just trying to get us on the same page I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

Wish I could explain

Oh. Maybe I don’t need words. Can his mouth do the listening too? Can I really explain it this way too?

What I mean to say

Will he understand it?

My lips brush against his again, more confident this time, wishing for him to understand my feelings….

And yes, it seems his mouth can also do the listening.

Now, after all the chances I missed or wasted to express them, my feelings can finally be conveyed:

‘I love you’

And my mouth can listen his once more as his mouth corresponds mine:

‘I love you too’

FIN

[edorazzi]

It’s the post everyone’s been waiting for! 

It’s taken a little while for me to get around to this, but it’s worth it for being able to make a full reaction post. This is really long so I’ll put it under a cut, but check it out for my complete scene-by-scene reaction of Miraculous’ ���Felix” episode! (´∀｀)♡

Okay, I’ve been putting this off for days now so it’s time to finally get to it. I’m comfy and undisturbed and have my supplies ready to go.

I know next to nothing about what I’m going into. I’ve seen a little bit here and there because some people haven’t tagged their content properly, but I haven’t watched either of the trailers. I haven’t even looked directly at the images of Felix which have been going around. I’ve tried to stay as blind as possible, so as a result I’m pretty excited but also very anxious. I’ve taken two beta blockers today and I’m considering taking a third.

I usually liveblog episodes on our Ladybug PV Discord server (message me for an invite!) but this time I’m making a proper post out of it. I’ll be typing up my reactions as I go then cleaning everything up a little bit afterwards. I think it’s the first time I’ve done something like this on my blog so here goes!

- “Script: Thomas Astruc” NO. HE REALLY COULDN’T JUST STEP AWAY FROM THIS EPISODE GRACEFULLY, COULD HE. HE HAD TO GET HIS HANDS DIRTY. I’m not going to say “fuck this man” but, you know, identical sentiments. I’m opening my chocolate bar.

- God, Emilie looks more like ET every time I see her. Such an awkward model.

- Oh but wait, Sébastien Thibaudeau was on the script? That does actually give me some hope! Next to Zag himself he’s the only writer on this mess of a show I trust. HE FIXED WAYHEM, CAN HE DO FELIX A SOLID TOO? PLEASE. PLEASE SÉBASTIEN OL BUDDY OL PAL OL FRIENDA MINE

- Does Gabe have anything else to say to his wife other than monologuing his Miraculous plan over and over? They say people in comas can still hear things but Emilie’s probably double unconscious from how boring her husband is.

- DON’T LIKE THAT KNIFE SOUND EFFECT FROM THOSE RINGS. Am I supposed to find it sweet that Gabe’s taking such good care of their wedding bands or is he about to use them for evil? Also where’s Felix.

- ADRIEN SWEETHEART. I maintain that it’s weird to have a statue of your wife/mother/self in your own garden but it kills me that he’s just sitting there in front of it like a lost kitten.

- “Of course, someone will get you right away.” IS THAT FELIX. WAS SHE ON THE PHONE TO FELIX. WHERE’S MY SON, NATHALIE HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON

- That wide-eyed look Adrien turns up towards the window is killing me even more. I’M SO SAD. I see he also hasn’t noticed he’s sitting in the middle of a giant butterfly circle, unless he’s so used to it being Gabe’s logo that he’s just not paying it any mind. When was this all built? Has Gabe always used a butterfly motif even before he got his Miraculous and it was just a great coincidence, or did he commission this whole garden area after Emilie went missing? I guess you could pass it off as eccentricity but in the real world that would be a HUGE red flag that Gabe murdered her. I dunno man.

- DON’T WAVE AT HIM LIKE THAT, NATHALIE. YOU RATTED HIM OUT IN 5 SECONDS IN THAT THEORETICAL FUTURE WHERE YOU DISCOVERED HE WAS CHAT NOIR. YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT THIS BOY. >:V

- “It’s been one year.” HAS IT? Hasn’t Adrien been at school for at least a year now? Didn’t his mom vanish two years prior to that?! Maybe she’s talking about how long Gabe has been fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir but knowing this show’s messy timeline it could be anything. WHERE’S FELIX.

- That’s the song from Chat Blanc! Was that something his mom taught him? OH NO, I’M EVEN SADDER NOW. This is what I mean about Sébastien’s writing, we’d never get this kind of focus on Adrien from Garbage Man Astruc. This kind of character exploration does wonders for ML whenever it’s brought up so I hope this is consistent.

- SHIT, GABRIEL’S OUT OF THE HOUSE. SOMETHING’S WRONG. THOSE EXPENSIVE LEATHER SHOES HAVEN’T TOUCHED ACTUAL GROUND IN YEARS. ADRIEN GET OUT OF THERE.

- I do like that Adrien doesn’t get up when his dad comes to stand right next to him like that. It’s just informal enough. He’s waiting for Gabe to make the first move this time and that’s nice development considering how stiff and cold their relationship was in S1.

- OOOOH GABE THAT’S AN AWKWARD CROUCH. Any lower down and his back is going to go. He’ll be stuck there. I do LOVE that he’s trying though, I don’t even know what he’s going to say to Adrien but this is already SO good.

- “There’s something important I have to talk to you about.” Finally time for The Talk, huh.

- GABE PLEASE. ADRIEN’S WAY TOO CHIRPY TO HAVE ACTUALLY CAUGHT ON TO WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY. HE THINKS YOU’RE TRYING TO SAY YOU LOVE HIM OR SOMETHING ELSE RIDICULOUS

- “I’ve noticed how close you and Nathalie have become!” CLOSE ENOUGH. Still in the ballpark of Adrien thinking his dad has real human feelings! 

- “HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY THINK SUCH A THING??” I GENUINELY LAUGHED OUT LOUD AT HOW ANGRY GABE WAS ABOUT THAT. I’m not sure what to think of the “Nathalie replacing Emilie when Emilie’s technically still alive” plot either but GABE’S DECIDED FOR ME. Also good job yelling in your son’s face when you were JUST having a moment, good luck getting back up off your knees in order to storm away, old man.

- Oh alright, he did get up, but it was with a strange angry bow-legged prance. I think he still had trouble.

- I love the way Adrien just kinda wide-eye-blinks at him, like Gabe’s emotional outburst is going totally over his head. He’s been dealing with akuma FAR too long to be bothered by this.

- Guests, plural? I’m guessing Felix is one of them but is he with someone else? That makes sense given he’s (as far as I’ve gathered) the same age as Adrien so he wouldn’t be running around far from home unchaperoned, but OHHH this is so interesting.

- So they ARE claiming it’s been one year since Emilie vanished! This just doesn’t work as a Season 3 episode, especially with Nathalie and Gabe’s romantic development being as far along as it is. Emilie’s been gone for at LEAST three years by this point! Read your show bible once in a while you horrible garbage man!!! Also ADRIEN SWEETHEART THAT’S A LITTLE PREMATURE. You can say “went away forever” when you’re three years into her disappearance, the anniversary of one year really isn’t long enough to claim she’s never coming back!

- OH NO, IT’S THE GIRLS. I’m already bored. Unless Luka is here I really just do not care what they’re all up to. I haven’t missed Marinette at ALL in the first two-and-a-half minutes and I don’t want to see her now. WHERE’S FELIX.

- I’m sorry, how are Lila, Chloé AND Kagami all on a video call together without any blood being drawn? Also for god’s sake PLEASE leave Adrien alone, you want to ask first if he’d LIKE some company or if he’d prefer a quiet personal day to think about his mom? OF COURSE NOT MARINETTE, YOU WOULDN’T WOULD YOU. 

- Okay, a video message is definitely a better idea than trying to break into his house AGAIN. At least then he can watch it whenever he feels up to it. The first good, safe, noninvasive idea Mari’s had for SEVERAL episodes when it comes to Adrien.

- I’M REALLY TORN WHEN IT COMES TO THE ENGLISH DUB. On one hand I hate how little screentime Nino has when he’s not just being Alya’s fashion accessory, but on the other hand I’m so glad they switched scenes the moment Nino started his video because I CANNOT handle his dub voice. Nino just deserves better in general really.

- HE WAS CRYING. MY BOY WAS CRYING AGAIN. I’M NOT COOL WITH THIS. IT’S NOT ABOVE YOUR PAYGRADE TO GIVE HIM A HUG, NATHALIE.

- ALRIGHT HI ELSA. IS THIS HIS AUNT? THAT’S SPOOKY. 

- Her name is Amelie? So their parents had twins and named them Amelie and Emilie, and they turned out the same right down to the over-the-shoulder Dead Anime Mom hairstyles? That’s lazy parenting down to a tee, can’t mix your twins up if you never have to learn the difference between them in the first place! But that’s INTERESTING that Felix is (I assume, still haven’t seen him yet) from Emilie’s side of the family, I’ve always had the impression he was a petit Gabriel.

- OHHH THAT’S MY BOY! I CAN SEE MY BOY IN THE DOORWAY!!! OH MY GOD GIVE HIM TO ME. GIVE ME FELIX. GIVE ME MY SON.

- ADRIEN IMMEDIATELY JUMPING ON HIM IN A HUG IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. WHILE FELIX’S HAND IS STILL OUTSTRETCHED FOR A HANDSHAKE. I know this episode is going to go downhill because there’s no way it won’t, but this one single moment is EVERYTHING I WANTED. I should just close the tab now and leave it at this, I really should.

- “Do you remember when they used to have so much fun pretending to be each other? Once they had you and Emilie fooled for a whole weekend!” WHERE HAS THIS BEEN FOR MY ENTIRE ORDEAL GETTING THROUGH THIS SERIES. I don’t even care if this Felix is a stone cold bitch, it’s enough to know he and Adrien were besties when they were kids and Adrien still wanted to hug him the second he walked through the door. AMAZING.

- “I WON’T BE FOOLED A SECOND TIME.” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, GABE. THEY WERE PROBABLY TODDLERS. ARE YOU JUST SO USED TO GETTING YOUR ASS HANDED TO YOU BY CHILDREN THAT YOU’RE SUSPICIOUS OF EVERY SINGLE ONE NOW

- Aww, Felix is American (dubbed, anyway). I was really hoping he’d be British with all the references to London over the last season. He does have a nice voice though! I can tell he shares Adrien’s actor but he’s got the softness I’d have expected from his character. There’s kind of an interesting look about his face though, I wish they’d tweaked it a bit to give him a sharper look but I guess he IS like 14, he can afford to still have a bit of baby-cheeked roundness. I’m going to find the positives in every part of this because I will NOT give Garbage Man Astruc the satisfaction of being disappointed like I know he wants me to be. It’s been a fucking war from the moment I saw his name in the writing credits and my best weapon is being pleased about everything in this episode.

- Okay, he looks a little better in the following closeup where his eyes are slightly narrowed. I think it’s the slightly-below-the-chin angle which doesn’t really work for his character model with his soft cheeks and high collar. FELIX IS A BABY.

- WHY WILL NOBODY SHAKE HIS HAND. Adrien hugged him instead and Gabe is ignoring him completely, Felix is clearly so perplexed and I love it. He’s fourteen! He’s fourteen and doing his best with social graces but NOBODY WILL HELP HIM.

- “Felix, you know your uncle’s never been the physical sort!” HE KICKED HIS OWN SON RIGHT ACROSS PARIS IN THE LAST EPISODE BUT SURE, IF YOU SAY SO.

- “Oh, how sweet! You’re still wearing your wedding band!” YEAH? IT’S BEEN LIKE A YEAR?? Again this would make more sense if it had been around three years like we KNOW Emilie’s been gone for, but picking someone out for still wearing their ring after 12 months?! And why isn’t Amelie more emotional about this anyway, isn’t it her sister who’s missing? I wouldn’t be poking fun at MY sister’s husband for keeping his ring if SHE went missing. No wonder Felix seems like he turned out weird.

- I CAN’T MAKE OUT THE NAME OF HER BRANCH OF THE FAMILY AND IT’S KILLING ME. SOMEONE LET ME KNOW WHAT THAT WAS. Graham de Vanily? I can’t place the words. I mean I’m going to keep calling Felix “Agreste” no matter what but I’d like to know what canon is trying to get at.

- “It’s been a long journey from London” I KNEW IT, I FFFFFFFFFUCKING KNEW IT. SO THEY ARE BRITISH?! BUT THEY HAVE AMERICAN ACCENTS?! I mean I guess they’re French first and foremost, but what the fuck is with the American accents if you’re making a POINT about them being from London?! I can’t wait for the French audio to be released, I really want to know what Felix sounds like there. Regardless AAAH MY SON IS FROM MY CITY, I’M SO PLEASED.

- “TakeFelixtoyourbedroom.” EASY GABE THEY JUST MET, ALSO THEY’RE COUSINS

- Poor Felix looks so depressed being saddled with Adrien. Sweetie it’s okay, think positive! You could be stuck with Marinette and THAT would be a true nightmare.

- Now why does Felix keep glancing at Gabe? Is there something going on there? Is he suspicious about what happened to his aunt? I can’t imagine he knows anything about the Miraculous so what’s the deal here?

- UuuuuUUUUGH we’re back with the rest of the gang. I’M NOT INTERESTED, SHOW ME MORE FELIX.

- “Help me Tikki! What would you tell a Kwami friend who’s lost their mom?!” You’re talking to a 5000-year-old demigoddess, Mari, I don’t think she’s gonna relate.

- MARI YOU CAN’T CONFESS TO ADRIEN. NOT AFTER CHAT BLANC. GABE WILL LOSE ALL HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT TO WRECK THE LOVE SQUARE AND ALSO THE MOON’S GOING TO EXPLODE. WHY ISN’T BUNNIX HERE TO SLAP THE TABLET OUT OF YOUR HANDS

- Should Tikki really be encouraging this?! I have no idea where in the timeline this is supposed to be. Maybe this is at a stage where she doesn’t know Adrien is Plagg’s chosen so there’s no reason to steer Marinette away from bonding with him. Or maybe every episode just plays by its own rules and there’s really no such thing as continuity in this series. I want to see Felix again.

- YANKING AT AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE ON THE OUTER EDGE OF A BOAT ISN’T GOING TO END WELL. DON’T. I do love how :D Alya is about it though, if nothing else I love what a supportive friend she is.

- Oh, the tablet didn’t go into the water! I’m genuinely surprised by that. Though I imagine Felix is going to fuck things up in some way so he’ll probably be the one to destroy the video somehow. We all know the relationship development isn’t allowed to move forward so SOMETHING’S going to happen to it.

- Thank god we’re back to the mansion. I’m surprised and pleased that (for now at least) we’re only getting the girls in small doses and the plot is mainly focused around the Agrestes. Gorizilla is my favourite episode to date and it did a similar thing with allowing Marinette to be a side character for once along an Adrien-centric plotline, so hopefully this episode will be similar. I’m liking its odds so far but who knows what Horrible Garbage Man Astruc has up his sleeve.

- “I’m really sorry I didn’t come to your dad’s funeral.” I’M SORRY WHAT? PARDON ME? THAT’S AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM I DIDN’T EXPECT. As a side note I love Felix being killer at basketball for some reason, he doesn’t look like the athletic type at ALL but he still made that net over his shoulder without even LOOKING. Goddamn. Can everyone please appreciate how cool my son is!!!

- “My father thought it would be too hard on me, considering everything that’s happened this year.” So Felix lost his dad VERY RECENTLY. OUCH. DON’T LIKE THAT. Or I DO like that because it’s already giving his character some extra depth when we’re still only just getting to know him, but on an emotional level I don’t like that. 

- “He’s very... protective of me.” CHAT BLANC REALLY WAS A HOT MESS OF AN EPISODE WASN’T IT. 

- Now Felix is giving Adrien a hug?! I didn’t see that one coming. My canon Felix would mean it but I don’t quite trust this new Felix yet, he’s probably up to something.

- WHAT A JARRING PIANO TRANSITION. Also why?! What does he have to gain from swiping Adrien’s phone? He’s probably got a terrible roaming plan on his own mobile, that’s always my problem when I go to France. If you truly loved your cousin you’d let him browse Reddit on your phone, Adrien. This is worse than not coming to his dad’s funeral.

- PLAGG KNOWS SOMETHING’S UP. He ought to, in another life he and Felix are STILL dealing with each other.

- Okay I take back what I said about Felix’s voice. Bryce Whatshisface isn’t doing a very good job separating the tones. I can buy that Adrien and Felix sound very similar but their delivery should be completely different! I really do want to watch this in French, I get the feeling it’ll sound much better.

