#pretty sure everyone that still cares about the story loathes his guts

[trash-bin-ary]

I always forget that there’s people that actually hate everyone that likes dsmp, noooo you don’t get it there’s nuance! A lot of the creators Suck and there were Bad parts of the fandom but then there was the good parts and there was love! The love was there, doesn’t that matter!

[littlefreya]

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”  

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.”  Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.  

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.  

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support. 

[bthehufflepuff208]

So how much do you want to fucking bet that for the “Vision is Ultron” episode of “What If”, they’re basically going to sell it as:

“No matter what, whether the mind stone was used or not, Ultron/Vision would have always been created as a monster because his sole creator Tony Stark is a monster.”

To add, they’re also going to kill Tony off again, with Vision/Ultron talking about all the bullshit that was said in “Age of Ultron”, of how he’s a “sickness” and a “monster” and how he did the right thing by killing him and all that jazz.  

And I’m so fucking over it.

Like, I get it.  Tony Stark is a perfect choice for a scapegoat to hate for a good chunk of MCU fans, as he has all the things people hate:

He’s a billionaire (a born into money billionaire), which ya know, “eat the rich” and all.  He’s a man, he’s white, he’s cisgender, he’s straight (questionable to some fans, but there’s no fucking way any Marvel executives would say Tony’s bisexual or pansexual, no way).  

So due to this, most MCU fans hate his guts as he represents at least one group of people that they loathe.  I’m not saying these are the sole reasons anti-Tony people hate him, but they can’t say that it’s not at least one of the reasons.

But making him the scapegoat over and over is so fucking absurd, especially when the whole fucking point of Tony’s story is that he wants to become better, not just for his loved ones but for the world.

But with the stigma he already has with what he was born with/into, fans have absolutely no fucking trouble twisting any bad situation into blaming Tony, since he represents all the things they hate in real life anyway. 

Tony’s entire arc was supposed to show with each movie, that he wanted to become better and to truly help people.  But literally every single action Tony makes, everyone interprets it as “he’s only doing it for his ego/to protect himself.”

Tony flies a nuclear bomb into a wormhole? “Oh, he only did that because he wanted the praise of being the hero who saved the day.”  Tony wanting a defense system to protect Earth? “Oh, he only wants that because he doesn’t want to do anything to help Earth himself and wants all of the credit.”  Tony literally dying destroying an army that was going to destroy the universe? “Oh, but that doesn’t make him a hero, everything he did was always about him.  He’s still a selfish piece of shit because he didn’t want to erase his daughter (and probably millions of other children) out of existence.”  No matter what Tony does, everyone twists it as something he’s doing only for himself.

But even a little example of how everyone just twists anything and everything they can about Tony:   I saw a post talking about how they were glad Thor wasn’t friends with that “toxic piece of shit” because all Tony did throughout Endgame was mock Thor’s depression/PTSD. 

And I was like.......what fucking movie were you watching?

He did call Thor “Lebowski”, which, yes, was definitely mean-spirited.  But the entire movie?  Huhhhh?

Here’s where they twist their views to whatever they want to see.  I’ve watched Endgame over and over, and besides the Lebowski joke, I cannot come up with one point in which Tony mocks Thor.  But thinking about it, I have a pretty good idea of how anti-Tony people twisted their look on the film to see Tony mocking Thor throughout the entire thing.

In the scene where Thor is insisting on doing the snap to bring everyone back, Tony steps in and tells him he’s not in condition to do so.  In my head, and the way I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be interpreted, Tony does this because he’s concerned for Thor because he knows how bad of a place he’s in and doesn’t want to push him even further.  But to someone who hates Tony, they most likely interpreted the scene as Tony mocking Thor and calling him “weak.”  I have no fucking clue how they came to that conclusion, but I’m pretty sure that’s what they saw. 

And now, lets go back to Ultron and talk about a character and situation that infuriates me to no end.  Wanda and her involvement with Ultron.

Not only did the writers and characters of “Age of Ultron” have absolutely no problem in solely blaming Tony for what Ultron became, the majority of the people who watched it had no problem with it too. Even when in the fucking movie, it’s literally stated that Wanda manipulated his mind in hopes he would take the mind stone 

“I didn’t expect (gestures to Ultron), but I saw Stark’s fear, I knew it would control him, make him self-destruct.”

She fucking says she wanted him to take the mind stone because she knew it would cause something terrible to happen.

I’m pretty sure 99% of the reason Ultron became what he became was because of the mind stone, which was only even used in Tony’s program because Wanda basically mind controlled him into using it.  

And fucking yet.

Everyone, the characters and fans alike, were over the moon with Wanda’s bullshit “Stark can’t see the difference between saving the world and destroying it, where do you think he gets that from?” as it proved to them that Tony Stark was the monstrous villain they thought he was all along.

 AND FUCKING YET.

Tony’s whole fucking goal with the Ultron program in the first place was to protect Earth from threats he believed they wouldn’t be able to fight (and he was fucking right).  Wanda’s goal was to kill Tony, which fine, won’t get into that bullshit completely. But I’m 99% positive the scene where she lets the Hulk loose in Johannesburg that probably killed dozens of people, showed us that Wanda doesn’t really fucking care who gets killed, even if they’re innocent, as long as Tony Stark is in the body count.  And then when she finds out Ultron plans on killing everyone, which includes her and her brother, then she “see’s the light.”  BUT THEN STILL SOLELY BLAMES TONY FOR EVERYTHING SHE BASICALLY CAUSED, and the characters and the audience are like “YAS, WE STAN A QUEEN WHO EATS (AND KILLS) THE RICH!”

So coming around full circle, I’ve just had fucking enough of this scapegoating bullshit the writers have and will continue to be pulling on Tony Stark.  The “What If” Episode with Vision/Ultron will once again put the “Tony Stark was the main villain of the MCU and everything ever is his fault.”

And the fact that so many fans can and will twist anything Tony does to fit their narrative, and that the writers give them the ammunition with the scapegoating bullshit even though there’s so much evidence that shows `how truly good of a person Tony is just so fucking infuriating, disheartening, and just sad.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

ON FEYSAND’S PLOTLINE IN ACOSF

              !!!!MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE ACOSF!!!!

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Let’s be honest for a while, okay?

ACOCF had potential to be SJM’s best book, if not for any other reason then because of the sheer idea of it. Coming-of-age, healing story of the most complex and polarizing character she has ever created set in the time of peace, away from the familiar setting (according to the later changed concept which still remains in the snippet at the end of ACOFAS), development of her arguably most feisty and angsty love story... It could be her absolute trumph. Even with the change to stick to Velaris instead of exploring the Illyrian culture of the Mountains and with the added conflict of the Mortal Queens and Koshei, it still could work quite well. 

It didn’t. For many, many reasons, but the most important one, in my opinion, being the feysand pregnancy plot. 

Nothing about this plotline made sense. Not a single thing. From start to finish, it was an absolute disaster from the character-writing POV, from the narration POV, from every single context of it. It broke the rules of real-life logic, it broke the rules of this fantasy world setting and it completely exposed that Rhysand, while not a bad guy, is a pretty terrible partner, even worse ruler and an absolutely terrible contender for the High King title. 

Let’s break this whole mess down (and expect this post to be mammoth-sized. it’s not my fault, though, write to SJM if you have any complains):

1) Feyre, 21, decides to get pregnant, even though less than a year earlier, she expresses the delight with not being forced to bear children to her new mate and told him herself she wants to wait a while and enjoy her life with him. Feyre decides she wants a baby though and Rhysand goes along with it, even though he is aware how young Feyre is and how hard her life has been up until this point. He wants a baby too much to have an honest discussion with Feyre about it, to stop and wonder what is the reason for her sudden change of heart, to reassure her that they have a lot of time ahead of them and don’t need to rush. No. She mades a sudden decision to have a baby after A YEAR OF MARRIAGE and not much more of being turned fae, JUST AFTER having her whole world put upside down, having received a completely new title and responsibilities, surviving the wat and being mated. Great. 

2) Feyre decides to get pregnant and Rhys goes along with it less than a year after the end of the bloody war. It is politically a delicate time, everyone is still not sure how the balance will shift, some countries don;t want to sign the peace treaty, etc. There are a lot of enemies and a lot of turmoil remaining. But sure. Let’s have a baby. Perfect time to add yet another target, another weakness that can be use by the Mortal Queens, Beron or whatever else with malicious intent towards the Night Court. 

2) Feyre gets pregnant after approximately a year of trying. I know healthy people of reproductive age for whom it takes ages more than this. Fae’s pregnancies are rare af and precious and happen once in a blue moon, but ofc SJM broke the world’s rules for her darling Feyre. And again, for Kallas and Vivianne who are also expecting the baby, even though it has been a maximum of 3 years since they’ve mated. 3 years is also not a particularly long time to try to have a baby for those who have issues with their reproductive systems like Fae women. Thank you, next. 

3) Rhys has unprotected sex with Feyre in her Illyrian form when she conceives, even though he knows full well having a winged baby would kill her. He does it anyway, for shits and giggles apparently. They probably have sex in the sky above Velaris, for all we know. 

4) The baby has wings. Now, the whole explanation with Illyrian wings being bony (bc they resemble bat wings) and Seraphin ones being more flexible (bc they resemble bird ones) is so insanely stupid that it takes around 3 seconds to wikipedia this shit and find out it’s exactly the opposite. But okay, the baby has wings and Feyre will die while giving birth, along with the baby. Madja forbids Feyre from turning into an Illyrian to carry the pregnancy because it MIGHT hurt the baby. Now, remember, Feyre conceived while in Illyrian form and then turned into High Fae. The baby survived it just fine. The baby MIGHT be hurt by Feyre turning .... but it will FOR SURE die if she stays High Fae and Feyre will too. Idk about you, but I would take the risk of MIGHT instead of FOR SURE. Especially when she is already in labour and dying. Cauldron or Nesta or idk who alters Feyre’s pelvis after the baby is cut out of her for no apparent reason but to allow feysand to make exactly the same mistakes later on. How convinient. And Nesta also alters her own pelvis bc god forbid she won’t be able give Cassian babies like the little useful mate she is now. She should’ve probably done it with Elain too, just in case she decides to fuck Az in the future, because fuck consequences and fuck the stakes in the story that make the readers actually CARE about characters bc they know the author may actually kill them and not save their life every fucking time.  