- AH YES, HERE WE GO. I’m getting the feeling this is Garbage Man’s part of the episode. Squished cheese aside, I do like the implication Felix does (or did) card magic and karate. I’m thinking of that Mickey Mouse episode where he vanishes Donald’s car keys with a hand trick except it’s Felix vanishing Marinette’s phone when she’s about to text Adrien or something. I’ve got to draw that.

- “Mind if I take a shower?” WHY, FELIX. I mean I’d probably want to shower too after the London-Paris commute (and I’m sure he’s only going in there to wreak havoc, put food colouring in Adrien’s shampoo bottles or something) but what a weird time to ask!

- I mean Plagg has a point about difficult home situations not justifying bad behaviour (and I feel like that’s not what’s going on, with how he was glaring at Gabe I think he’s behaving like this for some other reason), but Felix’s dad LITERALLY DIED. Like they had a funeral and everything. Emilie is just “missing”. They’re SIMILAR but that’s still a false equivalence because Adrien’s got hope to hold on to and Felix doesn’t.

- So we’re not going to talk about how Felix got into Adrien’s passcode-protected phone? I guess he could have done the fogging-up-the-screen trick from Oblivio. Standing around in a steamy bathroom in three layers of clothing is a great way to sweat yourself out and ruin your hair though, way to get even more gross than a five-hour commute between countries.

- “Of course that idiot has a crush on a superhero!” EASY THERE, MR HOWLING-ON-A-ROOFTOP-BECAUSE-HE-SAW-THE-GIRL-HE-LIKED. WE’VE ALL SEEN THE PV.

- I’ve just noticed Felix has a ring too! I don’t know how I missed that before this scene! That’s NICE. He’s still not allowed to have it on his middle finger (LET HIM SWEAR) but that’s a nod back to Chat Noir which I really appreciate!

- ROSE HAS BEEN ON THE HELIUM. SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT THERE.

- FELIX KNOWS CHLOÉ! THAT’S NICE, THAT’S GOOD. I LIKE THAT. That’s also a really nice little video from her, I love the few small moments we’ve had that affirm she and Adrien really ARE friends, whether she wants to date him or not. 

- OOOH HE DELETED THE VIDEOS. I’m curious about him borrowing Adrien’s clothes too, are they going to dress the same? You’d think Adrien wouldn’t give someone an exact copy of the outfit he’s currently wearing but I genuinely don’t know if he owns anything different. I hope they don’t just use two Adrien models for the rest of the episode, please let me see Felix properly :/

- WHY. HONESTLY, WHY. CAN I PLEASE GET AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY FELIX IS DOING THIS.

- OOOH MARI YOU’RE NOT GONNA LIKE THIS. I can imagine Felix is going to say something nasty and that’ll set the girls off and bring about the akuma of the week. I’m mildly entertained but I’m still not engaged with this idea without any proper explanation. We’d better get something by the end of the episode which justifies what’s made Felix do this, because “he’s just evil lol” would be a reeeeally low move from Garbage Man Astruc. 

- MARI SWEETIE. YOU’VE GOTTA LEARN TO CHECK A ROOM IS EMPTY BEFORE YOU RUN INSIDE AND START FREAKING OUT VERY LOUDLY. LUKA’S HEARD ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. 

- Luka is such a nice character. Why does he get to be so high quality when Felix has been turned into a cheese-smashing phone-stealing gremlin? I mean I KNOW why, but I’d like to think the showwriters are better than this. They’re not, but I’d like to think they are.

- WHAT A VIDEO MESSAGE. I love how Luka’s just sitting there grimacing while Mari speeds off into battle, he doesn’t know what she’s about to do but he knows better than to try stopping her.

- Back with Gabe and Nathalie. Is this what was being foreshadowed when Gabe claimed he wouldn’t be fooled by the boys’ identity switch twice? Is he GOING to be fooled again or will he be the one person who can tell immediately that this isn’t his son? 

- “FELIX.” WOW, HE REALLY WASN’T FOOLED TWICE. RESPECT. He may have trouble getting up off the ground if he sits down too low but he can at least identify his child in a difficult situation like this, props to Gabe this week.

- “All this disappointment might just help us get rid of our unwanted guests!” SHUT YOUR MOUTH, FELIX IS A DELIGHT. The only unwanted guest here is Astruc on the writing team.

- “Felix... I told you that you couldn’t fool me twice.” Way to blow your identity in five seconds Gabe. I guess he hasn’t sent out the akuma yet so this might just be a personal monologue, but he starts addressing his victims directly so often at this stage that I’m really not sure what they can or can’t hear. SHIT’S RISKY.

- OH OKAY, SO HE’S SENDING THIS TRIPLE AKUMA AFTER FELIX? AND/OR ADRIEN, DEPENDING ON HOW HARD IT IS TO TELL THEM APART? I guess that’s what he means by getting rid of their guests, if the house is attacked by a monster (or monsters?) they aren’t going to want to stick around, but I REALLY HOPE YOU’RE TAKING ADRIEN’S WELLBEING INTO ACCOUNT HERE GABE OL BUDDY :/

- “TIKKI, SPOTS ON! MNUURGH” ME TOO MARINETTE. I’M REALLY ONLY 12 MINUTES INTO THIS.

- I’m gonna be honest, I’m not really interested in the girls. I was hoping for a real triple akuma (like Oblivio was apparently Alya and Nino together) but they’re all just villains we’ve seen before. There’s stuff I could comment on here but I just want to see more of Felix, that’s what I’m here for.

- “Nathalie, get Adrien to a safe place far from his cousin!” YOU’RE REALLY JUST GONNA SACRIFICE FELIX LIKE THIS. I guess that makes sense, I WAS complaining during Chat Blanc that Adrien is Gabriel’s weak point, so all things considered I’m not surprised that he’ll protect Adrien but just flat-out wants Felix dead. Fair enough.

- WOW. I THOUGHT ADRIEN WAS GOING TO BE HEROIC AND DEFEND FELIX BUT HE WANTS HIM DEAD TOO. Or was that a double bluff to make the akuma think he MUST be Felix so he can lead them away and keep his cousin safe? He’s just run off with a wild cackle so I’m thinking it’s the latter. HE’S A GOOD BOY AND A TRUE HERO.

- I also find it kind of funny how Nathalie will jump in harm’s way to defend him when there have been INNUMERABLE other episodes of Gabe just setting an akuma directly on Adrien for the hell of it. Maybe because there isn’t really any ‘harm’ here to start with; the three girls’ powers are probably the least violent of all the akuma we’ve seen so far.

- AM I REALLY ABOUT TO SEE FELIX DRESSED AS ADRIEN DOING KARATE. I HOPE HE’S GOOD AT IT.

- OH MY GOD HE IS GOOD AT IT. That’s cool! I was expecting him to totally flop considering how badly his imposter trick went down a few minutes ago, but it’s nice to see he’s as capable at fighting as he is at basketball. When do I get to see his magic card tricks?

- YEAH I FEEL THE SAME PLAGG. WHAT’S EVEN HAPPENING. Not that I think Adrien shouldn’t save Felix, I just want to know WHY Felix felt like he had to do this in the first place! I feel like “can I PLEASE get a waffle” except instead of watching the employees fight I’m watching this episode careening away with no pauses to explain what’s going on.

- FELIX C’MON. STOP CAUSING PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE. I can tell Garbage Man Astruc still has the reins here because causing even MORE trouble even AFTER Adrien saved his ass is a completely illogical course of action. PUT SÉBASTIEN BACK IN THE WRITERS CHAIR.

- “WHICH PART OF THE WORD ‘NO’ DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!” Oh perfect, great, can’t let this episode end without accusing Felix of not respecting consent! That’s a hot button issue and if Garbage Man Astruc can get him on that bandwagon then fans HAVE to hate this character! Great move! Fucking pillock!

- WOW CHAT THAT’S MEAN. I guess accusing Felix of having no friends is justified in the context of the episode but yikes :(

- Was that a flash of humiliation from Felix there? God will one of the writers PLEASE save this character, PLEASE don’t let this episode end without someone getting him out of the Garbage Man’s big meaty claws.

- Excuse me WHAT? Felix is talking directly to Papillon?! So he knows about all the Miraculous stuff?! Oh NO, is this about getting his dad back? I don’t know whether the One Wish is common knowledge (I don’t think it is?) but maybe Felix put the pieces together on his own back home, so all his behaviour here has been trying to incite an akuma that he can take advantage of to appeal to Papillon?! Or he could just be a bitch all on his own, which is probably what the Garbage Man would prefer, but this makes a lot of sense all of a sudden.

- BRO HE NEARLY DIED. BRO. BROOO.

- “I hope you’ve learned your lesson!” YOU’RE NOT EVEN GONNA ASK ABOUT THE PAPILLON THING? YOU CAN’T JUST TREAT THIS AS A REGULAR DISTURBANCE, FELIX KNOWS SHIT ABOUT THE MIRACULOUS YOU GUYS--

- FELIX’S MOM IS REALLY GOING TO BLAME HIS DEAD DAD FOR THIS? HARD YIKES. NO WONDER FELIX IS WEIRD.

- I’m expecting this isn’t over, because Felix still clearly wants something specific that he didn’t get, but I’ll take this cute hug for what it is. He didn’t have an evil expression behind Adrien’s back this time either and the music is all soft and nice, plus he FINALLY got a handshake from Gabe, but I absolutely do NOT imagine this episode will end without getting an extra shot in at the PV fans somehow. We’re not getting off this easy.

- Why doesn’t Gabriel want Adrien to go after Felix? Is he scared he’ll try to run off, or ask them to stay longer when he really wants to get rid of them?

- AHAHA FELIX STOLE GABE’S RING. WHAT A BRAT. Was that the “jewelry” he mentioned wanting in return for helping Papillon? I figured it was a Miraculous thing but maybe not.

- OHHH, look how much Felix loves his mom! This is such a sweet scene. I particularly like the idea that Amelie was trying to get the rings back to give one to Felix because the way she was speaking to Gabe made it sound like she wanted them Just Because. But you can’t mention some wild story connected to the rings and then not explain it! I want to know what that is, I want to know why Felix is so fascinated with it!!!

- ALSO, FELIX GETTING A BIG KISS RIGHT ON THE FOREHEAD. EXCELLENT. I’ll fucking BET this is another scene Sébastien sneaked in because it’s such an emotional quality shift from the whole clone mess. Like what the fuck even WAS that.

- Yep, Felix is still evil! WHY THOUGH. WHAT’S GOING ON. CAN I PLEASE GET A WAFFLE

- I was expecting a worse ending, but “Felix can’t ever come back to Paris because Gabriel will kill him with his bare hands if he does” is decent enough. If there’s no further confirmation (and NO, anything Garbage Man Astruc tweets later on does NOT fucking count so don’t try me) I’m going to take it that he WAS actually sorry for what he did to Adrien. That’s better than nothing.

.

.

WELL THAT WAS AN EPISODE. That actually wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be - it could have been a lot better but it could have been a lot worse too. The beginning and end were nice enough even if the middle part was Garbage Man Astruc’s usual atrocious mess of self-service, though I do particularly despise the hamfisted consent issue shoved in there just to generate extra reasons to hate the character. WE GET IT, YOU DON’T LIKE FELIX. OFF YOU FUCK. 

I’ve slept on this next paragraph to give myself time to formulate some concrete thoughts about the plot, so... Well, it was a mess, that’s for sure. They spent way too much time establishing how oH sO eViL Felix was and not nearly enough time actually explaining his character. 

Why is he acting out like this? What has he got against Adrien in particular? Is he really sore about Adrien not supporting him at his dad’s funeral or is that just what Adrien thinks is his problem? What was his relationship with his dad before he died? Was his troublemaking all about trying to provoke an akuma and ask Papillon to help him get his family rings back (which he was clearly trying to steal from the moment he walked through the door, only Gabe wouldn’t shake his hand the first time), or was that just a side effect of causing shit for no reason? Did he mean his apology to Adrien at the end? WHAT was the deal with the rings and the story attached to them? There’s a whole interesting story buried in here which just got completely overlooked by the emphasis on how terrible he was and that’s really disappointing. 

I did like his damaged-but-still-good relationship with Adrien though, there’s still hope there and maybe Felix (if he ever shows up again, which I only hope he does if it’s NOT another excuse for Garbage Man Astruc to shit on the PV fandom again, for the love of FUCK don’t give this guy multiple opportunities) will start coming around and making the effort to be a better cousin since Adrien’s given him a second chance. I don’t know. What I liked just as much was Marinette actually barely being in this episode at all, for the first time since Gorizilla she’s ALLOWED to be the supporting character again and that’s GREAT.

I don’t really know what else to say. I’m exhausted. Adrien’s a darling and I think I prefer my Twin AU, though canon Felix being a delightful little gremlin who causes problems-on-purpose is something I can work with in the future too. 

Thanks for coming on this... interesting journey with me! I posted a set of tweets last night which I’ll leave here to finish up:

[kinsbin]

Dinner Conversation

Title: Dinner Conversation Word Count: 2045 Pairing: Alexys/Shane Walsh  [SI/Canon]

Summary: Alexys lingers with Shane during their travels but never seems to be able to share the campfire with him. Well, not until that night of course. 

A/N: Commission for @space-sweetheart! Thanks for commissioning me ;w;

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God, she had been following him forever.

Shane shot another sharp look to the corner of the camp he had haphazardly made, his jaw setting in a tense clench as the shadows of the trees danced under the light of the small fire he had built up after scouring the perimeter of the clearing. Old abandoned sleeping sacks made for a makeshift bed amongst the leaves and the dead bodies from a herd long past were dragged to the side in favor of making the area livable. It wasn’t the first time he had seen such remnants of survivors piled in the way of his wandering, and he was sure it would not be the last. It seemed that whatever herd had taken the sight down, however, was long gone.

It didn’t mean he could relax, though. No, he never could relax. Not after almost dying. Not after the things he had forced himself to do in order to survive. There was no such thing as relaxation in this situation, he declared to himself as he turned the spit he had created above his fire in determination, only survival.

He had gotten lucky during the day. A dying rabbit was not the ideal food but it was enough meat to sustain him for a while, at least. The darkness of the night had long set in around him, the chill of the air making him shiver as he looked in the deep shadows of the trees around him. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the phantom growls of walkers. The hissing clicks they made would overwhelm his mind, sometimes, and once in a while it felt like he could hear someone’s voice calling to him in the distance.

Sometimes it was Rick’s voice, his tone tight against the echoing bang of a gunshot. Those words lulled him into a sleep wrought with nightmares and ended with him drenched in sweat come morning. Other times it was Laurie’s voice, her tone easy but so full of hate. It brought with it a night of insomnia. Endless fits of tossing and turning only to remain awake and paranoid once again within the hour. The dead were what he had grown used to falling asleep to at this point. They were what was normal. What was expected.

What wasn’t expected through his travels, however, was a certain nuisance following him around like a god damned lost dog.

He wasn’t even aware of WHEN he picked her up, all he knew was that she clung behind him like a shadow he didn’t ask for. A stick of glue he shouldn’t have had to look back and see over and over again. Try as he might to scare her off or tell her to fuck off, she just seemed to stick to him in that annoying, just hovering sort of way.

God dammit, why couldn’t he just bring himself to kill her already?

Shane’s eyes narrowed as he shot them in the direction he knew that she was. She always did this whenever he finally settled in for the night. She kept her distance but hovered still, like an animal shying away from a light it did not fully understand.

When he found buildings for shelter, she would sleep across the room from him, tucked away into a corner with wide blue eyes watching him intently. He could feel them on him as he slept, and they were still there whenever he had woken up. He wondered if the girl ever slept at all, honestly. If she ever found the time to rest or if she was just keeping watch over him like a guardian in the night. Maybe it was some sort of thanks for keeping her around. A sort of gratitude shown for not killing her or leaving her fully behind (try as he might).

At first it had made him uneasy. Afraid that she might kill him in his sleep, he stayed awake as long as she did. To his surprise, when she nodded off in his presence, she looked content. Didn’t she know that he could kill her? That he could end her life with a slice to her throat when she was asleep? Did she know how dangerous it was to be in the presence of someone she didn’t fully know, or who didn’t want her around in the first place? Clearly not, Shane mused under his breath, as he pulled the rabbit from the spit he was roasting it on. The hot flesh didn’t bother him as he dug into it, just to double check that it was cooked.

The girl (Alexys, he remembered, she had called herself Alexys) watched him with those wide eyes of hers, the stormy gray of them dancing red in the light of the flames. Her short hair clung in a frame around her face in a way that might have made her look cute if it was brushed more properly. Wait, why was he even worrying about something like THAT? He cursed at himself as he pulled another piece of the well cooked meat from the body of the animal and pushed it past his lips, chewing idly in thought.

He noticed her movements before even she did. It made him tense as he watched her. Her gaze lingered on the rabbit, her tongue darting out to lick her lips with a subconscious movement. Her body leaned forward more, daring to stretch herself into the camp he had taken up. It was a movement that breached their unspoken contract. She stayed on the edge of the boarders and he stayed inside of them. That was how it had always been between them, but now, her hunger seemed to drive her to dare break the code of conduct. Shane’s eyes narrowed, a warning in her direction to reconsider. She stepped a little closer before realizing her movements, taking in a breath as she quickly retreated back to the safety of her line of trees. Still, her eyes lingered on the meat.

He tried to remember when she last ate. He didn’t pay attention to what she did so long as it was away from him, if he was being honest, and the rest didn’t much matter. She would often snack on things he left behind, or find her own food one way or another. It was never enough, he supposed, as she continued to stare onwards with a hungry look on her face.

What the fuck was she, a dog?

There was a long moment of contemplation in his heart, however. He twirled a rabbit leg in his grip with a frown, squeezing the juicy meat as he considered the situation.

Alexys continued to stare at him, though, her hunger evident in the way she squeezed the edge of the trunk she was resting on, her lips pursed as she watched him think.

There was a swath of silence, an endless quiet save for the flickering of the campfire and the cicadas chirping in the dark of the night. Shane eventually sighed and looked over to Alexys, one hand reaching outwards with the leg in it.

Alexys’ face contorted in confusion as she watched him. He pointed the food in her direction and gave a raise of his eyebrows. It was an incredulous look, emphasized by the way he gestured with the rabbit leg in his grip. Alexys stood still, body tense as she tried to read just what he was asking of her. Certainly he wasn’t really-

“Oh my God,” Shane finally broke the silence, “I’m giving this to you, will you get your ass over here before I change my mind?”

Alexys jumped up at his words, hope flickering in her eyes as she hurried over to him. Once she was in front of him she reached out as well, accepting the meat from his grip and holding it in her hands, staring at it as though it were some sort of holy grail. Her body didn’t move for another moment, nerves soaking into her body as she opened her lips for a moment, intent on saying something, but closed them again as she looked behind her. She shifted on her legs towards the warmth of the fire, her mind racing about just what to do and.

“Sit your ass down. You can at least get warm while you eat,” Shane eventually muttered, shoving some more of the rabbit into his own mouth with a rather aggressive chew.

Alexys couldn’t stop the smile now. Not as she took a seat across the fire from Shane, her mouth digging into the cooked flesh with a contented sigh. She watched him for a moment, finishing her first bite with a near reverential swallow before she considered speaking to him, the words hoarse and awkward in her throat:

“Er… Thank-you for this.”

Shane didn’t answer, instead rummaging through the small pack he kept with him for some water. Alexys bit into the leg again as he pulled out a bottle and opened it up, drinking a small swig of it and sighing as the liquid coated his throat. There was another awkward pause before he flipped the bottle and offered it to Alexys as well.

Alexys accepted it with another soft ‘thank-you’, sighing as she took a long swig of the liquid. Her parched throat screamed its thanks as she closed the bottle back up and gave it back to Shane, taking another bite of her rabbit leg as the two of them sat together.

Shane watched her eat. His eyes bore holes into her body as he stared at her. Alexys shifted slightly, aware that his gaze was hanging on her. She tried to avoid his eyes as she sat there.

“Why are you here?” Shane muttered finally.

“Um… You invited me to come get the rabbit leg and-”

“No,” Shane sighed, “Why’d you follow me here?”

Alexys contemplated her answer for a long moment, tapping her finger on the bone of the rabbit as she did so. Shane waited with moderate impatience. At last she smiled up at him, a bright and easygoing thing that startled Shane when he saw it. He sat up straighter, trying to hide the surprise that dared make its way across his face as she finally spoke up with a light hum to her tone:

“You seem like a good guy.”

A good guy? Did she actually think that? No, she couldn’t have. Shane was the opposite of good in that regards. The things he had done were inherently bad. The life he had led since the end of the world was negative. He thought about killing her more than once and, hell, if he had to he could slit her throat with no remorse. He could overpower her. End her life. He had ended plenty before her.

He scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as he looked down at the fire.

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“Well,” Alexys hummed, “That’s true, but you don’t know about me either.”

“What makes you think I want to?”

“You don’t have to… But, I mean, you haven’t killed me yet, have you? Besides, I think everyone could use a little bit of company during the end of the world.”

Shane was… rather startled by her words. She went back to her meal without another comment on her statement, chewing away at the rabbit with a sigh on her lips. Shane chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering her statement for a long moment.

Did he really want company? He didn’t need it, really… But the knowledge that he wasn’t alone was rather… he didn’t want to say comforting. Necessary, maybe. To remind him that he wasn’t going crazy. Well, not as crazy as he thought he already went.

“Thanks for the meal,” Alexys stated as she stood up, brushing her jeans down and turning to go back to the edge of the camp once more.

Shane hadn’t planned to let the words fall from his lips:

“You can stay here if you want.”

They were the words that seemed to seal the deal… The deal of, well, whatever they had between them at this point.

Surprisingly, he didn’t mind it.

[spacegaywritings]

Dark puzzles

I can finally post my gifts! Summary: Virgil visits the dark sides. He finally realised his actions may have been shit. Will they take him back or reject him like he rejected them after leaving? (Dee hisses a lot.) Tags: death/execution/stoning/slaughter mention, serial killer mention, politics implied, mass shooting mention, implied animal cruelty, Remus being fucking Remus and being absolutely odd, sexual innuendo if you wanna read it that way (nothing worse than canon Remus), emetophobia (mention), mentions of skinning, mentions of making out, a bit of crying, non-sexual nudity, mentions of body horror (slight bc Remus), mention of bugs/cockroaches, porn mention, reference to snake anatomy, “platonic safewords”, implied synethesia, mention of depression, ADHD Remus (implied, stimming mention), tentacles but nonsexual (it looks like a lot but is basically just remus being remus)

a3o link here.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut:

The night struck the seemingly empty apartment. Silence hung in the air, heavy like a loaded truck. The whole place looked much like the rest of Thomas’ home if it was not for the rather dark looks. Some things were laying around carelessly, almost as if dropped right after the moment of use. It was so different from the light side’s space but it was still strangely similar. It was like looking into a mirror but one that twisted things and turned reality into something it was and was not at the same time instead of reflecting it properly.

Roman had explained it quite well when he had tried to explain his relationship to Remus, the other side of creativity. However, it never explained the relationship the dark sides had among one another. Virgil had not once spoken about it and while Deceit had teased the idea of their connection, it remained a mystery. As always, Remus seemed too confusing and changing like the flowing water in a river to actually get information out of him.

All the light sides knew were that Virgil used to be a dark side until Thomas started accepting and including him and even worked to hear him out as much as possible. Deceit was on the way to it but he still had not shared his name. Patton tried his best to pave the way for Thomas to accept him too but now it was their way to try and accommodate someone other than Virgil for once. Thomas knew about how Virgil used to be a dark side and it had prompted him enough to make a start and encourage Deceit to join their VLOG once. Patton did his best to ask the lying side to join their activities and general meetings such as eating together, just hanging out or accompanying Thomas during certain events.

Still, .. Deceit was not all in and neither was Remus. Remus was a lot harder to win over for one of the sides. Thomas had issues accepting the Duke as he was but he made an effort to go slow and ease up into it (which made it somewhat more manageable but it was still work). Logan kept warning him to never overdo it or force himself into acceptance since that would be counterproductive as well.

There was just so much to pay attention to and the light sides as well as the others were just in a myriad of shards, their respective spaces of the mind absolute messes compared to before. It counted for the mind space the light sides were in charge of. The space the others inhabited looked unusually clean for someone like Remus living in that area. Virgil carefully stepped through the dark version of the living room and carefully looked around. Remus’ whole outfit was there. Just dropped right on the spot and there was a banana peel, perked up on the table in all provocation it could come up with.

The anxious side ducked a bit as he let his gaze roam over the floor before him. Having Remus around was a lot since usually, things like Lego stones and similar things were jut laying around. Sometimes they popped out of his body for no reason or literally any reason at all. Magic trick? Sure thing. Oh, rather a random intermission? Right there for ya! Feel like lifting up the mood? Everyone likes Lego. Fucking around with Dee? Pull out the stones and leave them laying around on the floor just for getting on the perfectionist’s nerves.

Alright, sometimes Lego stones were needles, pins or straight up frozen nipples digging into your skin. One could never really know with Remus around. Consistency did not necessarily exist with him, neither did it in this place - probably correlation, as Logan would conclude.

Virgil carefully dipped closer to the kitchen. He could hear the steady flow of water running and the repetitive yet random ticking of the clock. There was no rhythm to the time flowing in here yet at least the sink did the trick of sticking to physics. If he had not gone into this space with a certain determination filling him, he would have been affected by the sound of measured time passing. But he came here for something.

Remus was probably asleep or some shit so he could not fuck around with the laws of nature. Or he just did not feel like it. That was more like it. His moods painted the mindscape and shaped the loose for it usually took.

Dee... Dee was around. He had to be around. Time running wild was his way of insisting that time was just another dumb concept society came up with in order to trap everyone in a certain system and enslave the people according to certain measures as were scales and the BMI or grades. Actually, everything was pure evil in the eye and a half of a frustrated snake.

The once-upon-a-time-dark-side carefully stepped closer, finally having reached over to the kitchen. Anxiety was sitting heavy in his gut. A big, dark pitfall of emotions and dread eating him up form the inside out. It was the pure panic as always. Virgil had always dreaded these moments but with his heart on his tongue at the moment, honesty up his sleeves and pure openness in his eyes, he was scared of bringing his vulnerable state into a conversation with the angry snake. He had all right to be angry. They used to have it all and now, all he had served to split up what they used to be. It was his fault.

The anxious trait took a shake breath and blinked over the snake and took off his big jacket.

“Damien.”

After this, a lot of things happened at the same time and Virgil could do nothing but blink.

Dee immediately spun around, something in his hands and immediately slipping from his exposed fingers. Too slipper to keep up an angry grip on all that was real and all that was a potential reality. Virgil flinched as the plate crashed onto the floor and burst into an uncountable amount of little fragments, only held together by the idea of how this used to be a plate once in a lifetime. Now not Remus painted the space but the white porcelain directed what this place would look like from now on.

The sound had Virgil let go off his jacket and freeze up like a deer in the headlights. Caught off-guard and prepared for nothing ever in his entire life, he inhaled sharply. Dee’s piercing eyes nailed him to the wall he had kept close to. There was no hat, no cape and no gloves either. They were both vulnerable. Equally so. The dark space was a place for them to be who they were at any moment and with any mood they could come up with. They were loosely bound to Thomas’ experience but they were much freer than the light sides. Partly because they were not as involved in his life but also because Thomas did not pull them into question of fulfilling tasks for him in his cognitive processes. He rarely took deception into consideration, neither did he often summon the darker themes of his creativity.

Hence, the sides varied their appearance when not with Thomas. The light sides just did not insist on it too much because they were legitimate parts of Thomas, they both identified as such. It was a mutual relationship. The others were not so lucky. They varied greatly from their origin. When Thomas did not imagine them to be in a certain way, they let their own imagination and potency flow and just existed, sometimes even without corporal form.

Virgil pressed himself against the wall, staring at his ex-friend with a blank expression. Purple panic dripped into his face. The lying side stared back at him. Silence stretched out between them like a lazy cat trying to get a tan.

Dee carefully patted his hands dry, the scaled fingers dancing around the towel and gently gripping it ever so slightly. Virgil wondered whether anyone knew how delicate Damien’s grip could be when he wanted to. No matter the temper tantrums, he had never been a violent or brutal type. He was a delicate touch, a person to stay in your mind for his mind, for his eyes and his arguments that would stick with you even months after your encounter.

“He-hey”, Virgil mumbled. He was speaking through his teeth as he bit down onto his lips and looked at the other. Dee was readily putting his hat and gloves back on as he let the first greeting slide and with a dull snip of his fingers, his cape was back in place.

“Hello, Virgil”

The anxious trait carefully shrug his shoulders and averted his gaze. The floor looked interesting again despite there being no more obstacles to worry about with Deceit working on consistent order and banishing Remus from wrecking havoc outside of his room. It was new.. but it seemed like a change he did not hate. If he was allowed to judge it after all... it did not feel as if he was all too welcome after all. He could not exactly blame Damien for that. Virgil sighed. He had been a bad friend. A truly shitty companion and he got what he deserved when the other’s gaze simply wandered through him as if he was made of glass and anything but his existence was more interesting than him.

“I-I’.. sorry.”

Damien continued looking through him. By now his clothed fingers worked to adjust his bowler head, the coal colour resonating with his aura. Virgil could feel darkness oozing from the other. It was common to be more sensitive to certain influences in this corner of Thomas’ mind but Virgil had forgotten just how intense it was for him to be around the liar, not too far away from the chaotic creativity either. The influence was undeniable and while it could shut up people like Logan, Virgil felt his tongue feel nearly freed.

“Ssssorry?”

The word hit him like a whip and made him jump. It lashed out onto him, revealing wrath and destructive powers while the hiss lingered after him. It was the sneakingly slow threat of a snake. Virgil nodded eager as the word shot into his ears and he carefully rubbed over his exposed arms. It suddenly felt so much colder. He was all exposed on his own, now.

He did not think he could deal with this.

“You are sorry why? Because you interrupted me?”, the words were glowing like the last piece of blaze in a campfire on a trip into the lonely woods. Virgil forced his eyes shut. He should just say it. Just rip it off like a band-aid. That was what he could do, yeah. He should just..just speak up and get it out. He knew he could, it was like saying his name, it was like saying Damien’s name-

“Dee, I -I fucked up!”

He dug his hands into his lower arms as he curled them around himself and pushed his limbs into his lower abdomen. Maybe he was not real, but the panic and the dread was. It was a dark shadow spreading within him and poking him in all the sensitive spots. It rose and spread and stretched all over him like ingested poison travelling through a body.

One of Deceit’s many arms ducked out from under his cape and he handed Virgil a tissue without further comment. All his hands were gloved in yellow. He just rarely used them all at once. When did you ever need six arms? Virgil took the little tissue with care. Warmth spread from one hand to another and he gently padded at his eyes.

The anxious side was obviously working hard to be absolutely in an extreme state of overdrive with his makeup darkening a large part of his face, eyeshadow opaque and thick on his skin. Damien must have realised Virgil would not just come down for nothing and try to force his tears back while talking to him. He might have his feelings about their situation but he was no fool. He could sense a special situation when it was in front of him. Or maybe he just wanted him gone because having him around was possibly bothering. Was it because the triggered memories pained him or simply due to Virgil taking up valuable time and space Dee could put to much better use than interactions with the former dark side.

“Sweetie, what brought you here? Does Patton need anything? Thomas, perhaps?”

He assumed, with mild interest, that someone had sent Virgil down to them because he was very much able to be rather unaffected by the other dark sides. He did feel their influence but it did ultimately not bring out anything excessive within him due to his own history of being one of them. That being the case, it would not corrupt Thomas in any way. Maybe this Virgil was just another of Remus’ experiments to show Deceit that he was, in fact, not over their previous friendship and started intervening with Thomas’ business for more than just benefits but also to show Virgil’s new “friends” that he knew more about him, that he had more power over him after all.

The other carefully shook his head and bit down onto his lip with more force. The snake could see the dark lips paling and caving as small dents appeared in it.

If Virgil could, he would cuddle into the depth of his jacket and curl into the oversized mess that was basically a whole fucking blanket to him. His body was meant to swim in this thing! However, right now he was standing in front of Dee, sweatshirt covering him as much as his bangs and the usual ripped black jeans. All he could do was play with his thin sleeves, pick at them and stare at his fidgeting fingers as he hunched over and shook his head.

If he came down into the comfort of Deceit’s space, then he needed to show he was of good intentions and reveal a bit more of himself that he other side did not quite know enough about. It was like playing poker and he had caught up on when to risk and when to play it safe. He needed to pay a tribute and raise the stakes.

“No, nobody sent me.”

He straightened his back, the curve around his shoulders disappearing and instead his body rose into a more straight-up position. His body was slightly hover over Damien. The lying side was slightly shorter and the tip of his head reaches about Virgil’s nose. Actually, he was not just smaller than Virgil but all in all, the shortest of the sides who have openly interacted with Thomas so far. Funnily enough, Remus was the tallest and nobody ever talked about it because everyone could just manipulate their heights anyway (given Thomas did not actively imagine them in a certain way).