5) I don’t even want to comment on the fact Rhys hid the true danger of this pregnancy for Feyre and their family went along with it. It is absolutely disgusting. And Nesta telling her and that being condemned as the act of the ultimate cruelty which is a final straw to break her self-loathing back.... is abhorrent. It made my sick, actually, phisically sick. There is no justification for it. No at all. And the fact that they did not even consider abortion sends a message that I really don’t want to think too much about it. Feyre was 2 months along when they learned the baby is winged. 2 months. 8 weeks. It wasn’t a baby yet, let’s be honest. They could’ve at least discussed it. She - oh my god, I cannot believe SJM wrote it this way, I’m gonna be sick. 

6) For the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, they have no plan to really help her. Labour plan? Haven’t heard if it.  They have money and power and access to the healers of the whole land. And did not figure out how to stop her from bleeding out after a fucking C-section. THIS WORLD HAS MAGIC AND THEY COULDN’T STOP HER FROM BLEEDING OUT AFTER A FUCKING C-SECTION. Didn’t even ask Thesan, the High Lord of Healing, to be present. Cassian had guts hanging out of his stomach and survived. Az was fucking slashed apart in Hybern and survived. But yeah, Feyre was on a brink of death after a C-section. Great, Sarah. Keep it up. Let’s force the thought into young girls’ heads that labour is the most lethal thing ever, why not. 

7) Also, for the entirety of Feyre’s pregnancy, Rhys keeps quiet about this idiotic bargain. He, as far as we know, doesn’t make any plans for the moment when him and Feyre and possibly their baby are dead. If they died and baby survived.. who would take care of it? Does Rhys have a conversation with his family about it? NAH. Doesn’t write any sort of plan how to keep the Court going, doesn’t inform even the closest of his co-workers how they should proceed to act after he’s gone and his and Feyre’s power go to god-knows-who. Their deaths would mean a sure chaos for the weakend and fragile Prythian and the Night Court especially and yet nor Rhys nor Feyre make any sort of preparations for it. Rhys doesn’t tell his brothers or Mor or HIS SECOND IN COMMAND they will all soon have to somehow manage without him. He was about to just leave them to their own devices and told them in the last. possible. moment. 

And this man - this man is, according to Amren, the best candidate to handle the whole country? To unite it? This fool who makes idiotic bargains, who thinks first about his cock and his own selfish desires and considers his subjects and his responsibilities as a High Lord last and least important of all? Who has so much trust in his wife, in his High Lady, the mother of his son that he doesn’t tell her she will almost surely die on a birthing bed because it MAY UPSET HER? 

This plotline was the straw that broke my back. ACOTAR, at it’s heart has always been a ya fantasy with added ‘spice’ and I was willing to bend my critical-thinking skills in many cases and forget and forgive many smaller idiotic issues in this series. But this? It is not idiotic. It is massive and stupid to the point when it becomes insulting to the reader. It was a plot straight out of a bad fanfic, not something that should be in a published book written by someone who writes for a living. You could even argue that Twilight has handled this toxic trope better.  I have wasted my money on this book and thinking about it will always be painful for me. So yeah.

ACOSF could be great. Ended up quite pathetic. 

[i-need-air]

Hey, you can ignore this if you want. But, just a thought, hybrid Izuku? Like maybe he has a kinda bad past too, just because I live for the angst beginning to fluffy end.

Sorry it took me a couple of days to answer! I wanted to switch it up and I mainly had to think a way to make Izu work as a hybrid, so I decided to make him be a bunny hybrid [ blame his cute hero costume, srsly ] I ended up writing the small amount of 3.7k words somehow— [ listen, i get emotionally involved, ok??? 😭 ] I genuinely hope you like it! 💕

[ Masterlist ]

Hybrid!AU Bunny!Midoriya Izuku

× you looked at the man sitting in the corner of the cell, both petrified staring at each other

× his bunny ears were lowered, his green eyes widened in your direction

× all you could do was to stand still, shocked and without being able to even mask it

× he looked awful to say at least

× meanwhile the reception guy that accompanied you for a tour of the shelter whispered in your direction; "This one is in really bad shape. Very traumatized, poor soul..." he clicked his tongue before continuing "He's been sent here from another shelter cities away, I don't know much about him and he won't talk."

× you could not look away even if you tried

× the reason why you decided to pass by the shelter was because you offered to help voluntarily in the weekends as you had some free time

× you did read and hear horror stories about the shelters and the hybrids thrown in them, how underfunded they were, how bad the conditions there were and how little help they had but—

× even if you came prepared for the worst you got surprised with the state some of the hybrids were in

× specially this one; his name was on a plaque by his prison like cell— Midoriya Izuku

× he had bruises, cuts, his hands looked specially beaten up and scarred, his behavior was erratic, nervous, just a disaster...

× something deep inside told you to smile and show him you're no threat, so you did

× you introduced yourself and nodded your head, really trying to keep a calm composture but your heart hurt seeing him like that

× much to your surprise, he nodded back, still uncertain but didn't move from his place, far back in the cell

× you've been gently pushed away to continue the tour and to establish your tasks, all while being thanked for your kindness; you didn't know why you felt like throwing up at the indifference in the man's voice...

× there weren't many hybrids in the shelter anyway, yet you've gotten your scheduled hours in which you'd help clean and cook and as you left for the day after some introduction to those tasks; your mind still lingered on Midoriya Izuku even through the night, as his terrified eyes stole the sleep from you that same night

× the following two days you began your volunteering hours and always kept an eye for the hybrid; he was skittish and asocial even at lunch and dinner times, did not talk to any other hybrid and specially not to any worker there

× he caught your eyes multiple times whenever you'd be in his general proximity, yet you'd see him scurrying away instantly, which made you feel unease; you weren't any threat, really, so maybe with time...

× it's when you brought your own cleaning supplies [ because there were little to none ] and decided to help clean their "rooms", so called by the staff, when you firstly got to talk to him

× you reached his cell and he was reading an old book, probably borrowed from the small library they had; he snapped his eyes up when he heard you approach

× "Hello, Midoriya" you'd say gently, heart in your throat, really scared you'd frighten him

× he just nodded and looked away, not before giving your cleaning supplies a long look, knowing what's to come

× with his permission, he let you go inside as you started preparing everything to swipe the floors, putting the broom in a corner as you leaned down to pick some other stuff; what you didn't notice was how the broom was gently falling, almost about to hit you on the head

× the green-haired hybrid was on your side instantly, catching it; it would've been a small tap on your head and most out of the situation would've been you looking ridiculous but you chuckled at the scene and thanked him wholeheartedly

× smol bean blushed so hard you almost dropped everything in your hands at the sight; "N-no problem—" he stuttered, his voice sweet and shy 🥺

× he stood there fidgeting with the book in his hands watching you move around until you heard an unsure "Can I help you?" 🥺🥺

× you told him sure, if he'd like to, mainly worried he really didn't want you in his "territory" but the man took it as an invitation and—

× it didn't stop at his cell? he helped you all day???? you cleaned around together but not without an awkward air around both; which ngl it's funny bc he's staring whenever you talk to everyone, clean, help, so on; big round eyes are always on you;;; IF YOU LOOK THO, oops— "what an interesting wall right there!" - Midoriya, probably.

× it's from then that you notice a switch; whenever you're at the canteen, he's there offering to help, looking just as skittish as always but a small blush always on his face

× whenever you'd be playing with the younger hybrids he'd watch in awe bc you treat them so well

× exactly when he actually starts talking to you more too! he's in the impromptu playground with you and the few little ones when he suddently drops your name in a stutter and says you're kind-hearted

× you almost drop dead in the spot bc his look, man; you haven't seen him so sure of something until now and it did something to you

× it's been a month and hybrids came and got adopted, yet your new friend wasn't really getting any attention; he really acted terrified and you of course questioned his behavior; you knew nothing of his past but seeing the way he acted it could've been just awful

× as you started to slowly engage in larger conversations with Izuku, it's at the canteen that this time you've been caught staring; at his hands in particular

× he was helping you cook, which he really didn't know how to do but tried nonetheless just because he really enjoyed being around you [ or so you assumed, hopeful ]

× when he realizes where you're looking at, you almost dreaded him retracting from the situation like he used to do but he just looks down at them too and sighs

× "I was at a fighting ring—" he said, pursing his lips "—but I'm a rabbit hybrid... a prey... they used me as a punching bag."

× your heart rips in two as you're speechless; even if you tried to be careful with your movements not to spook the man, you could not help yourself by putting your hand on his

× and that's how Midoriya Izuku died, end of HCs 💀

× just kidding; he almost fainted, face fully red as his ears perked up, staring at you with big eyes yet did not move an inch

× and even if his face would've been adorable in any other situation, his words remained imprinted in your mind as you squeezed his hand in yours

× "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Izuku" you whispered back at him; he just nodded and blabbered something before continuing with the task clumsily

× boy is broken for the rest of the day, that's what I'm implying

× bad news got to you when you found out you couldn't go to the shelter anymore to help; your hours got increased at work and your shift was all over the place and even if you really did talk with your boss, it was decided that for now you had to adapt

× dread filled your gut when you realized you couldn't see Izuku anymore and with that you noticed how fond you grew of him, that's why you loathed the next visit there

× but— you really wanted to see him more; getting to spend time with him and helping around was what got you through the week...

× you told him slowly that same Saturday and it visibly broke him

× he tears up and tries to mask it as best as he can, yet he nods understanding

× "Will— Will I ever see you again?" the soft tremble in his voice shook you to the core

× "Of course. Every day, if you'd like." you blurted;;;;; he blinks at you, tears stopping just to have his head tilted to the side, ears flopping with the movement. "Would you like to come home with me?" you say, idea just popping in your head and balling it;

× he cries harder then he nods

× everything about your volunteering ceasing for the time was already filled in, you guys just needed to fill some paperwork for him, grab his little to no belongings and get the hell out

× small gym-bag in hand, i sweat to god, this man is overwhelmed with being outside

× stays glued to your side all the time, specially on busy streets towards your home

× once you feel him grab on your shirt just for precaution and you melt?? but let him have it

× once you arrived, you see tension leave his body as he smells his surroundings; mf drops a "It smells like you here" through a smile before realizing what he said and getting all flustered 💀

× sooo you move past that as you can and show him around, a spare bedroom not long ago used by your old roommate offered to him

× you only see his surprisingly muscled back as he enters the room and drops the gym-bag on the floor

× he slowly turns around to look at your face and fat ass tears run down his cheeks, not being able to say a word even if he tried

× hands-down the scene almost gives you a panic attack; he then asks if it's all for him and you assure him that indeed it is when he cries harder...

× ok, that again shreds your heart but it wouldn't be the last time

× like for example the moment of utter disbelief he threw at you when you asked him what he wanted to eat that night and he didn't know how to respond because nobody, ever, asked him; you got that as a response after asking if you said something wrong

× or the following Monday, when you suggested you went to do some shopping for him in the morning, since there wouldn't be many people and it would be calmer

× the look of awe in his face, istg...

× from then on he opens up pretty nicely too; it's such a refreshing sight to see him tell you about how he learned to use the computer, TV, phone— the sparks in his eyes whenever he talks of something new he learned? imagine it and now you've gained 20 more years of lifespan, you're very welcome

× such a soft cutie, i swear 🥺 always asks things about you and gives you the same sparkly eyes when he learns more about you

× it does take him some time to come out if his shell though

× you fastly realize he's a nerd; oops, but it's true, and definitely isn't a bad thing! he just really likes to learn about everything and anything and I feel he genuinely likes to tell you about those new facts

× i hope you like them bc when he learned new cool stuff he made a note to tell you about them bc he thought you'd find them cool too and—

× is very tidy and helps around the house, but when it comes to being social he just freezes

× you ask him if he'd like to go for walks and you see him itching to go out for some fresh air, although the thought of other people...

× with time and small walks around the neighborhood, he overcomes the fear as long as you're by his side

× will definitely want to go back to the shelter to volunteer even if you can't, but the fear of walking there just overtakes him again since he'd have to do it alone

× mentions it though

× his expression is so uneasy bc he feels like a burden

× maybe you could work around your schedule to take him there and pick him up? he genuinely loved giving a hand at the shelter so if you do, Izu would be so thankful

× in a few weeks he'd gain the confidence to walk alone

× one 💕adorable💕 thing he does without even thinking is jumping around you, or just in place

× "Today little Miya got adopted!" he'd say, hopping slightly in place "I could tell they were good people too! They had good intentions... just like when I saw you for the first tim—"

× so he mumbles without thinking;; and sometimes blurts out cute stuff like that but when he realizes what he's saying he gets very shy 🤭

× he has this fluff smol tail but we don't talk about it;;; no, no, it's too much for us, I promise you it's the cutest fucking thing you've seen in your whole existence and it moves a little bit and we all die here???? he hides it though, pft

× so fluffy we gonna dieeeee

× he steals your blankets

× hear me out, omg! he does!! if you have small blankets you just throw over yourself to stay on the couch or anything, sometimes they'd dissappear only to be found in his room; he's very sneaky about it but cracks under [the zero] pressure you put on him, leading him to say "It's because whenever you're not around, I like to have something close to me that smells like yOu! it makes me feel sAfe—" his voice cracks "BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO, I'LL STOP, I JUST—" he'd placate his hands instantly, apologizing

× tell him it's okay and now your hoodies are gone too lmfao

× he's a muscular guy too so consider buying really big ones just for him to wear;;; after you wore them;;;;;;

× says sorry a lot and that's a thing you have to work with a lot

× if he messes up something, he will apologize instantly; if you tell him to stop bc you don't mind he forgot to put the washing machine as he promised he will act like he's the worst

× as if he feared you'd get angry...

× i know it's a recurring topic but give him time

× whenever you both have free time and hang around the house, he'll be on the couch reading near you

× eyes you constantly and he's so obvious about it it's ridiculous; you can see him from the corner of your vision when he turns his head to check on you so through a smile you have to ask him if he needs anything

× what's fantastic is that he's getting over the point of being scared to speak out around you YET he stutters, blushing

× "N-no, nothing!" but he's observing your comfortable form with much interest

× "Wanna... cuddle with me?" [ 's not like you read about bunny hybrids and how they need skin contact which definitely didn't make you uwu and die in the spot bc that's so 🤧💕😭💘🥺 but you waited for him to show any signs that he'd want that; we're respectful like that, mhm ]

× his fluffy ear twitches

× shock, disbelief, blush

× it twitches again

× blushes harder then nods

× sksjdkdjd he's by your side instantly though with no idea of what to do

× good lord, he's so stiff; why don't you grab a blanket to throw it over both of you, hmm?

× he'd bury himself into it then into your arms and soon he'll find out being there is his favorite place in the galaxy

× since his mind drifted to galaxies, Izu then starts talking about constellations bc he's nervous

× so when you rub his back he melts into you with a happy sigh yet when your hand reaches his hair, almost about to touch the top of his head mindlessly as you hum at his words

× he flinches— then you stop to look down at him, catching him wide eyed staring into nothing

× you don't even know why you apologize; maybe his horrified face?

× but before you can form a full sentence he interrupts you

× "Don't apologize. It's not your fault—" he'd glue his eyes on you "I— I used to get bullied a lot back then... they'd pull my ears..."

× without any other explanation you take your hand away, placing it on his shoulders, mainly feeling out of place again; every time he speaks of his past, it just gets worse...

× "But! But I trust you, [Y/N]. I really do." and he leads your hand back to his head

× 🥺💕💕💕💕💕

× then, with convinced features, he drops his head on your chest and snuggles for some good seconds before it clicked to him

× now he's apologizing

× until you ruffle his hair and he just experiences bliss in real life

× massage his scalp and say goodbye to ever leaving his side, you're now in his firm grip until the end of time but who's complaining

× like he has no shame anymore, it feels that good

× he can hear your heartbeat, as fast as it is, and he snuggles further into you; it's his lullaby

× now let's get to business

× look: he's adorable, sweet, doting, cares about you and about hybrids, he's actively trying to get out of his shell, he's built but tender, couldn't hurt a fly;

× don't lie to yourself, you've got a big fat crush

× little did you know this guy right here liked you from the moment you introduced yourself to him, months prior

× the issue is Izuku is really insecure; after hearing his whole life that he's inferior to both humans and some hybrids, he started believing it

× and comments whenever you're outside with him do not help

× he has a spectacular hearing

× doesn't miss how people whisper about you two, even if you mind your own business doing whatever

× it's mostly older people, judgemental and disgusted with hybrids that call you a freak for having one, that call him an abomination

× he tries so hard to ignore them but his behavior changes back to his silent old self, yet this time he doesn't cower anymore although grips his pants until his scarred hands are white, not answering back to you if you talk

× you have to assume he's again uncomfortable outside so you suggest leaving, not sure how to behave

× he kinda snaps on your way back home when there's nobody around

× stops in the middle of the road, looking down, brow furrowed and trembling lips

× "Am I never going to be good enough for you?" he'd clench his teeth

× "Izu—, what...?"

× the determined glare he sends you stops you in your tracks

× "Because I want to be. I want to be better for you."

× 😳

× basically confesses in a dramatic way as he's overtaken with emotions then screeches bc oh no what if you don't feel the same so "I-It's okay if you don't feel the same! If you're uncomfortable I can move back to the shelter!! I'm so sorr—"

× smooch him pls????

× and share your feelings just to give him a stroke lmfao

× he'll take the initiative to grab your hand and walk home like that, the other on his face covering it

× peck his lips and he malfunctions every time

× but loves it

× be sure of this: after that night, he's so soft for you and won't hide it

× he's a creature of contact, meaning his fingers will linger on your form, he will seek your form, he will want to snuggle his face in your neck, he definitely will stare at your lips for too long bc he's still shy and embarrassed by his confession to make a move; smooch him pt. 2

× he's so— adorable; he finds himself in front of your bedroom door with your blanket in his arms and has an existential crisis

× you see his shadow at the small creak under the door and akfjaksj

× open the door and let him sleep with you ffs I'm having a stroke for him

× can he be the little spoon? or can you two hug face to face? it's just that 🥺 he feels safe with you like that, a feeling he's been always missing

× any time you're in his arms or vice-versa he breathes out as tension leaves his body; best place in the whole universe, no hesitation.

× he's a petty lil shit, let me tell you that, ok??