“I sent myself”, he said with a shrug, eyes still darting into any direction but Damien’s piercing gaze, “I wanted to come.”

The shorter side shifted but stayed in place. Upon clearing his throat, he prompted his ex-friend again. Even the thought of the prefix to this term hurt.

“Oh, Virgil. Did Patton finally give up on you?”

Something sparkled in the other’s face and his cheeks pushed themselves upwards in circular-shaped hills of laughter.

“Did your happy friends finally get enough of you sso now you come crawling back to me because you are sscared to be alone. Because you refussse to be the only bad guy, sszweetie?”

His words rolled off his lavish tongue, heavy and sweet like honey but they were spice to his open wounds. The more he talked, the more hot and hurtful energy they seemed to charge. The boiling hiss shot its explosive load right at Virgil. It felt like Romans’ sword practice with the Dragon Queen had to feel for the latter party. They were directed at Virgil’s heart and thrusted right into it. At least Anxiety was more than ready for Deceit’s lies and attempts at hurting him in return for having been hurt before by his all he had done.

God, how could he ever have done that. He really fucking deserved and that just made it worse for him to cope with this. It was a last straw but it was all he could focus in when he felt panic creep into his system like the despicable hoard of cockroaches everyone tried to keep locked away.

“Inktea”

Damien blinked. For a moment, the force of his presence seemed to distance itself a bit It let Virgil breathe just a tad better.

“Pardon me?”

Without any other moment passing, the kitchen lights flickered and a rather happy yet naturally clothed Remus appeared in the room. Which was nothing but a euphemism for Remus being in all the glory of how nature had made him. ...Or Thomas, actually.

“You summoned me?”

His voice scratched over the kitchen surfaces and made the snake man groan in response. The room was immediately filled with the gradually intensifying reek of ivy and something unidentifiable. It smelled familiarly unpleasant but at the same time, it was a somewhat oddly comforting smell. Like one of those things that smelled bad but still made one smell them again because they were actually not that bad but kinda got one all hooked up but were ...reek after all.

Still, there was not a single moment in life during which Virgil was more relieved (or positively feeling at all) about the Duke being finally a part of the gathering. Especially considering the man did not even have the decency to cover his personal parts.

“Nobody ssssummoned you”, he hissed back at the other and picked up Virgil’s jacket with one of his many hands. “And Virgil isss on hiss way out!”

The Duke let out a cartoon-like huff. His voice was comically shrill and annoying. It was so high-pitched, it made Damien wonder just how the fuck this man was a part of Thomas after all. Then again, they were all differing to certain degrees for more than just good reasons. It did nothing to help anyone over the fact that a loud and intense contribution from Remus had the capacity to hurt ears.

“Eh- sounds like bullshit to me, Virgil called the safeword on us. I am here. The rules said for me to join if I can and I can. And you made the rules so fuck you, Dee. And you know I gladly will!”

While Remus’ voice made a leap from strong and confident, the good impression immediately yielded to yet another drop into the scratchy sound of his voice. And the even more horrible imagery to come with his words. Dee blinked in reply at the statement.

“He wh-”

Remus turned to look at Virgil, his eyes widening in his calm chaos.

“Emo!”, he cheered and spread his arms, approaching the unusually exposed figure, “you came back!”

Virgil let out a protesting sound and shoved the tall man away by his chest, his nose scrunching up just enough for it to show a difference on his facial features as they pulled into a little wrinkles for a moment just short enough for someone to notice.

“Yeah, still don’t like hugs, eh.”

Virgil threw the Chaos Creativity a look. Remus squeaked in delight like an excited puppy.

“Also you are kinda naked, dude. Not my comfort.”

Remus tilted his head, wide shockingly open eyes staring into the void that was Virgil before him.

“Oh. That sounds like a YOU problem, tho!”

Virgil squeaked and shook his head as Remus made a dove for him, trying to catch him in his hug but the usually rather lethargic man was quick to dodge and flee himself next to Damien instead who just eyes the two as if he was staring at a camera in The Office. Honestly, at this point, he might have just been in this show, considering how everyone around him behaved so ridiculously.

“Stop it, you two”

His voice interjected as Remus arched his back and ... uh,, kinda hissed like a cat in an attempt to mimic a war screech and be somewhat intimidating. At least that it what it seemed to be like when Virgil jumped away like chased prey getting trapped and Remus just got ready to drop down and jump after him. It was a lot like dog and cat since Virgil was such a little shit after all. It was almost like old times.

Deceit’s six arms jumped out and grabbed the two before they could run through the whole mindspace and ruin the whole order he had just established. (With Remus around, the whole place was just a second away from burning down or spontaneously combustion but..well, the short side somewhat decided to bother enough to care about any of this.)

“You sssit down. And we will talk about this. You do not get to walk out of our livess and just pop back in and play with Remus like he iss your best friend when you left without a word. He may have the attention span of a dying mayfly but you don’t get to jussst barge in here like that. Not on my watch.”

Virgil could nearly hear a pun in his ears, Patton’s cheerful voice and little giggle ringing in his memory with a hint of nostalgia to it. Something on his face must have given away enough of his mental images for Damian to let go and look him over for a minute.

“Nobody is forcing you. You can go. You can always walk out of here. I will not stop you and I will make sure Remus won’t either, sweetie.”

A little bit of soft sparked in Dee and for a moment, the reek from Remus was not as bad. For a moment, the past never happened and they were just .. friends.. like they used to be before Thomas had decided to change something about himself. Light blinked in Virgil’s heart. For just a moment. And there was warmth between them

“...okay.”

Remus whistled and gave the two a smirk. A seemingly knowing one. His eyes were reading books and porn at the same time as they reflected the couple before him.

“You two need to get a room”

And then, without another prompt.

“Are kitchens rooms? Kitchens are rooms but do not count as rooms. Such horrible thing! In rooms you do private things like slaughtering your pet and now you do not have any privacy in the kitchen? Did slaughter become a social event?”

Virgil blinked at him. Kinda.. Kinda did not miss that part of the dark sides.. not really. He sighed in vain. Remus continued on.

“Now, consider. Beheadings were public and so was the execution by guillotine and then there was also the case of stoning people - well actually that is still a thing! And also, there are bull fights and the media feasting on mass shootings anD-”

With a snap of Dee’s fingers, the kitchen was gone and the chaotic Creativity fell onto a leathery couch. Plain. Black. Remus sighed- possibly in distaste. The side felt insulted by how simple everything around here seemed to be. Damien was like the Logic of the dark sides. Boring (to put it maliciously) and simple and Remus had his thoughts on the lying short stack but he also has his thoughts on the lack of blood and man-eating jelly plants around here. It was shocking to say at least but well, it was not his fault the lying side decided to live without the true beauty of a precious life dedicated to creativity.

Virgil was seated next to Remus, rather unceremoniously falling into his corner of the couch and scrambling to shift into a more comfortable position on the icky feelings below him. He retreated his arms into his sleeves and let his palms push down onto his knees. Leather was so cold and stiff and - A shiver ran down his spine and he visibly shook. Just the thought of how much he disliked the feeling of it made him feel worse about where he was sitting

“Wait, I can dress up for you! I will make it super hot, tho!”

Remus shot up before Deceit could stop him and the Duke was gone for but a moment just to freshly pop up in an actual dress. It was short, barely covering his fine ass that Thomas had worked on so well. The long legs were covered in fishnets -probably made from actual fishnets he used to catch some octopus friends because why not. There was no reason to what he did, just ‘mood’ as Virgil would say and a sense of curiosity that Logan would envy to have. The black of his dress was slightly floating but it was rather simple compared to Remus' usual attire (given he was clothed at all). The front has strings to tie him into the dress and adjust his slightly bulky figure. He was a bit broader than Thomas but the dress easily reached up to the middle of his upper arms and concealed his inviting shoulders. Some intricate green ornaments decorated the part of the dress that could be tied together flexibly. The strings were silver, slightly sparkling and looking about as strangely fitting as the skunk streak in the garbage man's nest of a hair. The dress hugged Remus' body shape in all places, adjusting to his form like an actual birth suit.

Remus flopped down again and sprawled over the couch, excitement glimmering in his eyes like dreams and hopes of children a moment before it was time to receive gifts on the holy night. He really reminded Damien of a of a dog. It made him wonder how Patton had not tried adopting him yet but that was another part of hypocrisy he did not have the nerve to think about at the moment.

“uh... thanks, Ree”, he mumbled in reply and the dark creativity sniffed the little sounds the other made like expensive perfume gracing his nostrils. His head inched closer but Virgil did not make any inclination to meet him.

Damien was standing before them, his stance implying that he did not plan on joining them on the couch but instead stare into them. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, Double D?”

Ah. How original. Virgil giggled and Remus looked as if he would spontaneously hyperventilate if Virgil did any other thing around him, willingly, without even gaining a bit of dark eyeshadow. Dee blinked, unamused.

“You used the word, darling. Why are you here and why are you saying these things?”

The snake man let his eyes gaze at the puddle of black and purple once more, a clear sigh provided despite Remus’ clear intention to leap onto the ...the intruder. Deceit could not even think about how he felt about this but it was a strong sensation within him, from as far as he could tell. It felt as if he was about to split from his own existence or immediately vomit his guts out. ... difficult to describe but something within him felt sick, as if he had ingested poison he could not quite handle. It was something he rarely ever handled..

The bitter taste of the unwanted truth. A product by cold reality.

Virgil scratched the back of his head and carefully drew his legs closer to himself.

“Uh... I.. I thought it all over and.. I -I am sorry, okay? I fucked up, messed it all up big time and I get it. I..um did a lot of stupid shit and I regret it but I thought this was different.”

The anxious trait sighed and played with his sleeves, pulling at them a tearing at the ends of them.

“I thought.. I thought we were all bad for Thomas and then I tried to not be bad but you all still were and I really believed that we actually harmed him before and that you wanted to bring him down... when I am the only who really did.”

Dee blinked at the speaking person.

“I made a mistake and I.. I am sorry.”

Virgil shrugged and brushed through his bangs, the hazel strands falling through his fingers with ease.

“I should have talked to you or something”, he started and let out a heavy sigh, “literally anything rather than just fucking off like the coward I am. Uh, anxiety things I guess. Fight or flight and all..”

The man in question shrugged and Remus let out a little squeak in response. It reminded him of an aroused pig but with Remus, nobody could really tell with confidence. It was just assumptions and educated guesses.. or literally any random suggestions which are probably more likely to hit the spot than any logical deduction could ever get to.

Dee looked between Remus and Virgil for a moment. He could not feel the anxious trait lying at all. Usually he would feel a contradiction in himself, in the world itself. The liar would see the lie in the words, he would see the letters break and fall apart because they had no ground to stand on. There was no truth to build up on that that could keep the words together.

“Really, you get anxious?”, Remus piped up with his voice ending on a slightly increased volume in all the seriousness his chaotic mind could come up with. Virgil simply glared at him before rolling his eyes so hard, it looked as if they might as well just pop out and leave his face forever. Remus briefly wondered whether he could kinda suck on them but that would probably be a bit too close for the purple man.

“Yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock. I AM Anxiety. I gotta do my job at least somehow.”

Remus snickered and stuck his tongue out at the other without further comments. Damien let out a little sigh and rubbed his temples. No word in the English language had the capacity to describe the emotional state he was in at this moment. It was a lot, akin to taking one of these depression showers after a big and greasy depression nap. When feeling better yet still bad, the feeling of comfort and ugliness clashed together in this weird mix. And at the end of all, there was Dee. Washed with the waters of truth and refreshed with new information and feelings but he was but a clean slate, a tabula rasa and absolutely void of experience to deal with this.

He knew how to handle Virgil before he left, he knew how to handle Remus before Virgil had left. Deceit used to have it all under control and now it was coming back but it was not quite the same.

“Virgil, let me be clear here”, he started eventually.

His voice was settled, sedated like a tired dinner in among loving family with young children.

“I am sorry, too.”

The anxious side blinked rapidly, jaw falling open just a tad for Dee to acknowledge it with a little nod and even a smile.

“Yes, I know.”

He shook his head.

“We all made mistakes, sweetheart. We made the mistakes to tale Thomas’ changes personal.”

For once, not a single lie or condescension weighed the value of his words down. The truth liberated his sentence and let the sounds of his verbalisations fly through the air like a happy bird baby that had finally learned how to navigate through the air and raise up into the sky.

Dee sighed and made a somewhat swipe-like gesture with his gloved fingers. Virgil shoved himself into the middle of the couch and Remus immediately retreated his legs to himself for his favourite emo to have some space next to him. Remus let out another squeal and started bouncing a little, his body trembling like some strange sea monster in the middle of the ocean that only moved for the sake of shaking the water and causing some waves.

Again, Remus was simply a fucked over yet absolutely endearing dog. Loyal, excited.

“Hug?!” Remus blinked. Somehow, his bouncing got more intense.. The fabric of his dress was slightly shifting here and there, his body budging along with him but his butt was mostly staying on the couch rather than wobbling up and down like the odd jell-o creature he made himself out to be.

This man was going to explode if he did not get to stim or at least have someone to be squished within the death grip of his arms. The touch-starved eyes glances over Virgil again and then continued on, eventually locking with Dee’s wondrous eyes.

“Still don’t like touches, Ree”

Virgil tried a soft smile in reply only to be countered with a scoff from behind him. He turned around, meeting Deceit’s intense glare as he shook his head slowly. His tongue clicked a few times for added suspense and the extra effect of scolding a kid.

“Virgil, I told you before. It takes a liar, to know a liar. You don’t need to save face here.”

The addressed man shook his head, heat rising to his face and painting red over his cheeks. His chest burned like hay.

“I-I am not lying! I told you before, I meant all I said, I-”

“Shhht”

Dee pressed a clothed finger to Virgil’s lips and winked.

“Sometimes, you need to be quiet, my little raccoon. You know as much as I do that there is touch you would never say no to.”

Damien’s voice dropped low, travelling over his skin and leaving imprints in the form of goosebumps all over his body as his words made their way over to Virgil.

“Darling, you and I both know that you enjoy touch if it is just the right one. Now, what is the matter? Do you have a problem with the touches Remus would give you? He is not Patton.”

Virgil curled up on himself and shook his head violently, gently hugging his legs and hiding in them. His sweatshirt was far from enough at this point. His skin screamed for more to cover him in these trying times of social interaction. Being put on the spot was an especially extreme case of socialising. At the same time, his body did not even burn enough to challenge whatever he felt whenever he was around Roman or Patton a lot. Logan was not even a person to throw him off.

“I-”

Remus already charged at him and rolled his heavy body onto Virgil’s in a sudden movement. Squeals and little squeaks accompanied his sudden leap and he threw his arms around Virgil to engulf his friend in the fluffy trap of his physical love. A muffled sound came from the emo but he finally wrapped his arms around the other and let his head be tucked under Remus’ chin and mumbled some words of little meaning.

Dee watched the scene for a moment, a warmth blooming within him, unfolding and spreading until he actually felt a warm sensation tug at him. Remus.

The chaotic trash master carefully pulled at him. His movements were soft and repetitive so he would not rip the other’s clothing yet still get his attention easily. Once his focus was acquired, the lying side did not wait for Remus to ask him again and he leaned in, his chest soft pressing against Virgil’s slightly bigger body. His muscles were tangible from under thin sweatshirt he was wearing after he had taken off his clothing as special sign of vulnerability.

Nobody made him regret it. Not a single act or word had given Virgil just enough of a shock to summon his clothing back around his body or transfer his body back into his room, into the safety he desired and required when he pressed the panic button of this last-minute appearance in his own four walls.

The three remained in the soft comfort of one another for several moment. Just breathing in the weird mixture of Virgil’s rather decent yet rather sweet smell, Dee’s scent that reminded everyone of nature and then there was the weird, oddly slimy and sticky smell of saltiness that emanated off the Duke. It also reminded him of ivy but that was covered by Deceit as well. Whatever it was, it felt like the weirdest yet somewhat greatest mix to ever exist. It was like chocolate and mint. It was weird but at the same time still tasty. To some people at least. For some reason, it was actually a real treat during winter time. Like pumpkin being an autumn thing, mint and cinnamon were the spices and scents of the cooler months in a year.

“How was that again?”, Dee teased softly, “ ‘don’t hug me, I’m scared’, isn’t that right?”

A low grumble could be heard from the violet spider in Dee’s many arms and Ree’s long limbs.