× someone flirts with you? lol k he's behind looking not intimidating at all but he's frowning, his ears are twitching and chest puffed

× takes your hand just to prove a point

× talking about his hands

× kiss them, caress them, anything

× he just... yes, pls, do that

× whenever you're not looking he's giving you the gentlest smile and even if you notice, his lips will curl even more before he throws a compliment at you

× pretty much likes your reactions bc he's always the one that's flustered the most between the two [ genuinely doesn't matter if you get flustered or not, he just tops that energy 100x more ]

× likes to know he has the same effect you have on him on a daily basis

× will try to find a job at something he's interested in and i definitely see him finding one at a library or something like that

× he enjoys the silence, completely different from his old loud and over the place life, and also loves books

× unrelated hc but i just imagined Izu whispering the words out loud whenever he reads without noticing it; his green eyes focused in the book, face concentrated and ears low to not get in his field of vision; want to make him happy? listen to him and when he finally notices you, tell him to go on~

× he's the embodiment of akfwpdkslfjjwj 💕

× honestly your life with him is peaceful

× the way he loves is gentle, really sweet and it all revolves about peace in your household

× he adores you to no end and thanks you for helping him improve himself

× and getting him out of a life without a goal or purpose

× gets out of his way to help you, always you and wants to prove he's good enough

× he already is and you better tell him

× give this baby all the love he deserves and you'll get just as much in return

× I'm soft for him oml 💘

[ohheyitsokay]

opening weekend

part 1 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 1.9k

warnings: none (yet)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! That no one but me and @beautyagegoodnesssize asked for but I’m telling you... just give it a try. Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, the groundwork for the series is laid: Frankie is a catcher, and your grandpa is the biggest fan of his team.

>>

It was a beautiful day for a baseball game.

The sun was warm on the back of you neck and it was the bottom of the fourth. It was loud with chatter and announcements, music and cheers, and there were flashing advertisements and seas of merchandise – a typical opening weekend. If you were being honest, it wasn’t really your thing. Or it was, but it shouldn’t have been.

The man beside you was beaming with absolute joy, barely sitting as he leaned forward eagerly as if hoping desperately that it would bring him onto the field with the players.

It was always like this, every few weeks, every summer for years. His name was James, and years and years ago you’d grown close and he’d shared the single constant in his life: the game, and his team. It became your way to stay close, throughout all the chaos of the world, you always made time to make it to as many home games as you could to sit by his side and hear his stories and soak up the wonder in his eyes as he watched the ball and the bats and the sun on the grass. Season passes were his gift to you every year, and today was more exciting than normal, because it was finally time to pay him back.

He loved this team. Of course, it was constantly changing, but for such an old man, he could remember all their names and numbers and statistics. He collected the cards and loved the boys so much it was almost like they were his grandkids.

“No autographs,” he would tell you. “They’re already giving us their best, who are we to ask for more?” and you would melt a little, inside. He was careful not to idolize them, clicking his tongue when bad headlines would come out, constantly reminding you they were just humans, “Just boys! Leave them alone! They’re figuring it out,” he’d say, angrily. It made you laugh, how much he cared about them, and it warmed you heart.

“You want some nachos, Jimbo?”you asked, standing as the ads played and the mascots ran out into the field for extra entertainment. “They’ve got some picked jalapeños with your name on ‘em.” He squinted up at you and you shifted, blocking the sun from his sweet, wrinkled face. A nod and a smile was all you needed before you caught his hand, reminding him to let you pay. You shuffled towards the steps, trying to avoid the drinks and snacks and knees of the people in your row, whispering excuse me’s and apologies. Once you made it to the outsides of the arena, you ducked behind one of the looking pillars, checking your phone before making your way to the quieter, less commercialized area. A security guard checked your phone and ID, and you were ushered into a large office, show awards and photos and expensive amenities filling it to the brim. A man was leaning against a impossibly giant desk, an air of hurry about him, and he shook your hand.

After hasty introductions, you jogged his memory, reminding him that you had submitted an application and been chosen by the board to have your grandfather honored by the team, and today was the day.

He nodded absentmindedly and began to wave you off, ears listening to other words, you were sure. They assured you a team of security would come and escort him to the meeting area when it was time and you said quick thank-you's before stopping.

“Sir, one last thing,” you stood your ground against the rush, determined to be heard. “He’s not just a crazy fan, he’s a sweet old man. I know this is routine for you guys but…” finally, the man in the suit met your eyes. “Please remember how special this is to him.” And he nodded, a swallow pushing down his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but this was important to you.

As you walked back, you got the biggest tray of nachos you could find, and tried not to trip over your own shoes.

It was a beautiful day.

-

Frankie was hot and sweaty and tired and having a great time. It was the first real game of the season and he hadn’t gotten sick of the noise… Just yet. People were cheering, spirits were high, and for now, Santi was pitching right into his glove.

Just outside the dugout, he and the others paused, hearing the announcer powering up for something unique. Normally, they tuned it all out, but for these, it was basically required that they pay attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today with us we have a very special –” he blared, but it faded to the background. Francisco had been told, with everyone this morning, that the board had chosen a submission of a dedicated fan to honor, someone they’d all have to say hello to, but he hadn’t expected… this.

All over the screens around him and front and center of the megatron was a shocked but beaming elderly man. He wasn’t screaming, or decked head to toe in merch, just smiling, with a tshirt design Frankie barely recognized from years and years ago. It had been washed enough times the team’s logo was barely visible, and that alone was awesome. More importantly, he was tugging at the hand of the most beautiful woman Frankie had maybe ever seen.

Of course, he’d seen lots of beautiful people, it was one of the stranger side effects of his job, but you… were something else. Maybe it was the joy on your face as you nodded, eyes fixed on your grandfather, maybe it was the way the sunlight was hitting your hair just right either way, his heart did a little flip in his chest, and on his shoulders the padding felt suddenly light. He was at loathe to put on his helmet, knowing the face cage would obstruct his view of you, but then you were gone, the ads replacing your face, and one of his friends was giving him a shove towards his corner.

It wasn’t until a ball was mere feet from his face that he remembered he was supposed to be catching it.

Catch, catch, walk, sit, swing, hit, run, walk, sit. Repeat.

And then in a daze, he was making his way to the locker room, with a crowd of trudging cleats and sweaty scents, the roar of the crowds behind him.

Claps on shoulders, showers, and banter passed, and they all filed like sheep into a big, open room. The energy was different, though, less strained than it might have been, if it were an obsessive teenager, or an arrogant know it all.

Frankie’s ear pricked when he heard one of his teammates say, “Hope that girl comes along, she was hot,” all jokes and winks and maybe a crude hand motion or two. There was a twist in his gut, which was absolutely ridiculous, but he didn’t have time to ponder it, because suddenly the door was opening again and there you were.

The main event, of course, was the kindly man at your side, and Frankie tried to seem natural and he strained to see around his friends.

The news reporter was chattering, and he was vaguely aware that everyone was watching the manager give his speech – everyone but him and you. He watched, transfixed, as you tenderly tucked your abuelo's hand into your elbow.

Frankie was busy thinking he’d never quite felt so comfortable in this room before, never seen someone who made him wish he was at the front of the crowd, when your eyes were suddenly in his.

You gave him a half-smile and your fingers wiggled in the tiniest of waves.

It was just for him, not everyone else, and Frankie gulped, too pleased and too shocked to react properly.

When it was his turn to talk to the pair of you, Frankie felt more nervous than he had this morning, walking onto the field. He didn’t even know your name – something he begrudged the staff – and yet he was somehow aching to make a good impression, on you both. But then your abuelito stole his hat and ruffled his hair and he was grinning, and it was a beautiful day.

When he walked back to the lockers, he was pretty sure his heart stayed right in that room, somewhere next to a beaming little old man.

-

The two of you went separate ways but not at all the same as you’d been that morning.

Frankie ducked out of the after party at Tom's bnb. The boys were rambunctious and loud and more importantly they kept talking about you and he just didn’t want to hear any of it.

The memory of the little wave of your hand was burrowing into his chest, into his stomach, feeding him like food after a long, hot summer day.

Santiago’s footsteps were familiar, even off the sand and the grass of the field. His hand was warm on Frankie’s shoulder, pulling him slowly back to reality.

“Everything okay, hermano?” His voice was equal parts genuine and teasing.

Frankie shrugged. What could he say? He didn’t even know your name, and even if he did, so what? It's not like his mind had already created a scenario in which he'd chased after you in the long, curved corridors and you had beamed, happy to see him, and touched his hand with yours.

It’s not like he was kicking himself for letting you walk out the door without trying, anything. Not like he hated hearing the other guys joke about how innocent and sweet you looked. He certainly couldn’t explain how possessive he felt over a girl he’d only sort of met.

So he ignored the thump in his chest and just looked a the stars and shrugged.

As for you, James was seated next to you, trying to start sentences and getting overwhelmed with joy. Your hands slid over the steering wheel, listening to him as much as you could, filling in the ends, mind still on the handsome player who’s eyes  had followed you through from over the sea shoulders and hats.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” he asked, pulling you back to reality.

You hummed noncommittally in response. Lying to him was absolutely out of the question so you pondered your options, while he watched you, amused.

“What’s the name of the catcher?” you asked, finally, feeling heat in your face as you remembers his broad shoulders and the twitch in his hands.

His laugh was adorable and mischievous and you felt almost silly. You weren’t a little girl watching t-ball, after all, that was a real, actual man.

A real man with dark, deep eyes, and tan skin and fluffy curls.

You shook your head.

“Never… mind.” He was also undoubtedly also a man with a life and a girlfriend or wife, and no lingering thoughts of you.

James laughed again and dropped the subject.

But you walked him into his home and he grasped your hand with newfound determination. He winked and whispered and you felt a thump in your chest.

“Francisco Morales.”

>>

translations:

abluelo: grandfather

abuelito: literally, little grandfather, it’s affectionate 

hermano: brother

>>

taglist: @fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[yandere-wishes]

𝕊𝕖𝕝𝕗-𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 🐚Yandere! leviathan X Reader🐚

I’m trying out a new writing style, so please let me know what you think! This story is rather abstract and switches a bit between reader POV and Leviathan’s POV.

WARNINGS: VERY DARK, suicidal themes, self harm, mild gore, verbal abuse, self-hatred, objectification and cursing.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ, ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀʏɪɴɢ: "ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ ʀᴇᴘᴇʟꜱ". ʙᴜᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɢɪᴄ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʀᴇꜱᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟᴅᴏᴍ?

The two of you were the same, cut from the exact same depressing, aversion cloth. 

The two of you were mangled disjointed creatures with lanky brittle bones made up of self-loathing and mismatched hatred. Broken from displaced frustration and indecent, vulgar tendencies, that no one could snuff out of either of you. 

Instead of guts and intestines both you, the lowly human, and him, the feared sea serpent, had long strings of pity that coiled inside your stomachs.

Eyes as green as the ripest emerald blinded by endless, unchecked envy towards all things that so much as breathed.

Rotting pink brains filled with nothing but depressive thoughts and screeching banshee-like voices that never seem to cease. 

Yes, you and Leviathan were the exact same thing...

There's a certain aroma that floats and flocks around a person with such low regard for themselves. Where ever you walked a thick suffocating cloud of despair followed like a lost limping mutt. Pure unaltered self-disgust rolls off you like waves in the middle of a storm.

This is one of the things Leviathan loves about you, the intoxicating saddening aura that you wear like the finest perfumes. Although if caught like a deer in headlights, the sea serpent would just lie through his shark-like teeth and make some remarks about your pretty smile or shiny eyes. 

Truth is, he HATES when you smile. Hated when hope and joy and all things bright and good twinkle in your eyes like the flicker of a newborn star. 

Oh no, you're all so much prettier when you frown, when you look like your lust for life is all died out. When your eyes twinkle with that sort of sweet despair like all your hope has gotten engulfed by a black hole. 

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

There's something wrong with you. You don't know what, but it's there, you can feel it everywhere you go. 

Maybe it's the repulsive way your skin is stretched so suffocatingly thin across your bones. Or maybe it's the way you pick at your open scars, digging deeper and deeper past blazing red tissue until it starts to bleed again. 

Whatever it is you aren't sure, but something is most definitely wrong with you. 

maybe that's why, on a particularly bad, paranoid day, you finally decide to just end it. 

Although it's never that simple is it?

There's something no one ever tells you about the cessation of life. A mysterious negative hour that happens just as the last atom of oxygen is departing from your lungs. A negative one, a negative two, and if you get expressly unlucky than also a negative three. This is usually when you start to wonder if you did it right, if the rope is too loose or hung too low. The dam of reality breaks and all uncertainty pours through with no real regard for what it's destroying. Are you're really still alive? Or is this some post-mortem induced dream? Everything makes about as much sense as when you were alive, only now it's foggy and ambiguous and all so distant like a far off dream...

It's also the time when every good memory comes rushing back, spilling carelessly akin to the blood gushing from the vain you slashed a month ago. You're dying far too slowly and all too semi-lucidly.

This is far from how you thought your escape plan would go.

The plan shatters even more when you actually open your eyes again and realize that you're no longer dangling from the ceiling. Instead, you're wrapped in some sort of lukewarm blanket, trapped between glacial white walls that bite at your fingers why you try to push them away.

And staring down at you with a sort of raw envy that your human mind couldn't fabricate, was non other than the third born himself.

Up to this day you still don't know who saved you, the seven brothers treat the whole ordeal like Pandora's box, tucking it under volts of diamond and throwing the key into the abyss. As long as it stays out of sight, out of tongue's reach and ears range then it'll surely be out of mind. Everything will be just fine so long as lord Diavolo doesn't hear what happened to the precious little human. Everything is just fine if everyone ignores it.

Personally, you don't mind the outcome. You're restrained to Levi's room, being under his watch and alleged "care" for all hours of the day. It's to keep you safe Lucifer assures, although your own guilt likes to twist the words into something more like, "It's to get rid of a nuisance".

Either which way life starts to escalate just a tiny bit.

Funny how even self-loathing and inner hatred seem to fade away when there's someone to share the pain with.

Soon it's no longer "I wish I could die" or "why can't I just be God damn good enough!"

but rather "We seriously should split a suicide built" and "Wouldn't it be fun if we both dive off a cliff head first into lava?"

With someone just as aggravated and self-destructive as yourself, things start to look up...that is until you do the unforgivable, at least so it's written in Levi's demented book. 

You step too far, you start to ask things, start to pry into things that shouldn't matter to you.

And then you do it, the worst of the worst, you smile...

Straight after asking him such a revolting sincere question

"What do you think about life?" 

It's meant to be rhetorical, you TRY to make it sound rhetorical. But any social norms or form of sarcasm goes over Levi's head like the basketballs he's never able to catch. His attention snaps to you, like a snake being alerted that a predator is a near...or prey, again it's really impossible to tell.

 His neck cranes at an odd angle as his tail curls inwards. For a split millisecond, you can swear on your almost grave that you see his tongue dart out before zipping back into his toothy mouth. Predator, he definitely sees you as a predator.

"Baby, not much...I-i want to die"

Time doesn't stop, not even when all understanding and logic have tipped their hats at the door and disappeared into the great beyond. Leviathan's slit eyes stare at you, behind all the pain and broken anger, for just an instant you think you see the fragments of understanding shine, brighter than the never setting moon. 

He's just like you, 

You're just like him,

That's when the trouble creeps over. The corners of your mouth take a turn upwards and push your cheeks back, making way for a grin. It's faint and ghostly at best...up it's there.

It just has to be there....

That godforsaken satisfied smile. 

When you're attention flicker's to Levi again you notice his arm pulling back, throwing the controller across the room with anger worst than anything Satan could summon upon his worst day. 

"Don't fucking do that!"

You're stoned in place, eyes too scared to move from the sea snake, what went wrong? Why does something always go wrong?

"D-do what..?" 

It's not your fault that you're voice shakes and breaks, not your fault that the room starts to spiral out of control. It's his fault, all his fault...but is anything ever really his fault?

"Don't look happy! Or hopeful! You look so freaking ugly when you smile!"

His voice is shockingly low, like a mother trying to get her child to settle down after a tantrum. He's borderline cooing at you to "act" properly again. Never the less the venom and disgust are steel audible, glittering like a silver lining.

For once though it's not worth it to stop smiling, all the screams and yells and depravities of the world can't erase this smile from your face.

"Six thousand-year-old demon and you actually dream of death rather than eternal hell on earth or torturing the damned? You really are a broken one Leviathan."

The blue-haired sea monster just shrugs in reply before slithering closer, wrapping his slender bony arms around your waist, they feel like Thamnophis coiling around your midsection, sinking into your flesh. His heavy head falls onto your lap, you can practically hear all the outcries of jealousy and cries of purified agony. 

"What can I say...we're both two disgusting broken things that have no right to live or any claim to happiness...but well, fuck happiness who needs it...right?

Yeah, who needs a thing that only creeps into the heart under perfect circumstances and that floats away at the drop of a feather, who needs happiness and joy, when the two of you can forevermore rot in your own envy and depression....together.

Always together

Rotting forever.

"Right...screw happiness and all it's stupid worth."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

[jademight]

THE THINKIN’ JOE FIXIT - ONE NIGHT ONLY.

     Alright, he’ll admit it, it hadn’t been the smoothest of rides for this here troupe of theirs     

    He could say he had nothing to do with it. Innocent ol’ Joe, just the way Auntie Elaine liked him. He could-- But that would make him a liar. And Auntie Elaine abhorred a liar.

     Yeah, that was the thing about introspection, you see, its got an addictive quality to it. Thinkin’, musin’, ponderin’. He’s starting to get why there are so many philosophers, everyone liked to yak their yap, and he certainly was someone. 

     Earliest days were the roughest, you see. A gaggle of Hulks, each trying to butt in and swing their weight. Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. ( He wasn’t a saint just for his good looks, hallelujah.)  He’s sure there were the three of them, then, before the guests. All of them must have died out now, if not dormant. Someone should get Al to do a headcount.

     Hell, he’s pretty sure he copped the grey thing from the Big Guy. Finder’s keepers, no refunds. 

     Where was he-- Ah, right. See, Banner was a bookworm through and through, just where oh where did he get the guts to survive out there? He’ll claim he cannot remember, that those days were too much of a blur to make sense out of. That desperation made criminals out of them all. 

     Yeah, you and me both, sweetheart. 

     It ain’t no secret that he hadn’t been the biggest fan of Glasses (shit-- did he still wear those?), Banner hated him, and he in turn hated Banner. It was easier, then, to hate, to be angry. Story of their life, eh, Stan? 

     Funny how facing one’s immortality makes them introspective. 

     Yeah, they all spent so long hating each other. Trying to get rid of each other. Hell, succeeding a few times until separation anxiety (or the literal hand of god) kicked in. Self-loathing was their lot in life, such as it was. But now-- Shit, having a pissing contest with the Capital G Itself will leave one open to change. Where did it leave them now? Well, Big Daddy’s got the reins again, sure he’s thrilled about it. Yours truly Saint Joey himself is taking care of the Kid, lord knows (not that one) he needs it. Better to keep him in, he’s suffered enough out there, and as for Banner--

     Well, he doesn’t hate him anymore, he’ll say that much. All those years of Samson’s piss poor attempts at therapy, and he ain’t even the reason for their big breakthrough. Someone get the guy a bleedin’ Nobel Peace Price. 

     All this to say-- Perhaps the Kid had a point. Banner may be puny, a fool, a coward, hate himself more than he hated any of the others, but-- Ah, fuck, at the end of the day he was just as much a Hulk as the rest of them.

     Hulks should forgive other Hulks. We ain’t got nobody else. 