“Aw, come on, Virgil. Don’t be like that. I just want you to be honest with yourself. Who knows who long you will let me around this time.”

A growl could be heard but this time it came from the taller of the three.

“Deeeeeeeeeeee” The scratchy whine reached a nasty level. “Don’t be meaaaaaan! He used the word for stopping and we are stopping! It is the rules! You made the rules and you have to play by the rules or you are a bad person to play with!”

Remus retreated to his corner of the couch again, slightly tugging at Virgil but ultimately leaving him in the centre. The snake man looked back at the dark Creativity and nodded.

“It had been so long anyone ever used the word, I nearly forgot. Oh honey, even before you left, you were the only one to really make use of the word.”

Virgil brushed through his precious bangs once more as if to brush off the sudden sweetness in Dee’s voice and the space he had gained despite Remus’ obvious desire for more affection and proximity.

“You kinda made that word a thing so I could clock out whenever you guys got too far with me. No wonder I am the only one to use this shit.”

Damien rolled his eyes playfully. He then allowed the others back into the hug and the pouting tentacle man was quick to squish their dark friend between him and the snake. Deceit’s body fit right together with Remus and Virgil, their position natural, almost necessary between them. Their existence was linked together. They were hooks - all attached to one another and difficult to get apart, even when trying a lot. It did obviously not really work out even now. They were just “simply meant to be”, as Roman would probably sing for them.

Remus carefully nuzzled Virgil’s neck and sent tickles and shivers down the other’s body.

“HEY!”

Virgil pushed his body as far away from Remus as he could. By far, a harsh activity to submit himself to, seeing that he was sandwiched between the two dark sides in a rather close hug. All he did was essentially drive himself into Damien’s many arms. Once he was pressed against Deceit, he looked at the Duke, lips pushed into a pout and head ducked like a cautious kitten.

And then he let out the most slurred excuse of a hiss one had ever heard in the history of human life. That man was threatening no one but children with a lisp who feared the idea of being put on the spot when working out their little speech impediment whenever they heard a faulty ‘s’ around them.

Remus giggled. Oh he giggled like a crazy maniac when he got started. The sounds quickly shot into a pitch so high, his voice doubled down on taking it further yet basically cracked and came out in nothing but squeaks that resembled the level of intrusion from a door creaking whenever someone as much as just looked at them. He pounced onto the emo again and hugged Damien and Virgil with his immensely long arms and inhumane power to just squish the two smaller sides together.

“Remus- What the actual hell”

Deceit’s words were met with no verbal answer. Instead, he was allowed to witness Remus being himself in all his shameless glory. A purr could be heard as the predator stuck his face close to Virgil’s neck much to the other’s dismay (which he voiced in several moments of squeaking out ‘no’ and hiding his head away in Dee’s cape).

And then. I t. happened.

Remus had gotten close enough to not just nuzzle Virgil again - which he did not, for that matter - but instead lick him all over his neck and make the light side freeze in motion and immediately fall silent.

“Mine.”

“Remus you sick fuck, howmst the fuck darest thou”

Virgil glared at the man. There was no fire in his eyes. Actually, he was even smiling while trying to rub the saliva off his neck, using the sleeve of his trusty sweatshirt. Remus had already pulled back in order to look at Virgil, a lazy grin spreading over his lips as they broadened.

“I think we need to claim Dee, so he is all ours only~ Care to give me a hand?”

Anxiety’s face reflected Remus’ own smirk all of a sudden. A true mirror at hand and without another blink of an eye, the two strove forward to launch themselves at Dee. However, the lying side was quick to jump out of reach and off the couch. Within a heartbeat, he was gone and quickly made a run for the hallway - all but in reach of the two dorks who wanted to wet his cheeks and claim him for some stupid reasons they made up in their tiny pea brains!

He dashed away, casting abandonment on the others as he sprinted forward. Heads clashed together and Remus jumped down to follow the lead of their prey while Virgil rubbed his forehead. A small yet visible patch of red started fading onto his pale skin and he could feel his head aching and wounded place throbbing uncomfortably.

They were mental projections of Thomas’ personality but if they could be hurt and get emotional, they might experience physical pain, temporarily. This one counted as one of these moments in which he felt actual agony and it was not over one of Logan’s issues with taking proverbs literal or Patton making puns or, behold, Roman serenading all his activities and generally breaking into songs at any given moment. ... they all had issues, and sometimes they were a lot, okay?

“Stay away from me!”

Remus screeched in laughter while Dee ran back to the kitchen, his hat flying due to the speed of his attempt at a dramatic escape as fast as possible from these lovable idiots.

“Don’t dare the Dukey ~”

Damien jumped out of reach once more but the kitchen had been the closest choice and then again just a dead end. He was trapped. Virgil was finally back on board and trailed after the others with sneaky, fast-paced steps. His movements echoed through the hall and let the yellow man narrow his eyes at the entrance to the kitchen. Shreds of white were flying across the floor as Deceit’s hurrying feet kicked them around.  

It was coming.

“Raccoon! Come over here~ Our friendo needs help with our affection”

Dee was glaring at the other.

“Keep your filthy tongues away, you heathens. I. dare. You.”

The Duke was suddenly silent and still and Virgil nudged him in the side as soon as he reached up to him. He was not that fast compared to the other sides.

“Yo snake, come on”

He did not budge.

“Talking about snakes, do you want to know what is up my butt th-”

“I can tell you for sure that nobody wants to know this right now, Ree”

The chaotic man snickered briefly, the sound resembling a shadow sneakily crawling away from its owner and moving on its own.

“Does this mean we can come back to this at another time?”

Virgil glared at him for a moment, scoffing but not minding the comment with any more words. Unbeknownst to him, Remus was using his Remusness for exactly this special time and promptly scooped up the trophy that was the lying side. During the whole exchange, he had used his tentacles to strive forward and reach for the man in cape and more. He was quick to work these things off so he could see the other in his usual attire again, the clothes he allowed himself to wear around The Others.

He was comfortable with them. The man dared to reveal himself when the was in the darker spaces of Thomas’ mind. Whenever he visited the light sides, he was notorious to cover up. Every patch of skin he could alienate from the original Thomas was to be hidden away. He was not him.

By now, he had to worry about several other things than just wearing clothing or losing his cape and glove to the tentacles. His tired glare merely graced over Remus. Deceit actually looked like a guys who has had his fair share of dealing with kindergarten children all day long, five days a fucking week for the rest of his time until fucking retirement.

“Do you feel better now that you removed my gloves, honey?”

Remus eagerly nodded at the man and his question. His voice dropped down into the usual tone he used to talk around the light sides, the sneaky sound of evading a straightforward answer.

“Now we can love you!”

Virgil shrugged, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Yeah, dude, you gotta stay with us so we can, like, be nice or whatever.”

Dee dropped his shoulders and his usually upright position reverted to a slight slouch. Instead of a proud position, there was a comfort rather than the attempt at ascertaining dominance as he did in court. There was no need to do this here, not around his dear ones. Not around the people he could trust with his life.

“Only if you stay”, he whispered. His voice was a needle dropped in absolute silence.

“At least come around a lot, just come over some time.”

The vigilant side looked up at him and carefully inched closer until they were close enough to hug. Remus quickly moved over to join the hug, drawing the two slightly smaller sides to his warm chest. His tentacles, with the life of their own, slowly retreated. They had some clothes to chew on for now. Their transluscent green forms gradually inched away from the deceptive side and left the three have their moment of intimacy over their reunion.

“Now, Now, Snake Whisperer, Virgin. We will always stay together. I can glue us together if that helps you-”

He gently nudged him, making the classic man sniffled.

“I’m .. I am not able to just come back but I can drop in as much as Thomas’ mind lets me. I will stay around for as long as I physically and mentally am able to manage.” Virgil took a deep breath and wiped at the salty liquids that formed in his heterochromatic eyes, the precious gems of different colours and wild secrets. They held all that Thomas knew and repressed, it was all the knowledge about lying and certain obstacles in life.

“If you leave, I might skin you”

Virgil giggled.

“Please don’t say that”

“Please don’t leave”

“Please, shut up, you two.”

They all chuckled and Virgil pressed a kiss to Dee’s cheek while Remus leaned in to push his tongue against the other’s scales.

“Mine!”

Deceit snorted.

“You are such a fucking mess.”

Remus kissed the top of his head and gently tugged him and Virgil closer once more. As they should be. This was where they belonged. They were the dark sides and they were the ones who would always stick together. Virgil may be a light side or not, they belonged together and with him around, they could finally complete their own puzzle. They had the little piece that made them whole and filled the void the other had left after his transition to the light sides (due to Thomas’ change in cognition and attitude).

“My room. I mean.. you are not really affected a lot by my room since I, uh... relocated it to the other side and all. I mean, like, you know. That is okay for you? Is it?”

Deceit nodded and the Duke simply wiggled his eyebrows at the suggestion.

“Can I visit Thomas? OW”

The snakey snake retreated and straightened out the wrinkles in his clothing that came from the little struggle they had together. His hand reached over to the wet spot on his cheek and he wiped over it before washing his hands under the sink.

“Disgusting.”

Another sound of giggles erupted from the creative side while he held his Virgil. Soon after, he could draw Damien back into their little cuddle pile. Deceit was the shortest side along with Roman but he was still a powerful and proud man. He had the power to pinch a man and evoke pain if he wanted to!

“Aw okay, then maybe we will just go to Virgil’s room already and stay there and then we can cuddle and finally get to make the fuck out! I wanna taste some tongues!”

Virgil let out a prominent noise that resembled a big old ‘blergh’ but he threw himself into the others and let them appear in his room. Their bodies crashed into his bed and foreheads bumped together as they embraced one another and giggled.

Sounds were swallowed and Remus’ idea was taken more serious than anyone would ever admit to one another or the sides outside of this room. Giggles drowned in the joy of feeling and tasting one another. Feelings sparked in colourful fireworks and there were smiles colouring their faces that could not and would not be wiped away.

Finally, all pieces were back together.

[floof-reppu]

New Year's Appreciation

I decided to do mine on New Year's Day specifically cause I was so tired last night and I was unable to properly function after 9:00

So, New Year! What do I want to accomplish on my blog this year before I give a few mentions?

Write more stuff for my OCs & their S/Os

Everyone seemed to really like Hayato and Suzume, and I was even planning on writing something pertaining to New Year's with them, but if you couldn't tell... things went a little downhill last week, but now I'm better! Not only that, but my brain is churning with ideas as we speak as to backstory, origin story, and even just drabbles. If an "Ask my OCs anything" event were to happen, would anyone be interested? I sure hope so, cause I plan on doing one in the near future!

Getting to at least 1,000 followers before the end of January/middle of February

This might seem like a huge goal for me, but all I need is ~250 more followers to reach it! If my posts could get reblogged and I could get out there more, I could get there in probably the next two weeks if need be! It all depends on you guys!

Continue being a Mt. Lady, Inasa, AND Camie fucker

With a new month a few weeks ago came... more babes in my arsenal. I've never been more happier with my writing, and now my absolute favorite turned into absolute favorites. I've been dying to write for all of them, because hell, all of them are super unappreciated in the fandom! I hope this year that I'll convert more people to my Mt. Lady cult (haha) as well as get others to appreciate Inasa and Camie more than they already do!

~

These mentions below are the people who have helped me throughout the last bit of 2019, from since I made the blog, or from a few months in, I appreciate every single one of you more than my words can show.

@sparkncharge, why don't I start with you? (totally not because you were the first person who popped up). I don't even remember exactly the day I texted you about a "collab" that we never ever did, but I don't regret it at all. I finally had the balls to text someone else on Tumblr! The past few months have been crazy to say the least, with you converting me to loving Nejire and I... may or may not have gotten you to love Mt. Lady and appreciate her just as much as I do. It's safe to say I might just try to sneak a bit more appreciation for Inasa and our girl Camie down here... haha. I'm so thankful to have you as a friend and I can't wait to see what the future holds for us, I love you! ❤️

@lady-bakuhoe, Jo, where do I even start? We haven't talked that much privately except for when I was uh... going through shit... but you really helped to give me reassurance, plus you listened to some of my OC banter when nobody else really wanted to! For that I am thankful. (also you're never going to live down mistaking me for someone else... :) ) I hope we can become closer over the months ahead. Your writing is amazing, just like you are!

@ua-imagines, you three are such amazing people and I can't even begin to sing your praises. If it wasn't for the invitation to join the family, I don't rightly know what might have happened over the course of the past month. I've met so many awesome and amazing friends because of you, and to call them all, plus you guys my friends is a blessing. Our shenanigans never fail to put a smile on my face, even when I'm feeling down. Here's to another year packed full of new adventures, friendships, and even more.

@bakusquadbabes, wonder if you were expecting this, Meg? We vent to eachother a lot as well as bounce ideas back and forth to eachother, and not only that we run a server together! You're such an amazing writer, and I hope that this year for us is amazing as well!

@magpie-scribbles, alright Claire, you're gonna get an out from me and you're gonna like it. You are such an awesome writer AND artist, you are absolutely talented! You've done two commissions for me with another in the works and you never fail to put a smile on my face when I see you posted something about Hoshi! Let's not forget we have shared parenting over the little gremlin as well. You may be older than me by a few years, but it feels like I've known you for at least that long! I hope this year we can become better friends and *cough* spread the love of our OCs throughout the entire universe...

~

There's a few other mentions that I want to make, but my fingers are starting to cramp. The rest of these is a tag list full of people who have made the last half of 2019 amazing, whether a writing blog or not!

@katsukisprincess @burnedbyshoto @olivenight17 @wolves-rider @bnha-imagines-grill @bnhaclaimedmysoul @bnhaxxassociates @shoto-todoloki-a-hoe @quirkfics @kiriwhore-sama @kinda-ooc-just-a-little @kirisbabe @normiewrites @mhastories @my-romantic-academia @monst @keigos-dove @secondhand-trash @bnha-speaks @bnha-read-this

[rosesisupposes]

62, Remile

62. “If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?” 

Did you know I’ve never actually written a bed-sharing scene? It’s clearly time and past. Thus, a bit longer than intended 😅

Word count: 1,462

Prompt List [Requests Closed]

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

Emile tapped their fingers happily on the wheel, singing at the top of their lungs to the music blasting from his car’s speakers.

“I know a place that’s always exciting, the shows and the sights and the lights that are blinding: Empire City! I’m talking Empire City!”

“It’s the Empire State, hun.”

“Shhh, let me and Greg sing,” Emile shot back with a smile. 

Remy rolled his eyes fondly. “You know you won’t get to sing along with Ro, right?”

Emile grinned without taking their eyes off the road. “Yes, I do. Until Broadway finally starts those sing-a-longs we all really want!”

Remy leaned back, settling his sunglasses once more. “Sureee, yup, that’ll definitely catch on.”

“Roman could be the one to start them!”

“…look, I obviously believe in him and know he’s gonna kill it, but he only just got to the level of understudying with an original cast. It’ll be a couple years at least before he changes the literal face of Broadway.”

Emile bounced a little in their seat. “I know! But soon! I’m so excited, I haven’t seen him perform live since… oh gorsh, it must have been when he was still a freshman!”

“Was that when I last dragged you to a show?”

“No, that’s when you knew I would be incredibly disappointed if he was in Spongebob The Musical and you didn’t bring me,” Emile replied happily. 

“Hey, what’re former roommates for,” Remy drawled.

“Lending you a car when you want to get to your baby brother’s show with barely a full day’s notice?” Emile suggested impishly.

“Yeah, that’s a perk too. Thank you again, by the way.”

“Not a problem at all! I only wish we could make it up in a single day!” Emile said. They were somewhere in North Carolina, and the sun was about to disappear completely below the horizon. Emile had had clients until noon, so they hadn’t hit the road until one. 

“Eh, crashing overnight isn’t the worst thing on a road trip like this.”

“And we’ll even get to stop in the state’s capital city!”

“Really?”

“No, Raleigh!”

Remy fell dramatically against his window, groaning. “You set that up on purpose.”

“Mayybbbeee,” Emile responded, grinning hugely. “Also, I called ahead to a hotel that my cousin works at, they were able to get us a room despite the crowds this weekend. No motels for these two buds!”

“Oh bless you, babes, maybe we can even get some decent coffee in the morning,” Remy said reverently.

They’d driven in the dark an hour longer when they finally reached the hotel. Remy offered to carry both their bags (a small duffel for Emile and a lumpy backpack for Rem) as Emile went in to talk to the front desk.

When Remy caught up, Emile looked sheepish. They caught sight of Remy and waved half-heartedly.

“What’s up?”