[orionwhispers]

Sweet Disaster// Tommy Shelby

(A/N - hello. so basically, i had a dream about chris evans, and then i modified it into this tommy imagine. it was supposed to be a drabble but i physically cannot write anything less than 12k words so thats great. honestly this is very similar to ‘fools gold’ but hey, im in the mood for some angsty fluff and fighting with our main guy tom. next tommy imagine will be the lolita wedding and that will be the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. thanks for everything, PLS let me know what u think. see you soon! stay safe!) 

trigger warnings: fighting, tommy being a douche, everyone being a dumbass, tommy getting jealous and implied sex.

You saw him on a Saturday night, at a bar on the outskirts of the city.

It had been three months, and you had hoped you would have managed to slip through the cracks; pass through the night like the foxes that roamed in the back alleys - but you had never been that lucky, especially not when he was involved.

It was your friend’s birthday, and you tipped back glass after glass of expensive champagne that bubbled and burned at the back of your throat. The lights were blinding, twinkling chandeliers and the smell of cigarettes and french perfume, something like bergamot and vanilla, lingering in the air.

Your dress was cherry red, your hair tied back with a sequinned headband and your lips and cheeks painted in rouge, but you had never felt so awful. It had been bad enough trying to find something to wear, the contents of your wardrobe tipped all over your floor, a mess of mesh and feather and lace, almost everything reminding you of him, as if he had been stitched right into the fabric. You had ended up curled in a ball on the floor, wiping your tears with the Chanel blouse he had bought back from a business trip in Paris.

Stupid fucking boys.

You could hear the girls talking around you, high pitched giggles and exaggerated voices as they gossiped about something or other that faded into static around you. You had spent the past three months holed up in your flat, only leaving for work or the street market on Sunday, stocking up with bread and wine and cheese, everything carb filled and rich to fill the hole in your heart. 

You weren’t used to the company of others or the hustle and bustle of a crowded room, and you sat back against the plush cherry velvet seats, dreaming of climbing into bed and devouring the slab of dark chocolate you had been saving.

Your close friend Emma, the one who knew the reason you were staring into space and not laughing and drinking with the rest of the girls, placed a manicured hand on your shoulder, and tilted her head slightly.

“How are you holding up?”

You snapped out of your trance.“I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m not much fun right now.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed you lightly, her voice as soft and playful as ever. “At least you came out! It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Yeah - I’m sure everyone missed having me bawl like a baby and mope around.”

She elbowed you, “Stop bloody feeling sorry for yourself and have a shot! Christ! You can spend the rest of the week wrapped up in your duvet, but tonight - suck it up, and have a drink!”

She handed you a glass of something dark, and you brought it to your lips, tipping it into your throat with a wince. It felt as though you were drinking petrol.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. All that matters is that it’s top shelf and it came from those fellas over there.” She pointed towards a group of men huddled around the bar. They were shooting quick glances and sly winks towards you and your friends. Sure they were relatively attractive, most likely handsomely rich and dressed in suits that looked finely tailored - but they made your skin crawl.

You hated the way that you would always be comparing other men to him, and you especially hated how they would always come up short.

An hour later and whatever liquor was coursing through your bloodstream had done its job, and everything seemed infinitely brighter. You even found yourself laughing at jokes and stories that you only caught halfway through, the alcohol wonderfully dizzying your brain.

You were so caught up in the rush of being drunk and finally feeling somewhat happy for the first time in forever; that you didn’t realise you had caught the attention of one of the men across the bar. You felt him sidle in next to you, following his friends who had snaked their way into your booth, their arms slung around the girls shoulders, whispering sweet little sentiments into their ears.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked, so close to you that you could smell the sour whiskey on his tongue, your nose wrinkling.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Perhaps you had spent so long being ‘Tommy Shelby's girl’ that you had forgotten what it was like when you were being hit on. You had spent so many nights safely tucked under his arm, his hands possessively wrapped around your body, an unspoken threat sent out to everyone and anyone around you - it had been a long time since a man had tried his luck with you.

Perhaps you were so infatuated with him that you never noticed anybody else. Your mind forever filled with visions of oceanic eyes and three piece suits, his Birmingham accent ringing through your ears like a gospel. He invaded all of your thoughts and infiltrated your dreams, and you loathed and loved him for it. The way that he filled your brain and heart like smoke, clouding your decisions and judgments, like some kind of magical elixir, blurring everything but the shape of him.

The man beside you didn’t concede. He cleared his throat, running a finger over the rim of your glass, ignoring the way your eyebrows furrowed and lip curled.

“Let me get you a drink, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

It sounded so wrong. It was never pretty girl. It was - darling, sweetheart, princess. It was - my love, honey, kitten. It was said teasingly and exasperatedly, it was whispered in your ear and buried into the space between your thighs. It was never said in the sticky corner of a club, from the greedy mouth of a stranger undressing you with his eyes.

“I’m - ” Taken. But you weren’t, not anymore, and you hated the way the thought of him made your lip wobble. It’s had been three goddamn months, why did the memory of him still make your body go up in flames?

Emma stiffened beside you, waving a dismissive hand at the gentleman speaking to her, and turned to face you and your unmoving suitor.

“We’re alright here, love. Thanks.”

A flicker of annoyance. His fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white, his tongue running across the ridge of his front teeth. He obviously didn’t take rejection well, and he was doing a shitty job at hiding it.

“Are you sure? It looks like she could do with another drink.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes rolling back at the way he dismissed you and spoke as though you were incapable of thinking for yourself.

“I’m fine.” Your words were curt and clipped, a clear indication of your disinterest, but he refused to back down.

“You shouldn’t be here all alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Really? What kind of man would leave a pretty little thing like you all by herself?”

“The kind of man that would punch you in the fucking teeth for speaking to her like that.”

You froze.

Oh Christ.

A million irreverent, evil, blasphemous phrases hurtled inside of your mind, and you knew that if Polly somehow ever caught wind of what you were thinking, you would be on the receiving end of a sharp slap around the head.

He was here. Of bloody course he was. He had a knack for showing up out of the blue and knocking all of the wind from your lungs.

It hurt like an open wound, feeling his eyes on you, the same ones that had looked at you with love and humour and gentleness, and not being able to fully meet his gaze - knowing just how much it would hurt if you did.

“She’s with me.”

His voice was firm, laced with the same sort of dismissive irritability he used to use whenever somebody tried their luck with you. This time was different however, you couldn’t roll your eyes and kiss him, you couldn’t put your head in the crook of his neck or mutter that you were his under the golden chandeliers, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore, because you weren’t.

The man seemed pick up on the tension, clicking his tongue slyly, unaware of the consequences his words would have. “Doesn’t seem like she is.”

“Get the fuck out.”

The penny must have dropped for the rest of the boys. The booth going silent as they realised just who the handsome shadowy figure towering over them was. You felt them slowly inch away, head down and gazes low, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. A few hushed mumbles of “holy shit! That’s Tommy Shelby! One of those blinders!” hurtling around the tables beside you, not completely drowned out by clatter of the jazz band.

“I have every right to be here.” The ballsy stranger said, stiffening up beside you. His spine curled as he tried to make himself bigger. “Who says I have to leave?”

You huffed at his words, exhaling like a balloon. “That’s enough.” You didn’t want to cause a scene. You were exhausted, the night taking such a sudden turn you felt like you had whiplash, and the alcohol sat deep in your gut like a rock. You just wanted to get home, away from the man you wanted so badly your fingers ached to hold him, and crawl into your bed with your cat and a mountain of chocolate.

“Well, considering I own the fucking place, I think that I do - and if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

That seemed to do it.

You kept your eyes focused on the mans paling face, the grim look washing over him like salty sea air, you didn't dare turn and face the man you could feel burning holes in your neck.

“I.. I...” The man spluttered almost incoherently, rising to his feet and stumbling out from beside you. From behind you you heard Emma giggling coyly into her glass. “Sorry.” He mumbled quickly, his knees buckling when Tommy clapped a hand around his shoulder, holding him in place like a dog.

Tommy’s voice was still, almost too controlled, and you knew that his words were deadly. “If I see you around these parts again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your skull.”

He gulped and nodded, darting into the sea of bodies in the crowd.

You kept your eyes low. Fumbling with the pearl clasps of your purse you squeezed Emma’s hand in parting and rose to your feet, wanting to leave as painlessly as possible, not even daring to look up at the face staring you down.

“I should go.” Was all you said, sliding out of the booth and onto the marbled floor. You saw the way the rest of the girls were watching the scene unfold before them, and you knew that by Monday you would have a lot of questions to answer, but right now you needed nothing but the safety of your flat.

You didn’t even let your shoulders brush against him. You coiled around him like a snake, your feet moving so fast your embroidered shoes were nothing but a blur of scarlet. You only made it to the hallway, he let you go far enough that you were in private before he reached for you, a familiar, large hand curving around the dip in your shoulder. You hated the way your body reacted, goosebumps rising to his touch unconsciously.

“(Y/N), wait.”

Your name on his tongue was sweeter than honey and richer than wine, it sounded so right that it hurt. It had been so long since you had heard him call you by your name, so long since he had spoken to you that your gut was twisting inside of you, your whole body aching for him to do nothing but repeat that word like a mantra.

You inhaled, thinking of a way out. It was too dangerous, you were playing with fire and you couldn’t get burnt, not again.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t know, it’s Jessica’s birthday and we - ” You hated how you stumbled over your words. You had never felt so uncomfortable around him and it made your skin crawl. You had kissed him under the stars, laughed with him in the corner of a private party, made love to him in every room of his fucking mansion, and now he felt like a stranger.