“There was apparently a miscommunication with my cousin,” they replied. “She apparently didn’t get that we are former roommates, not current, and got us a single room.”

“Hey, that’s fine, you don’t snore, or at least you didn’t.”

Emile shook their head. “It’s a single room. With a single bed.”

Remy lifted his glasses. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, it’s just the only-”

“Shhh, Em, don’t speak,” Remy interrupted. “I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life.” He came up close to Emile and rested his head on their shoulder, before stage-whispering, “And there was only one bed!”

Emile snorted and reached around awkwardly to pat Remy’s head. “I’m not sure what you’re quoting but I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“All those cartoons, and you don’t know any memes?” Remy asked incredulously. “Anygay, yeah, it’s like a queen or king, right? We’ll be fine. It’ll be just like college.”

Emile smiled, taking their bag back from Remy’s hand. They accepted the key cards from the desk attendant and led the way to the room.

It took him three tries due to excitement, but Remy finally the got the door open, bursting through as he exclaimed, “And they were roommates!”

Emile passed him in a blur to dive onto the queen-sized bed, bouncing back with a cackle of glee. Remy dropped his bag and imitated his friend, completing his own reference with a whispered, “oh my god they were roommates.”

Emile leaned back into the pillows, eyes closed. “Rem, are these more mey-meys?”

“…babe, you’re killing me.”

“So that’s a yes? What do they mean?”

“This one’s a Vine, that’s the whole thing, it’s kinda implied something gossip-worthy happened between said roommates.”

Emile nodded sagely. “And what’s the dramatic ‘only one bed’ thing?”

“It’s this dumb trope where convoluted events lead to two characters having to share a bed, and by the end of the night, they’re cuddling or, ya know,” Remy finished, waggling his eyebrows.

His friend giggled. “Aww, Rem, you coulda just asked, you didn’t need to plan all this!”

Remy shoved them lightly. “Hun, you’re not allowed to tease me. I dish it out, I don’t take it.”

Emile messed up Remy’s styled hair. “After all the times you sexiled me, I’m allowed to make fun of you all I want. And I’m taking the first shower, too, before you use up all the hotel’s hot water.”

That night, wrapped in unfamiliar sheets and the thick shadow of night, Remy cursed silently. He hadn’t shared a bed all through the night in… well, nevermind the specifics, it had just been a while, okay? Had it always been this distracting? He was aware of Emile’s every move, every little shift on the mattress as they clearly fell asleep without a moment’s thought. 

He moved carefully, shifting to his side, and immediately realized his mistake. Now he was facing Emile, and there was no way he’d be able to ignore how their breaths kept blowing that tiny piece of pink hair out of their face or how different their face looked without glasses. He sighed and slowly rolled over to lie on his other side, facing away. He tried to snuggle into his pillow, only to realize a streetlight was piercing the curtains at just the right angle to hit his eye.

He rolled fully onto his stomach and sank his face into the pillow with a defeated sigh.

“Are you still awake?” he heard from his right.

“Em? You’re ‘wake?” he mumbled back.

“‘M drifting in and out. Have you gotten to sleep at all?”

“No.”

“If you can’t sleep…we could have sex?” 

Remy’s brain came to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

Emile wriggled closer, smiling. “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen? From your memes? We’re here together, just old roommates, and there’s only the one bed…”

Their closeness and innocent-seeming smile as they talked about this was keeping Remy’s brain solidly out of commission. “Buh?”

“Oh my goodness, I made him speechless,” Emile stage-whispered. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event!”

That was enough for Remy to recover, somewhat. “Not your typical type of joke, Em, ‘m just surprised.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Remy looked up into Emile’s open face with wide eyes. Emile? The friend he’d made in the very first week of college? The one he’d roomed with for all four years? The one he’d crushed on so very terribly but suppressed it to maintain their friendship?

“You…? We could-? You meant it?” he stuttered out.

“I mean, I presume you still remember how it works, you had enough practice back in the day,” Emile smirked. Then their face softened. “But yes, I meant it. I’ve always meant it, Rem. Even though I knew I wasn’t fun enough for you back in undergrad.”

“But I thought I was too extra for you, too much partying and shit while you were still so sheltered?” Remy blurted out.

Emile reached out hesitantly and brushed soft fingers through Remy’s hair. “I won’t lie and say I wanted that lifestyle, but I was willing to try it out if it had been with you.”

“I… how did we both miss this, all these years?”

Emile shrugged. “We have a chance to fix it now, right?”

Remy nodded, smiling softly, and carefully looped his arm around their torso. “Despite the jokes- I don’t want to have sex with you tonight. I want to make this count.”

“Me too. How does cuddling sound?”

“Not to be a soft bitch, but that sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah right, you’ve always been a soft bitch.”

Remy blushed. “Only around you.”

Emile pulled Remy more properly into their arms and laid his head on their chest. “I’m honored, then. Let’s get some rest, yeah? Still gotta get to NYC to watch Ro kill it tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, hun. And Emile?”

“Yeah?”

“We were roommates.”

Emile grinned hugely and responded, “Oh my god, we were roommates.”

[yukiwrites]

Byleth, Losing

Thanks for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! I was so emotional writing this wahh ;o;)

Summary: Byleth and Sothis come to terms with their feelings regarding the recovery of her memories, though she asks for only one thing in return. The full truth is still hidden behind the mist that it’s Byleth’s past, but perhaps Jeralt can help them uncover it all after the battle at the abandoned chapel...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10  - Part 11 - Part 12  - Part 13 - Part 14  - Part 15

It was customary to not have any classes on the week of that month's mission so everyone could go well-rested and properly equipped.

Byleth welcomed the chance to rest for another day or two before tackling the supposedly easy mission (as a mercenary, he'd always known not to underestimate a quest, no matter how simple it looked) of scouting the abandoned chapel.

His mind and body both were exhausted after the operation -- doubly so since he could feel Sothis' heavy grief despite not being able to talk to her while she shut herself off from him -- so holing himself up into his room was all he could do for the time being.

Closing his eyes heavily, the Professor focused the remainder of his energy into the intricate stonework he had seen in Sothis' memories before she had been... Well...

That place was also the one where he saw Sothis for the first time -- sitting upon that throne in a deep, confused slumber: it was an important room to the both of them, even more so now that they remembered everything.

The moment his mind's eye showed him the stonework, now freed from all the surrounding darkness, he saw Sothis' small back as she looked up to the throne.

Her child-like appearance hadn't changed, however it looked as though she had aged a thousand years; the very aura around her carrying an unthinkably large burden. Byleth walked towards her, his steps making no sound inside their shared mindscape.

"Sothis." He breathed out as they stood side by side, their heads staring straight upward to the faraway yet close throne. "I'm-"

"No need to apologize, young one." She interrupted, her voice devoid of its usual cheerfulness; even the cheekiness was gone. "It was something I also wished for, despite all the warnings the depths of my consciousness warranted me." She breathed heavily, though not quite sighing -- she seemed resigned instead.

Byleth hardened his jaw as he looked down to the steps in front of him. "Still, I should have respected when you kept denying-"

The motion of Sothis slowly shaking her head stopped Byleth's words. She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to him with a small, uncharacteristically meek smile as she extended one hand to him. "Will you come with me? I must admit that after a millennia of solitude and suppressing these memories, having someone with whom I can share this burden with makes it more bearable, albeit not lighter in the slightest."

"Of course." He replied immediately, taking her small hand in his before following her up the steps towards the throne.

They climbed the stairs in silence, Sothis' hand in his as cold as it had been before -- no wonder, one should think, since she didn't have a body of her own.

Once before the throne, they stopped their tracks -- the Professor watching his mindmate with visible concern. Yet, what flashed on Sothis' face was not hopelessness, but a smile filled with longing. "I used to sit here with Rhea on my lap during her infancy -- singing that song we heard her sing at the Goddess Tower. She truly loved listening to it to the point of following behind me like a duckling grabbing at the hems of my dress just to ask to listen to it one more time."

"Mhm." Byleth simply nodded. He could peruse the memories if he wanted, but chose not to -- they were Sothis'; especially the rare happy ones. Aware of her mindmate's consideration, Sothis' smile simply grew as she squeezed his hand slightly.

"She would always ask to travel with me whenever I went across the land to impart my knowledge upon the humans, you see." Sothis spoke with warmth, her eyes cloudy with tears. "She wasn't my first child, but somehow she became the one who got attached to me the most, that little one." She chuckled, stepping towards the throne.

Byleth let go of her hand as she sat, for the first time feeling like she belonged there instead of wondering what her role was in Byleth's story. The Professor crouched to be on her eye level, ultimately sitting on the floor right by Sothis' legs.

The girl bent down to her mindmate, taking his face with both hands, her expression of a mother worried for her child. "No matter what you find out about her once you get to talk with Jeralt -- I ask that you at least do not resent her. She looks just as lost as she did back then, perhaps even more so after all these long, long years."

Byleth's brow flickered with emotion. He had been so worried about his friend -- about her grief, her suffering, her memories, her powerlessness to be freed from this prison. And yet, to her, all of that mattered little compared to the wellbeing of her misguided child. His chin trembled with the effort of hiding his feelings, stealing a chuckle from Sothis.

She touched her forehead on his, understanding his unspoken thoughts. "I will not ask of you to take on a milennia-old fight, my one and only friend. I will not ask you to avenge me, nor do I want you to tear yourself apart to make amends. However..." Her voice cracked as she wrapped her arms around Byleth's neck into a tight hug. "If I can be selfish for only this once... Please, do not resent her no matter what." She sobbed, sliding down from the throne into Byleth's arms.

The Professor tenderly hugged his mindmate and friend, the words refusing to leave his throat, but his head nodding in confirmation.

He had so much to ask her. So much to talk about. So many memories to discuss -- but he couldn't. He wouldn't.

They were the source of her suffering; the reason why she lost her beat. He knew she would allow him to peruse them as he willed, but that didn't feel right, at least not at that moment, while everything was so raw and undiluted.

He remembered seeing the enemy stronghold -- the stonework akin to the very same one he and Sothis shared in their minds, though the blue lights and eerie atmosphere set them both apart. He knew that if he dove deeper into the nightmarish bits and pieces of memories from when she was being dismembered into the Sword of the Creator he would find out more about it all.

But it didn't feel right -- not to use such terrible moments of someone so special to him just to reach a truth that could be achieved by other means. Yet, even if it were the only way to find out the truth, Byleth still wouldn't do it, solely out of respect for Sothis.

To everyone else in the world, she was a Goddess to be revered; someone so high up in the heavens they could simply wish to be blessed by her. However, to Byleth, she was a trusted friend. Someone he brought suffering on, his good intentions not mattering to the guilt panging his unbeating heart.

Sothis hacked a sob, all of Byleth's thoughts flowing into her. "Thank you..."

It was only at the morning of their mission that Byleth finally managed to take ahold of his father -- true to Jeralt's words earlier that month, he had been busy doing Rhea's bidding to the point of barely stopping by the monastery.

"Dad, we need to talk." Byleth urged hurriedly amidst the rush of last-minute preparations.

Jeralt widened his eyes at his son's eagerness -- something he had barely ever witnessed during their lives. "I know I said we should talk when we have time, but are you sure we can talk about it like this? It seems serious enough to make you lose your cool." He placed one hand over the one Byleth had used to tug on his coat.

"It can't wait. We can talk as we march." Byleth looked around to check if the people rushing in and out of the gate could hear them before leaning towards his father to whisper: "It's about the Crest Stone inside my heart."

Jeralt flinched, pulling away from his son to look him in the eyes. From the surprised expression on his face, that seemed to be the first time he had ever heard of it. "Crest Stone?!" He whispered gravely. "Is that the reason it never- your heart-"

"So he doesn't know about it, either," Sothis commented as Jeralt muttered this or that.

"Yes." Byleth nodded to both father and mindmate, his frown deep. "Do you know who did it, Dad? Who put it inside of my heart?"

Jeralt hesitated, a word stuck inside his throat. As soon as he decided to utter it, a roar shook the ground beneath their feet.

"Demonic Beasts!" A scout shouted as he scrambled back to his feet. "There are students being targeted!"

"Tsk, shit!" Jeralt cursed under his breath, then took his son's shoulders. "We'll talk after this is done -- but don't forget what I told you before."

"What you told-" Byleth huffed, trying to search his mind, clogged with memories not his own.

"That dreary talk of looking in his room should something happen to him?" Sothis, now that she remembered she used to have a long memory, picked that scene up as though she was choosing a book from an endlessly long bookshelf.

Jeralt had already gone on ahead to muster his mercenaries to save the children by the time Byleth exclaimed an 'Oh!' of understanding. He, too, ran to the frontlines to guide the Blue Lions into battle.

Considering the amount of Demonic Beasts around the limited terrain and the runaway students they had to protect, it was no wonder that the battle took all of Byleth’s attention. He had unshakeable faith in his father’s prowess, so it never crossed his mind to even look in Jeralt’s way during it all.

A mistake.

Once he had felled the last beast did he look towards the chapel where his father’s mercenaries had gone into in search of more students. One of them, a red-haired girl -- Monica, if memory served right -- was thanking Jeralt for saving her.

It was all so fast.

So, so fast.

One moment, Monica was smiling at Jeralt.

At the other, she had dug a dagger deep into the side of his body, piercing a number of vital organs.

Byleth watched as Jeralt fell, slowly, ever so slowly; as though time itself had stopped.

Time! “Sothis! Pulse!” Byleth’s very soul shook, a dread gripping his guts from within.

“Don’t waste another second! Strike her down!” Sothis shouted as she turned back time until right before Monica stabbed Jeralt. Byleth quickly struck the girl with the Sword of the Creator-

Or so he thought -- a shadow blocked his attack, allowing Jeralt to fall once again.

“Pulse! Pulse! Pulse! Sothis!!” Byleth turned time back again and again, watching his father fall as many times as Sothis’ limited powers allowed. “Why? Why can’t you go farther back? You could- before you- could!” Byleth sobbed as he ran towards his fallen father, the rain finally allowed to fall once the Pulses ran out.

“I have the memories back, not the powers! This- F-forgive me, I-” She strangled a sob as Byleth held Jeralt in his arms. “Not another loss… Oh, why- why must this happen!”

“Just a bit further… a moment further and maybe-” Byleth cried out, feeling warm tears rolling down his face for the first time in his life. “Dad...!” He sobbed, drenching himself in mud, water and blood. “Please don’t leave me...”

[rkivepacks]

TITLE: good dreams make you bleed Originally posted on: AO3/dtgloss Pairing: taekook/kookv/vkook (Kim Taehyung & Jeon Jeongguk) Rating: PG13 Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2,081 Trigger Warning/s: Swearing Disclaimer: This work is solely from the idea of the author. Should there be similarities with the works of other respected artists are purely unintentional. This also do not reflect on the real lives of the artists portrayed in this work. Comments, suggestions and any other concerns are accepted in my inbox. Thank you! 

Summary:  i made reservations at a restaurant and the hostess informed me about my company that has already arrived and hey it's you ???? au

Jeongguk is a painter by law. Babysitter by choice.

It started when doing commissions all throughout his junior and senior year of arts school became too much for an arts major to handle all at once because, as his mother once said when he went back home to Busan for a short break ‘you’re in the last two years of your college which also means things get hard and even harder. At some point you have to drop a responsibility or two if you still want to walk the damn convention center and get the diploma yourself.’

Commissions and extra money for better dinner and boba teas be damned. Jeongguk gradually had less commissions coming in and some days and weeks, no commissions at all. He had actual plates and actual student stuff he has to finish unless he wants to repeat his past mistake of almost submitting a commission as his final project.

Jeongguk is officially a graduate. Unemployed definitely not by choice.

The period where he was waiting for his graduation up to the present, the man was busy babysitting on the side, doing some commissions and having art classes for kids during month-long summer camps nearby. Although he hates kids between the ages of six to twelve, it will have to do if he wants to be all mighty and independent as all people born under the sign of virgos do.

“Jeonggukie, Sanhi kept on moving and now my lines are messed up!” One kid from his class that day wailed, pointing to his ruined drawing sheet.

“That’s enough. Sanhi would you mind saying sorry and then finish your work on my table instead?” He reprimands and gives the kid with the ruined sheet, Miri, a new clean one. Jeongguk helps the naughty little boy move farther as not to cause more chaos and goes on with checking the works of the rest of the class.

“Remember to clean your brushes before packing up!” He reminds the kids who thought nodding once or twice would be enough to let their teacher know they heard him.

Eventually he gets tired and sits at the corner, checking the time. Only 43 minutes left until class ends and he can go home and wallow in self-pity. He checks the notifications he didn’t mind during the early hours of the class and figures he can reply to some (hoping some of these were commissions).