You knew what he looked like when he woke up, with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair. You knew what he looked like when had spent the night doing something unholy, you had cleaned his knuckles and kissed his wounds as you sat pressed up against him in the tub, his hands wrapped around your waist. You’d stood by his side, your hands intertwined in the middle of some expansive ballroom, and listened to him sweet-talk his way into a new business deal, all the while stroking his thumb over yours. You had seen him vulnerable, pulling you so close to his chest that it was like you were bound together, whispering to you how he loved you, how he couldn’t live without you.

But he still let you go.

He moved in front of you, leaving you with no choice but to meet his eyes. He looked good, but that was a given, he always did, no matter the circumstances. He looked so... soft. He always seemed that way around you, his eyes getting a little bit kinder, the harshness of his words dipped in sugar, even the sharpness of his jaw looked inviting and gentle, practically begging you to wrap your palm around it.

You bit your tongue. You were being ridiculous. You were seeing things that weren’t there. It was over between the two of you, he had made that very clear. You were grasping at straws and all it was going to do was hurt you.

He spoke suddenly, his thick accent cutting through the silence that felt so loud. “It’s alright. Only really been ours since last night, there were... problems with the last owners.”

Despite everything you felt the ghost of a smile tugging on the edge of your lips, immediately knowing what ‘problems’ he was referring to.

“Arthur?” You asked.

“Yes.” He said with a small grin. “Arthur.”

A moment passed. The air around you feeling all too hot and all to cold at once. It had been a long time since you had seen one another, and both of you were caught up in appreciating such familiar beauty up close. You had missed the small things about him, like the slight curl of his hair and the veins in his neck, you could remember running your lips across the curve and dip of his throat.

You were treading in dangerous waters. It wouldn’t be long until the current pulled you under, and you weren’t quite sure how much longer you could keep a rational mind. You inhaled, flittering your eyes to meet his in some kind of signal of parting, pulling your clutch tighter to your body as an attempt to keep yourself grounded. “I should go. It was good to see you, Tommy.”

You spun on your heel, heading for the large golden doors that led outside. Fresh air would clear your mind, the stars and the velvet night would be good for clearing out all of the junk rattling around in your skull, but you barely got two steps forward before he spoke, already knowing his next words before he even opened his mouth.

“Let me drive you home.”

He spoke so surely, addressing you the way he would one of his brothers or Johnny, as if he knew what was best for you. Once upon a time you would have believed that he did, let him grasp you by the wrists and drag you to the end of the world if he asked nicely, those fucking baby blues and pink lips dulling any warning sirens in your head.

Even now, after everything, you knew that he would never put you in danger, that he would always protect you. And it was with the knowledge of that striking your heart like lightning, you knew that you were still hopelessly, undoubtedly in love with him - not that you ever thought differently, but you had done a damned good job of pushing your feelings away.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” He said, “and I wouldn’t even let you out on those fucking streets by yourself stone cold sober.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m not drunk, and you don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m driving you home.”

You looked up at him through your painted lashes, disarming him in a million different ways you didn’t even realise. You were oblivious to the fact that his breath felt trapped in his lungs.“You and I both know that’s not a good idea, Tommy.”

“Cmon. Get your things.”

You sidestepped away, pushing the bottom of your heel deeper into the champagne coloured carpet. “No Tommy, I’m not a child! I don’t need your help.”

He rolled his eyes, something akin to fond exasperation rising to his cheeks. You felt your heart drop and flutter like it was a sparrow inside of you, you had never thought you would see that face again, and it hurt how something so simple could twist and mould you in his hands like clay.

He pressed his hands to the small of your back, pushing you forward.

“I don’t care if you don’t want my help. I’m doing it anyway.”

You huffed. Too tired and drunk and confused to put up a real fight.“Fine.” He smiled coyly and his smug attitude made you click your teeth, running a hand through the curls in your hair, not stopping the childish retort on the edge of your tongue. “Prick.”

You felt his hand swat at you, dangerously close to the hem of your dress and you were certain that your cheeks were the same colour as the candles flickering on the tables below. It was such a playful, tender thing to do, and so horribly familiar - memories of his hands on you, pinching and teasing and digging in, a way of communicating without words, something so intimate and personal, something that only the two of you knew.

You wondered if he felt the same way. You wondered if he was reminded of the past, of peach moons and starlight kisses and strawberry lipstick, but as always he remained impassive, as poker faced as always as he strolled down the hall, pushing open the wide brass doors and waiting for you to pass through, him trailing behind you, like always.

———————————————————————

Through your hazy eyes the moon almost looked pink, like a spotlight shining down on you, illuminating the both of you as Tommy’s car purred down the streets, like a black cat stalking under the cover of darkness.

It smelt like him.

Like cigarettes and sin and mint and woodsmoke. You were reminded of driving at midnight with the windows down, his hand wrapped around your thigh, his eyes anywhere but the road. You thought of sticky skin and leather seats and the smell of sex, breathless little laughs and the feel of his teeth biting down on your top lip.

You stared at the polish on your fingernails, hoping for some kind of distraction from the man beside you. It wasn’t far to your flat, and you prayed that the drive home would be as hitch free as possible.

“Had a good night?” Tommy asked, looking over at you from behind the wheel. He’s not even sure what he’s saying, his usually mechanical brain almost short circuiting because you’re finally next to him again. Words and phrases seem tasteless and meaningless, but he wants to savour as much of you as he can. He knows it makes him hypocritical, especially given everything he’s put you through, but he’s never really been very conventional with his love.

“It was alright.”

“Friends from work?”

“Yeah. It was Jessica’s birthday, she wanted to get drunk, you know how it can be.”

“And that...that man - ?” He cleared his throat, hoping that his words came off breezier than they sounded in his head, pretending as if the thought of you with somebody else didn’t feel like a noose around his neck. “Who was he?”

“Just some stupid twat.”

Your words weren’t doing much to quell the fiery flicker of anger inside of him, half of his brain telling him to turn the car around and put a razor blade through the fuckers eye - but one glance over at your sleepy, beautiful face and all of his jealousy fades into mere smoke.

None of it matters.

Nothing will ever matter more than you.

“I shouldn’t have even been out tonight, but Emma practically dragged me.”

Emma. The name rings a bell. He flips through a mental picture book of everyone you’ve spoken about, and finally lands on the glamorous, dark skinned, velvet haired vixen that you called your best friend.

Memories come flooding back.

The nights you would spend with her when he was too busy with work. How in the darkness of his office with nothing but an empty feeling in his chest and glass of bourbon beside him, the phone would ring and cut through the silence.

He’d roll his eyes when Emma spoke quickly down the line, words slurred and filled with giggles as she would explain the drunken shenanigans you had both fallen into. He’d drive through the night and the dim city streets, his mind for once not filled with business deals or money, instead his heart tugging at the thought of his doe eyed, honey lipped girl waiting for him in the city.

“I think she had too much to drink.” Emma would say, clambering into a taxi cab she had managed to hail, teetering in her tall satin shoes. “I wanted to take her home with me, but she was causing such a big fuss and asking for you - couldn’t bloody say no.”

Outside the club his voice would be stern and his stare would be solid. Clipped, quick words to the doormen, feeling you press your cold nose into the base of his throat, mumbling something incoherent about how pretty he was. He’d scold you fondly. Settle you down in the back seats of his car and cover you up with his jacket, smiling ever so softly at the way you cuddled into the warmth and the familiar smell.

He thought of how lonely his nights had been without you.

“How is she?”

“Fine. Everyone is just fine.”

But how are you? He wants to ask, but he has a feeling that no matter the answer he’ll still end with a bullet in his gut, so he lets the silence engulf the both of you, nothing in the air but unspoken tension and the soft purr of the engine.

He had an idea. Something conniving and crafty, something that he’s been wanting to do since the night he told you that it wasn’t safe to be with him, the night he told you to leave. Thomas Shelby has always been a strong, level headed man, but something about you just makes him crumble. You have a way of twisting around him, snaking around his thoughts and feelings like a vine, and he gives himself up wholly.

He would never put you in a position you were uncomfortable with, but he can’t help the claw in his gut when he thinks of how long it’s been since you’ve been apart. He can smell the sweet liquor and perfume on you, can see the way your eyes are glossed ever and your hair is mussed. You’re tired, and after the way that goddamn leech of a man had been fawning over you Tommy is in no mood to leave you alone, he likes knowing that you’re safe, it’s the only thing that makes him able to sleep at night.

He glanced over to you, watching as you yawned into your palm, your soft, pretty eyes looking at the stars and the moon and his decision was made for him.

“You missed the turn.” You said a few moments later, perking up a little in your seat.

“Hmm?”

“You missed it. You should have turned left back there.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re pretty sure you know the reason why. Despite the part of your body that is sparked like a match at the thought of spending the night with him, you also know that it is too dangerous, that the two of you together are fire and gasoline.

“No. No, Tommy. I’m not staying over with you.”

“Yes you are. You can stay in a guest room - it’ll give you time to sleep off that hangover.”

“I’m hardly drunk.”

“Well, when we get home you can walk in a straight line for me, eh?”

“It’s not my home.”

That hurt.

He ignored you, feeling the familiar bite of irritation, hating that he wasn’t the same man to you that he once was. He could feel his tone getting desperate, and under any other circumstance he would be furious at being so weak, but never around you. “Just stay. Tonight? For me. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not getting into any trouble.”

“Tommy Shelby never sleeps.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. Tommy smiled, and realised as the car lurched over the bridge that’ll take you back where you both belong that he’s the happiest he has been in a long time.

—————————————————————

His house was as intimidating as ever, even more so under the thick blanket of the night. The architecture looked gothic, the sprawling roof and high chimneys almost seeming menacing as the car pulled up along the gravel, the low sound of the rocks crackling like a fire.

It almost felt strange. A house you had stepped foot in hundreds of times, suddenly feeling unfamiliar and mystifying. It was like the very first time you had seen the house a few years ago, how the large rooms and the tall ceilings seemed empty and dangerous, as though they housed a million secrets.