From: Joon-hyungoo Jungoo are u gonna go grocery shopping today?? Let me know so I can do it Press 1 for more info.

From: unknown Good afternoon! This is the guardian of Haechin. Do you mind keeping her company for a little while? I won’t be able to make it on time from where I am now. I’m sorry for the trouble.

Jeongguk ponders for a moment before checking the time again, seeing that there are 22 minutes left.

Haechin is the little girl with different hairstyles adorning her head everytime she shows up and her Sofia the First bag she always carries that contains more packed snacks than school materials.

To: Joon-hyungoo Got held up hyung !!!! Can u do it hhhehehek

To: Unknown Hello! I’ll be waiting in the classroom with Haechin. See you!

Later on the kids were dismissed, their parents slowly coming in to check on their child packing up and cleaning. Jeongguk taught the kids that cleaning up the work area is important and all that shit. He calls Haechin over and tells her to occupy the teacher’s table as he cleans up the rest of the materials and his own personal belongings as they wait for Haechin’s guardian.

“Daddy!” Haechin explains and waddles to the door. Jeongguk looks over to where she ran off to, expecting the guardian who was always taking Haechin to and from the art classes only to see a different person this time. He opts to make the connection that this man must be the guardian in the text messages.

Jeongguk shortly wonders if the usual guardian getting Haechin from his classes was the mother or a babysitter. The woman could pass for a mother although she’s young and petite.

The man (in a suit. Definitely not a baby sitter because he doesn’t think babysitters baby sit in suits. Or maybe this is a different household with different house rules?) squishes Haechin’s cheeks to greet her and asks questions about her day before putting his attention to him.

“Hi! Thank you so much. I’m really sorry for this I could not leave for work earlier to make it on time here.” The man in suit who definitely isn’t the babysitter says, extending a hand to Jeongguk.

“Oh. No worries, I don’t have to be somewhere else after this. So. It’s okay, really.” He says, shaking the man (again, in a suit) that was extending his hand to him.

“We’ll get going, I guess. See you soon…” The man trailed off, realizing the two adults do not actually know each other.

“Jeon Jeongguk.” He introduces himself. “I’m the teacher… obviously.” He chuckles.

“Kim Taehyung. I’m Haechin’s dad.” The man in suit says. “It’s getting late so we’ll head out.” He waves and takes a hold of Haechin’s hand.

“See you tomorrow, teacher!” Haechin waves and Jeongguk makes the same gesture before muttering a “bye!” just loud enough for the two to hear. On their way out, voices that could only be attributed to the daughter and father duo in the hallway discusses what to have for dinner and the daughter replying with what she wants for her packed snacks tomorrow instead.

+

The shared apartment sounded eerily quiet and the locked door could only signify that no one was home as of the moment. Jeongguk makes his way to the kitchen only to find a cup in the sink that Namjoon or Hoseok probably used, and assumes that the two went grocery shopping and sending a silent prayer that they don’t miss something essential for Jeongguk’s daily routine (His fortified milk).

The sound of the passcode being punched in outside resonates throughout the apartment, signaling the arrival of the two and as predicted, the sound of numerous supermarket bags being carried into the kitchen. Jeongguk rushes to aid the older men in carrying the large bags before setting them on the counter.

“Why did you get home late? Didn’t I tell you that your curfew is only ten in the evening? Stop spending your lunch money on liquors and cigarettes. Study, Jeongguk.” Hoseok makes a big show of portraying a hardworking mother with a low-class financial background, Jeongguk being the deadbeat son.

“You’re so full of shit, hyung.” He deadpans before laughing at the latter’s antics. Namjoon goes straight for the coldest pitcher of water from the fridge and pours himself a glass, ignoring the usual banter of the two.

Jeongguk checks the fridge if it has been stocked up with fresh groceries (and to make sure his Hoseok hyung does not put another toothpaste in the freezer just because he can. The toothpaste tube ended up in the side of the sink for a whole three days to defrost and to properly be used). Jeongguk decides not to mention the nut tarts that are in the fridge that surely cost more than usual as it was a delicacy being sold in the local supermarket.

After a quick dinner all by himself as he got home late and the two already had their share of the dinner, Jeongguk retreated back to his room to check his other works in progress. One of his wips.

(“The fuck is a wips?” Namjoon asks, incredulously.

“Work in progress, hyung.” Jeongguk answers, half-annoyed his cereal was halted halfway to his mouth. “I thought it meant what in actual phuck.” Hoseok supplements, aiming to high five Namjoon across the table.

The three men laugh at the light joke over instant noodles for snacks.)

“Look at this baby… You’re only lacking a background and a few details, right?” Jeongguk talks to one of the paintings for a client. “Yes… I’m just going to save what’s left of these decent pants and I’ll give my full attention to you.” He sighs, walking over to his drawer full of clothes then to the bathroom.

Jeongguk gets back to his room with his face slightly wet from being washed and a few droplets getting to his top. With a soft playlist of live performances from various ballad artists from youtube, Jeongguk gets to work, opting to not do a grand background and only fixing minor details on the painting.

+

For Friday class Jeongguk had prepared his 17 students their own sheet of paper with a large initial of their first names covering the whole page. The students were bound to think they are in for another game that will surely get the whole class chaotic. Jeongguk promised to never again host another game (someone used a permanent market on the whiteboard that took ages to get off. He looks at the faint mark left on it). Everyone erupts in murmurs and Jeongguk listens to the crazy ideas of toddlers.

“We know how to do the alphabet though.” One wondered aloud.

“Teacher, why is my H bigger than Aehoon’s A?” One asked thoughtfully. “Teacher, Gonghoon wrote on the paper already!” Someone chastised his classmate.

“Okay, listen toddlers.” Jeongguk gathers their attention. Once settled, Jeongguk asks the little children to draw inside the big letters in order to describe themselves. He scans the faces of the children as some were left confused, some already forming ideas, and some were too busy folding the corners of the sheets.

Jeongguk settles to watch over the kids from his place, from where he can see all of them in one vision, with a rough overview of their artworks. Some dived in into work while some were busy watching the others work. He goes around at some point to assist students and to reprimand one for almost ruining a clean sheet of a classmate.

The class ends soon, Jeongguk signhs in relief at the realization that it’s the weekend, he can work on some commissions and rest. He tells all the children to clean up after themselves and to take home the unfinished work and finish it at home. Jeongguk cleans up the rest, only residing to his table once he has managed to fix the mismatched crayons to their proper boxes. He notices that Haechin is tugging at his pants, only the two of them in the room after having the other kids driven home by their guardians and parents.

“Is my daddy not here yet?” Haechin asks.

“Haechin, how about we draw something else? Your father said he’s having trouble looking for your favorite candy right now so he’s running late!” He comforts the child, although he also wonders who’s going to be at the door to get Haechin.

“Haechin?” A familiar voice makes way through the door.

“Daddy, teacher said you got me my candy?” Haechin greets his dad.

“I’m sorry I had to compromise so she wouldn’t feel bad.” Jeongguk rushes to apologize to the distressed father. He does not even know if Haechin is allowed near candies. Save him for panicking.

“It’s okay.” Taehyung smiles apologetically to the man before turning to his daughter. “Baby, your candy is so hard to find, I went everywhere for it but it’s gone?” The father consoles the little child.

As cute as the scene is in front of him, Jeongguk checks the time and he really should be closing his classroom now if he wants to make it home on time before rush hour picks. He tells the same thing (except for the getting home because his car’s coding hits on Fridays so he takes the public transportation) and the father and daughter duo rushes to get home but not before apologizing profusely courtesy of the man.

Haechin waves at him and he manages to choke out a “don’t forget your homework!” and the father smiles at him before the two disappears behind the door.

That night Jeongguk stays up in front of his laptop, using it as a heater on his lap as he browse through his emails and blog. An email confirming a dinner meeting with a new client was opened up to a new window, the secretary of the client of his informing him the details for tomorrow night (as it is the only available time for the busy man, apparently).

+

[end]

[See all works here]

[raendown]

Commission for @crystallizedshadowfire, thank you!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Rated: E Word count: 4493 Summary: The Chief of Police and the boss of the local mob, an unlikely pairing for sure. Keeping their relationship a secret is hard, coming up with excuses for why they haven't taken each other down yet is harder, but of course Madara always finds a way to complicate things that don't need complicating.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Criminal Malpractice 

Madara scowled and flinched at the sound of a bullet impacting the concrete wall he and his subordinates were hiding behind. He was getting too old for this shit.

Okay so he wasn’t actually all that old yet, barely creeping up on his mid-thirties, but his poor ears had suffered through more than their fair share of this bullshit. He would find a new line of work if he hadn’t already entrenched himself so deeply in to this lifestyle that the mob might very well fall apart without him. Maybe he should start thinking about training a replacement soon so that he could retire. Obito was showing a lot of promise as he grew in to his later adolescence, he would make a good successor. He was also just crazy enough to enjoy this lifestyle and all the insanity that came with it. Kids these days were wild.

A chunk of something that may have been concrete but also may have been a fragment of skull bone went rocketing passed his face. At the same time one of his men jerked backwards and collapsed to the ground, falling utterly still in a way Madara recognized all too well. His nose wrinkled. Yet another widow to console, another life lost to cover up while he tried to keep his own mourning quiet to help the lower ranks keep up morale. Lately he was running out of ways to make bodies disappear in a manner that wouldn’t lead suspicion back to him or anyone that worked for him and his family. Just because it was common knowledge that the Uchiha family were connected with the mob didn’t mean they should make it easy for the law enforcement to pin them with any actual evidence.

Mistakes like today notwithstanding. If he hadn’t already taken out the cameras in this area it would be very hard to talk his way out of being accused of something here.

Speaking of law enforcement, Madara dared to peek around their cover and count the heads popping up from behind the barricade of police cruisers. He forced his eyes to skip past the head of shining white hair they wanted to catch on and focus instead on the actual bane of his existence. In another world Shimura Danzo would definitely have followed a similar nefarious path as Madara had – although probably with less than half the morals. Madara’s life was filled with illegal acts but he had a code of conduct, okay? He took care of his own and really he was just trying to make this city better. Just because his methods were shady didn’t mean he didn’t care, he simply cared in all the ways that people who followed the law couldn’t.  

Unfortunately for the City of Konoha the illustrious Shimura Danzo had instead decided to dedicate his life to being a police officer. At some point he must have had high hopes for what he surely thought would be a shining career. It clearly rankled that he hadn’t made it even to Captain, stuck forever at the rank of Sergeant and taking out the frustration that gave him on the men he led. Serving under a much younger Chief of Police – the youngest their city had ever seen yet also the most competent – had turned him even more bitter. Several times now the man had tried to reach out to the underbelly of the city, determined to turn dirty cop. Madara, however, owned the underbelly of this city and he had a standing order forbidding his people from dealing with the man.

The chaos of a shootout seemed like the perfect opportunity to remove a problem he was more than tired of working around. Across the way he could see Izuna pausing at the sight of his satisfied grin, though his brother only narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It cut to the quick to be so mistrusted by his own kin. Really it did!

“What are you planning?”

“To get rid of a nuisance,” Madara said. In one smooth motion he stood, aimed, and fired then immediately dropped back down hoping no one caught enough of a look at him for a positive identification. Then he looked over to where Izuna was using a small mirror to keep track of the action. “Did I get him?”

“Yup. You definitely shot the Chief of Police.”

“WHAT!?”

Completely disregarding his own safety, Madara jerked around and popped his head out in to the open. Shimura was still standing. A foot or so to his left side Senju Tobirama, the man who had skyrocketed up the ranks since the day he joined the force, was being dragged away to safety while he very calmly attempted to staunch his own bleeding and sent a thunderous scowl toward the mob forces. Their eyes met across the mayhem for a brief moment and Madara swallowed thickly.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

 -

 The hours he waited in the empty house that night were some of the longest he had ever spent. Owning the city always felt like less of an accomplishment during the times when he was faced with how little rights he had to his own life partner. Falling in love with a police officer was a terrible idea, he’d known that right from the moment he realized where his heart was headed, but staying with the man and supporting him all the way up to being named Chief of Police was such a spectacularly bad idea he still wondered how neither of their associates had caught wind of it yet.

Having only a select few people who knew where he called home helped with that, as well as his partner’s infamous reclusive tendencies. It did not make the waiting any easier when he knew that Tobirama was spending those hours in a hospital undergoing surgery where Madara was quite unwelcome to go visit. A known mob boss visiting an officer of the law? Yeah, not obvious at all.

Adrenaline rushed through him at the click of the lock on their front door and Madara hurried over to peek down the hall just as the tumbler slid back in to place. Tobirama’s movements were stiff but he was blessedly alone as he slid off his shoes and toed them in to the neat little spot where he always kept them, eyeing the coat hooks then sighing and trudging down the hall without removing the fur trimmed civilian jacket buttoned over what remained of his uniform. When he spotted Madara skulking around the corner he stiffened even further and turned in to the kitchen without a word.

Madara slinked after him like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. Silence stretched between them as Tobirama went through the motions of drawing a mug of tea one handed and the guilt rose higher and higher in Madara’s throat until he couldn’t take it and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“So how was your day at work?”

Obviously he realized how stupid that was the moment he said it. He really didn’t need Tobirama to slam his cup down hard enough to slosh precious Darjeeling in every direction.

“You fucking shot me, that was my day at work!” Shaking out his now scalded fingers, he turned around to return fire with the daggers in his eyes. “I’m out of commission for at least a week, if not several, and what do I have to show for it? Another ‘failed’ attempt to take down the man living in my own home. You are very fucking welcome for covering that abysmal escape, by the way, because I had to cover your ass from a god damned ambulance!”

“I’m sorry, okay!? I was aiming for that Shimura dick head!”

“Well your aim fucking sucks, go ask Kagami for a few lessons on marksmanship before you take my head off next time!”

Madara shuddered. His nephew was a walking ball of sunshine terror, too happy to be natural and too gifted with long range weaponry to be entirely human. No way was he putting himself through another round of cheerful hours on the gun range just to come out even more thankful that he’d somehow managed to keep the kid happy in the role of budding assassin. Unhappy assassins usually came after their boss and he certainly wasn’t looking to have both eyes taken out from three streets away with no evidence.

Tobirama cruelly allowed him to stew in those thoughts while he turned away again and ran cold water to soothe the fingers he had spilled tea all over. Watching him, Madara cringed as he realized he had effectively taken both the poor man’s hands out of commission. He really wasn’t doing so hot today. Some big bad boss he made when he couldn’t even care for his own partner properly.

“Let me,” he offered quietly. Tobirama subsided with a grumble, throwing himself down – gently – at the kitchen table to watch every movement with an eagle eye. It was a little nerve wracking but Madara bore up well enough until the tea was cleaned up and remade, delivered with a shamefully bowed head. While his lover drank the offering Madara tried several times to open his mouth and make his apologies but every time he thought he had the words straight in his head he would look up at Tobirama and everything in his brain would scatter all over again in favor of the heavy guilt weighing him down.

He shot his own lover. He put a bullet in to his own partner’s flesh. What words could possibly make up for that? How could Tobirama ever forgive him when he was quite sure he would never forgive himself?

“Nothing vital got hit, at least.” He jerked in surprise when Tobirama broke the silence first.

“Oh. Good. That’s…I’m sorry.” If any of his subordinates could hear how small his voice was in that moment he had no doubt that they would laugh themselves silly and lose all respect for him. No one would ever fear his retribution again if they knew how far gone he was for the man across the table.

“I’m going to bed.”

“But-!”

“Madara, I am tired. I spent nearly thirteen hours in the hospital because they allowed a first year resident to operate and he was so incompetent they had to open me up again and go back in as soon as he stitched me closed. They wanted me to stay overnight but I assured them that I had a ‘guest’ staying with me who could help and now speculations about my personal life have tripled. My own partner shot me, my officers are chomping at the bit to have you behind bars for it, and I am in so much pain I can hardly think straight.” Pushing his empty mug away, he struggled to his feet with his jaw tightening when the motion tugged on some sensitive areas. “I want nothing more than to let this fucking day end.”

He was tottering out of the kitchen a moment later, leaving Madara glaring at the floor in personal offense that it had not yet opened up and swallowed him whole. If he were as brilliant a man as his beloved then maybe he could turn to evil science, create a time machine, go back to this morning and crack himself around the head for ever pointing a weapon anywhere close to his most precious person.

Since he wasn’t a mad genius he hauled himself out of his own chair and shuffled down towards the bedroom after the other man. He found Tobirama hovering by the end of the bed plucking at the buttons of his jacket and scowling deeply, unable to move one arm and unwilling to fiddle too much now that his other hand was covered in mild burns. Madara inched in to the room until he was spotted and told himself that it was perfectly normal for a grown man to feel so small when faced with such a sharp gaze.

“Want some help?” he offered. Tobirama snorted, dropping his hand and turning his head away moodily.

Having two working hands, Madara made quick work of the buttons and helped to slide the jacket off as gently as possible. With soft-spoken requests for a movement here or a shift there he got Tobirama down to nothing but his skin, at which point he hurried over to fetch a pair of pajama pants from one of the dressers against the eastern wall of their bedroom, scurrying back to kneel down and keep Tobirama steady while the man slid one foot in to each leg. It was hard to resist letting his touches linger like they usually would with so much skin on display and his face right there where it would be only too easy to turn his head and take the man’s length in to his mouth. Fortunately he wasn’t stupid enough to do something like that without warning when the mood in the room was so clearly not headed for such activities.

Although…perhaps he could fix that. They both knew that apologies weren’t his strong suit, his words better suited to barking orders than expressing the feelings trapped in his chest. And they both also knew that he was prone to finding more physical ways to making his feelings known, whether that be doing more than his fair share of the household chores or offering certain bedroom services without asking for reciprocation.

Of course what he had done this time was hardly something he could erase with a hand job or two but there was nothing wrong with trying and doing one thing for his partner didn’t mean he was going to call it a day and forget the whole issue. He was an asshole but he wasn’t completely heartless.

Well, not when it came to Tobirama, at least.

The possibility stayed on his mind all through helping Tobirama brush his teeth and wash his face then pulling the sheets down to tuck the man underneath them and go do all those things for himself as well. By the time he was turning off the lights and sliding under the blankets he was half hard in his pajamas and almost ashamed of how much the idea appealed to him. Not because he was ashamed of his own desires, that ship had sailed more than a decade ago and he certainly had no regrets about where his appetites had taken him, but rather because he was sure it wasn’t an appropriate apology for this sort of situation.

But really, was there ever going to be a proper way to say sorry for shooting his own partner in the chest? Or shoulder. He hadn’t had a chance to take a good look at the wound yet, covered as it was by several layers of gauze. At least that particular wave of guilt could be left until tomorrow when he would of course insist on helping to change the bandages.

Madara squirmed and fretted in the dark bedroom until he nearly leapt out of his own skin when Tobirama was once again the first of them to break the silence.

“Do you know how much paperwork I would have had to do if you did manage to shoot that asshole?”

“You…” All the tension in his body was violently expelled with a hard snort of laughter. “Is that what has you so fucking grumpy?” With a grin of relief he rolled over and fitted himself again the other man’s uninjured side. Tobirama sighed moodily.

“No, I’m grumpy because you shot me. With a bullet. It hurts. And I don’t know what painkillers they gave me but I am so high but I still fucking hurt.”

Madara sniggered. “You don’t seem high to me, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t. The room is spinning. Make it stop.”

“Actually, I had a thought. I was thinking of making it spin even faster – in a different way.” He pressed a kiss to Tobirama’s shoulder but got only a huff for his troubles. Stubborn man, refusing to be seduced even when Madara was clearly being obvious about what he wanted to do.

Lolling his head to one side, Tobirama grumbled, “Faster would not help.”

“Stop being stupid and let me give you an apology blow.”

“Ah. I’m quite sure that’s not a great idea at the moment but I am also not going to stop you so long as you understand that I can’t do much in return.” His lover turned to blink hazily at him and Madara could finally see what he meant about the pain killers. That was not the same sharp gaze he had seen in the kitchen. Something must have finally kicked in. With a laugh he pressed forward to kiss those pouting lips.

“That is entirely the point love. You’re going to be angry at me again in the morning anyway so you might as well enjoy tonight, yes?” Madara waited for the other man to nod in concession of his excellent point before shuffling around and sliding further down the mattress. “Good, then just lay back and let me take care of you.”

He gleefully chuckled over the agreeable hum from his partner. Usually it was a lot easier to fluster Tobirama with blunt sex talk but apparently the influence of whatever drugs they had him on mellowed out certain inhibitions. It was a shame his job kept him strait-laced and prevented them from recreating this again another day because Madara would have loved to see what kind of filthy things he could talk his way in to like this.

A quick blowjob to see if high-Tobirama was any louder than sober-Tobirama was a good start, though. Madara licked his lips as he gently wriggled his way in between the other man’s legs, being careful not to jostle him too much, then reached for the ties of the pajama pants he had picked out just a few minutes before. If anyone happened to ask he might be convinced to admit that he had chosen these ones because this shade of red looked lovely with Tobirama’s skin and the stretchy cotton made his ass look fantastic. Luckily no one was ever likely to ask.

Briefly mourning that he wouldn’t get to see that ass bent over for him – probably for a long while – Madara bent his neck to draw his tongue along the crease where thigh met groin, smooth skin devoid of hair because his lover liked to keep himself neat in all respects. Steady breathing increased gradually the further his licks and kisses moved inwards until finally Tobirama let out a soft gasp when Madara pressed his tongue flat against the underside of the cock now stiff and full as it waited for his attention and slid all the way up to take the head in his mouth. Then he himself was tempted to moan at the feeling of having his mouth filled.

“Shit,” Tobirama whimpered above him – honest to god whimpered. Legal or not, Madara was definitely getting his hands on something to get this man high again.

In reward for such a pretty sound he slid further down to take as much in as he could. One of his hands pressed down on the hips that were beginning to squirm, hoping Tobirama didn’t hurt himself moving around too much, while his other explored whatever heated skin he could reach. His head bobbed in a slow rhythm in time with the hand that skimmed trembling thighs and traced the grooves of a clenched abdomen. It had always been Tobirama’s body that spoke his pleasure the loudest; hearing him swear so easily and so honestly went straight to Madara’s own cock.

He’d already been sporting a semi. Just that one word combined with the soft groan that followed in the wake of his hands was enough to have him rock hard inside his own pajamas.

Were he not hyper aware of the fact that this was all meant as the start of his – likely to be months long – apology he might have tried to suggest something that would be a little more mutually satisfying. Or if he also weren’t aware that doing so would probably end with Tobirama tearing out his stitches in the heat of the moment. Madara rolled his hips down and moaned around the hard flesh in his mouth, tempted by the idea of grinding himself against the mattress until another thought wriggled its way in.

Tobirama’s protest when he pulled away was garbled and indistinct in a way it never would have been were he entirely sober. It was just enough encouragement for Madara to shuffle around until he was up on his knees where he could go back to work with one hand still holding the weakly bucking hip underneath him in place. With his other he took a moment to skim down and cup his partner’s sacs, rolling them and sliding his fingers lower to trace the places he couldn’t explore until Tobirama was healed enough that the writhing he was prone to wouldn’t hurt him. Then another soft curse met his ears and Madara began to frantically pull at his own drawstrings until they were loose enough to shove the material down and take himself in hand.

His moan vibrated around the shaft he was pleasuring, earning himself yet another intoxicating sound from his partner and encouraging both his mouth and his hand to move faster. Madara was sure if he weren’t already busy concentrating on other things he would be panting as quickly as he could hear the other was. If they continued on just like that he wouldn’t have lasted all that long anyway but then the most amazing thing happened.

For probably the first time in his life Tobirama began to babble.

“Shit, feels good. Don’t…don’t stop. Just- ah. Warm. And wet. Fuck, your mouth is wet. Feels amazing. Do that – with your tongue? That-? Yes, fuck yes, that. Ma-hah! Madara…”

Every word that spilled from him wound the man between his legs higher and higher until Madara was working himself as desperately as he was bobbing his head, praying he could hold off until his partner found satisfaction yet unable to stop his hand from chasing the incredible end he could feel coming on fast. He’d never heard anything like this from Tobirama. Since the day they first gave in to the helpless attraction between them their intimate activities had been filled with a chorus of noises from his own mouth and little more than the occasional grunt from his stubbornly reticent partner.

He had almost forgotten how hot it was to hear someone else enjoying themselves as much as he was.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the moment Tobirama finally noticed that he was pleasuring himself at the same time. The apparently unexpected discovery was accompanied with a long drawn out sound that could only be described as lewd and an enthusiastic bucking of the hips. Madara had just enough time to brace himself before his tongue was coated with seed, the entire world fuzzing out around him a few seconds later as the tension inside him burst at last and he spilled over his own hand as well.

Gasping with a cock still filling his mouth was a little hard but Tobirama seemed to appreciate the sensation of his continuous moans until finally they were both completely spent and Madara swallowed the bitter come with only a light grimace. As much as he enjoying sucking cock he’d never really appreciated the taste of the end results. He did very much appreciate the blissed out expression that was waiting for him when he lifted his head, half-lidded eyes staring back at him, satiated and full of warmth. Madara shivered with renewed interest that he regretfully set aside for another time.

“Was a v’ry good apologize. Apology. S’a good blowjob.” Tobirama’s lips curled up in a dopey smile and Madara paused to appreciate the rare sight.

“Should I help you get back in to your pants?” He offered, not trusting himself to say anything else just yet. If he did then it would either be some mangled form of dirty talk or he would spill his whole heart out on the floor in the form of terrible poetry mixed in with a hundred more apologies. And not even sexy ones.

“Mmm. Probably should, yes.”

“Right.” Nodding to himself Madara set about righting both of their clothes and found something to wipe his hand on, snagging a bottle of water from inside the nightstand to rinse out his mouth as well.

Then he crawled up the mattress to lay himself carefully at Tobirama’s side and pulled the blankets up over both of them. He made sure they were all perfectly even and straight, just how his partner liked them, then pressed a kiss against the man’s good shoulder and curled up against him as much as he could without having to worry about jostling the injuries he had caused.

“I’ll cook you breakfast in bed tomorrow,” he promised in a whisper. “And I’ll fetch anything you want around the house. And I’ll even do my best to hold my temper when you inevitably get irritated that you can’t do anything for yourself; we both know you will, don’t deny it.” Despite his words he paused, waiting for the expected denial because Tobirama had a very selective memory when it came to his own temper, but it never came. Curious, Madara lifted his head and peek around to see what was holding his tongue.

Fast asleep. Whatever drugs they had given him were finally doing their job, pulling him down in to dreamland where the pain couldn’t touch him. As much as Madara loved having his partner’s attention he was glad that he would spend the night comfortably and find good rest.

Tomorrow he would spend the day waiting on his partner’s every beck and call. And the next day he was calling Izuna to schedule a council of the Family. Some things in this city had needed changing for a long time and while he was certainly the right man for the job he was not willing to risk the only person who had ever loved him as completely as Tobirama did. Which meant that they would need to change some things about how they themselves operated as well. First he would help his beloved feel better. Then he could go out and make the world better as he’d always intended.

By force if necessary. A smirk tilted the corners of his lips and he looked over at his sleeping partner. He always had preferred to act first and apologize later; at least with some things he rather enjoyed the apology.

[shinondraws]

Out of curiosity, and I'm asking purely based on that; I'm not here to say 'but muh nuzlawx', but what prompted you to leave your Nuzlocke comic unfinished? Over-demand? Lack of interest? Something else entirely? I ask because I struggle to keep my own projects going and I frequently wonder how some of my favorite artists, like you, end up also not returning to their projects.

TO ANYONE WHO’S INTERESTED, THIS IS THE STORY OF MY NUZLOCKE AND WHY IT HAS BEEN DEAD FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF YEARS

That’s a very good question and it is actually something I have been meaning to open up and talk about when the time is right but hell, let’s do it now.

Let’s begin with the actual situation with the comic. I never officially cancelled it but I also didn’t just intend to let it rot in all silence until everyone forgot about it, so that it would be easy to brush under the carpet. No. I never intended to quit it either. It has been on the back of my mind all these two and half years that have passed since the latest update because I really want to finish it.

And yet I haven’t made an attempt to continue the comic for two and half years. In fact, I have tried. I still have the next update, sitting on my desk, unfinished, but I struggle to just sit down and start working on it. One third of the pages have been finished of the entire update and it has been like that for a good while.

I have been trying to analyze why it is so difficult for me to just do it. I keep putting it off with excuses such as “oh but I will get back to it once school/work settles down” or “I have this other personal project or a commission batch I wanna finish first, then I can properly focus on the comic again!”. I have been telling myself that once I have that perfect focus I can work on the comic to deliver it in the way I want to. But what actually has happened is that I have realized I will never have such perfect focus on it. My life has been and will always be me juggling a shit ton of different things at the same time, constantly trying to juggle several balls. I can’t remove one thing without replacing it with something else because I actually NEED a lot of different things to keep me interested, invested, inspired, active and motivated.

So the lack of focus has been just an excuse I have been using and by doing this to myself I have been obscuring the actual reasons why I have been unable to keep it going. I wish there was one clear reason because that would be easier to tackle. To make it clear, I never lost my interest in it but I did lose my motivation. It’s a bad combo, wanting to do something but at the same time facing this invisible field of...what exactly?

Over-demand? In my point of view I never felt that my comic was that popular and no one ever demanded an update from me. I know people expected things from me and I know a lot of people felt strongly for the comic. It was important to a good bunch of people. So it wasn’t really about direct pressure but I can’t say that I haven’t had that slight pressure on me, that I haven’t felt the weight of expectations because that isn’t true. It is there and while it isn’t the main reason for my motivation loss it has has an effect.

One thing that does affect me and everything I do, for more or less, is other people’s opinions. You can keep saying “it doesn’t matter what other people think” but it does and there’s no way to convince me to think otherwise. That’s just how I am. I DO care what others think. Even if it is a stupid thing you hear from someone who heard it from someone etc. Around the time I did my latest update I heard about this one closed group of people who talked a lot of shit about other people’s comics. Someone I know was in the group and I got to hear that pretty much every comic out there that wasn’t by someone in that group got its share of shit, mine included. Nothing severe, but having your work called boring doesn’t feel nice. I thought I’d just brush it off but it stuck and it made me think why people would call it boring. And for a while I actually thought of my comic ato be boring as well. And I suppose in some sense they’re right. It isn’t a masterpiece, a beautifully polished comic like many of the popular comics of then and now. But it is something I have worked hard on. Anyone who has worked on long comic project knows that it is far from easy. It’s my first comic ever so it’s obviously flawed and rough but I have learned so much while working on it, not just about art but about storytelling, about staying consistent and about managing a big project on my own.

So we got stupid comments that I would have gladly not even known about, expectations, hectic life, some personal dealings that made me want to detach from the comic for a while, a wave of people losing interest in their comics, a steady decline of the popularity of Nuzlocke comics, wondering if it’s actually too late to continue the comic at this point, questioning a whole lot of things and other little or not so little things that kinda just became this ball or wall of nope. Such balls are tedious to dismantle.

As you probably have noticed I have been doing a lot of little doodles of my Nuzlocke characters. I have been thinking about the comic on a daily basis for the past couple of weeks. I don’t know what prompted it. Maybe the time was ripe? Maybe the painful boredom of my job demanded more work for my mind? Did someone bring up the comic in a way that sparked something? Hard to say. But I have been thinking about the comic and what it has meant and still means to me. I have come to the conclusion that I need to finish it. I can’t let go of it. To me, it is a story that is worth telling, a thing worth doing. And if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well. I can’t just leave it unfinished.

I haven’t announced it but I am making slow attempts of bringing the comic back. I don’t want to put a definite time or any big promises up in the air to avoid any sort of pressure. Now that the comic has been dead for a couple of years I feel like I actually have the peace that I need to see where the comic is at and where it’s going. A proper assessment of sorts. I have managed to solve some story and plot issues I have had that I couldn’t solve a couple of years ago. I think they were something that simply needed time and personal growth in order to be solved. Now I have a clearer vision of the comic than before and I am going to finish it, but at my own pace.

As for your last pondering about why artists don’t sometimes return to their projects, there are many reasons, many different situations. Sometimes admitting you won’t be able to finish the project is the only thing to do, sometimes you just never rediscover the spark for the project despite your efforts. Lately I have come to the understanding that sometimes all that it takes to get yourself back on track is to take a good break. If you are in a rut just completely distance yourself from the project and focus on something else and then look at the project again. Don’t even try to think about the project during your break but try to clear your mind from it. Then, if you still feel like having a take on the project, have a good look at it and see what you can make of it. That’s where I am now, trying to figure out where to go from here. I’m feeling pumped, motivated and inspired.

There’s one good quote I think fits as a closure here:

“Take your time, have patience, and the rest will come.”