But since then it had been full of so much light. You had danced with him playfully, barefoot on the kitchen floor, with the windows open and soft jazz flittering in the air like sunlight. You had slept on the sofa in the drawing room, tangled up against his bare chest, the room littered with wine stained glasses and cigarette burns. You had laughed until you had cried, kissed him on the vivaciously on the mouth, sat through dozens of rowdy family dinners, shared coffee and pastry under the sleepy morning light - and now it felt as though a million years had passed.

You let him lead you inside. Keeping a safe distance and a wary eye as though he was an unpredictable stray dog that needed to be kept at arms length. He sensed your suspicion and ignored it, marching forward like a solider, pretending that your distrust didn’t make him feel awful. He hated to think of you on edge because of him, he hated how small it made him feel. He never wanted to be insignificant to you.

You noticed how bare it was in the hallway. Once upon a time the coat rack would have been filled with your furs and shawls, your pastel pink boots and his forever charcoal posh oxfords lined next to one another, a poignant reminder of their owners and the differences that you both shared.

It wasn’t just lack of your belongings, somehow the house seemed much emptier. It didn’t smell as worn as it usually did, the warmth of a recently lit fire didn’t dwell in the air and there were no keys or shoes by the front door. You knew that Mary kept a clean house, but this was something different, and a sour thought suddenly hit you.

“You haven’t been home much?” You tried to keep the jealousy out of your voice and remain level headed, but it was proving hard when you were feeling so nauseous at the thought of him sharing a bed with somebody else.

“Lot of late nights at the office.” He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around a hanger, his icy blue eyes catching yours. “Home didn’t feel like home anymore.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words, but you chose to ignore it.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I thought I was here to sleep.”

“You are. But what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer my guest a nightcap?”

You made a noise. Something halfway between a scoff and a huff.

“Tea? Whiskey?”

“No, I’m fine thank you.”

“What about hot chocolate? I still have some of that god awful strawberry stuff you love so much.”

Memories of sickly sweet strawberry kisses flash in your head. Images of Tommy wincing and groaning as if you had poisoned him. Belly laughs and pillow talk. All things you had tried so hard to forget.

“No. I don’t drink that anymore.”

He looked at you. There were no diamond chandeliers or dark corners or red velvet walls distorting your appearance, just the two of you stood opposite in the hallway of his mansion. He looked you up and down, not in a sleazy way, like the man at the bar who had so desperately wanted to get his hands under your dress but almost - longingly. There was something in his eyes. Swimming right in those ocean eyes was something you couldn’t quite make out, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could speak you heard the whine of the door above you.

“Mr Shelby! You’re back.” It was Mary, stood at the top of the stairs. Still dressed in her maids uniform despite the ungodly hour, she looked as pristine as ever, and you couldn’t think of a time you had seen the elderly woman without makeup on. She flew down the stairs, eager to offer Thomas anything she could, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she finally saw you.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” She said, trying to control the shock in her voice. She hadn’t been there the day that you left, but it wouldn’t take a fool to guess what had happened between you and her boss. Just like you, she probably assumed you would never return to the Shelby house. After a moment she smiled kindly, regaining her composure after the initial shock. “It’s a pleasure to see you once again.”

“And you, Mary.”

“Oh! Mr Shelby I’ve made up your quarters and -” she stopped, realising what she was saying and she awkwardly shifted as she tried to change the subject. “Can I get you anything? Shall I bring you some tea? Or some wine?”

“Oh no. I’m fine thank you, really.”

“You know what Mary,” You heard Tommy say, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Can you fix us some drinks? Whatever’s in the cupboards is fine. Oh, and bring us those chocolates Ada brought from New York. We’ll be in the sitting room.”

“Tommy - ” You started, but he was already gone, walking through his house with renewed energy, and you strained your ears to hear the sentences he called out over his shoulder.

“One drink. For old times sake.”

“Ugh. You’ll be the death of me, Shelby.”

———————————————————————

It should have been awkward. It should have been awkward and uncomfortable and painful - but it wasn’t.

He lit a fire, something about the yellow flames and the crackling wood soothing you like warm milk. You missed the feel of his sofas, the ones that cost such an outrageous price that it made your eyes water, and you sunk into the cushions far more easily than you liked. Mary had made your favourite drink, and the situation felt so familiar that it was ridiculous, but it was more ridiculous how good everything felt.

He was as charming as ever. Giving you those side eye glances and cheeky smiles as he spoke, asking about your family and telling you stories of the trouble his brothers had been in. He moved around the room in a blur of navy, because as God would have it tonight of all nights he was wearing your favourite blue suit, the one that made him look so beautiful and powerful.

He didn’t ask about work, and you were glad, because you weren’t ready to tell him yet.

Perhaps an hour passed, the two of you dancing around each other, neither one wanting to be the one that crossed the line first. Your mind was blurry but you knew that this had gone on too long, you needed to pull the plug before it was too late, but as always, Tommy got there first.

“It feels like fate.” He said, his voice so much warmer than it had been a few moments before.

“What does?”

“Running into you tonight.”

You scoffed. “Please. Tommy Shelby doesn’t believe in fate.”

“I didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Your whole body felt like it had been set alight. He knew just what to say to get you to curl around his little finger. He was watching you intently, moving forward so his elbows were on his knees, as though he was desperate to hear your reply. He was being honest, more so than he had been in a long time, but your mind was too filled with the past to give into his sweet words.

“So,” You said, knocking back the last dregs of your drink. “Are you just going to pretend it never happened?”

“What?”

“Cut the crap, Tommy.” You snarked. “You know what I mean.” A breathless laugh. “God, this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t say that.”

You rubbed your forehead, massaging away a migraine you could feel brewing. “I need to go to bed. I don’t want to get into all of this again.”

“(Y/N) - ”

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

You stood up and heard the sound of his glass of whisky hitting his red oak table. Your fingers touched the edge of the door handle, but he was pulling you backwards before you could leave. You were facing him, trying to keep your eyes away from his, not wanting to go falling into him the way your body desired.

“You might not want to talk but you can listen.” He said, so close to you that your noses were almost touching. You pursed your lips and squirmed like a child, but he raised an eyebrow and you huffed, letting him speak, his words shattering you like you were a sheet of ice.“Im still in love you.”

You bit your lip to stop from crying. The scab had been picked off, blood clotting down your ankles and onto the floor.

“Think I will be till the day I die. Even after.”

His words were so sincere and you wanted to believe them. You could feel him watching you, cornering you, willing you to say the words back, needing to hear the words fall from your lips.

You held up one finger, trying to stop him from speaking. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

You could feel the hot prickle of tears forming in your eyes, and the way your throat constricted like you’d been swallowing cotton balls.“Was this the plan all along? Invite me back, get me drunk and think I’ll crawl back into bed with you after you tell me a few lines?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never do that to you.”

He was angry. More so with himself, he’s always been in control, so articulate and calculated, but he was losing his grip on you, his knuckles turning white. He knew he made a mistake that night when he told you to leave, but his pride was too strong to do anything about it. Seeing you tonight had been more than just a coincidence, he knew that, and everything in him was screaming at him to fight for you.

“I miss you.” It ached for him to say it out loud, such a powerful man admitting that you were his weakness, that you bring him to his knees like he’s a child.

“I miss you too, Tommy, you know I do. But - ”

“I fucked up.”

“Tom.”

“I never should have let you leave.”

“We - Us - It’ll never - ” You couldn’t think let alone speak, all of your words twisting and tumbling from your mouth like loose marbles.

“We were a lot of things, but you can’t tell me that we aren’t supposed to be together.”

“I don’t want to talk about this... I can’t!”

“So let’s not talk.”

His lips met yours and you were on fire. The breath you didn’t know you were holding was knocked out of you by the force of his body on yours. His hands were all over you, checking you were real, feeling the curve and dip of your body the way his mind had conjured up in the dark in the months that you had been gone, he savoured you entirely, he devoured you.

“This isn’t - This isn’t right.” It was lie. Nothing felt more right. Your whole body ached and quivered for him, you wanted to breathe in his smell and run your fingers through his hair until they bled, but you also didn’t want to go down without a fight.

He knew you too well though.

“Stop it.” He had you backed up against the wall, his body pressed in between your thighs. He’d caged you in, one hand curling softly under your jaw, manipulating you so that you had no choice but to look right into his damn sea foam eyes. “Stop being so stubborn.”

“Stop being such a prick then.”

Lips on your neck. His hands all over you. Inhaling your perfume and the smell of your hair, digging his fingertips into your hip, a jolt of pain that you knew would leave a bruise. He captured your lips again, relishing in the way you felt under him, he was desperate for more, and he smiled cheekily when he heard you moan.

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep.” He teased, his voice was playful but he was struggling to keep his composure, he felt like his head was being held underwater, the pleasure teetering on pain.

“I hate you.” You said, gasping for air, feeling adrenaline and liquor and lust flow through you.

“No you don’t.”

You bit down on his plump bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He winced slightly, and rolled his eyes, shoving you backwards into his bookcase, kissing you even harder. A few novels and a porcelain figurine fell to the floor, the small black horse shattering at your feet. He grumbled slightly, and you giggled into his neck. You bent down to try and collect the broken pieces but he swatted your hand away, kissing and sucking all across your neck and throat, wanting to mark his territory.

“Stop that. I don’t want you cutting yourself.” He muttered into your flesh, clasping your hands together and holding you by the wrists, refusing to let you do anything but melt into him - not that there was anything in the world you would rather be doing.

Slowly the kisses got softer, more tender, all across your collar and shoulders like raindrops. There was something methodical about it, almost poetic, like he was trying to savour the taste of your skin, and the way your body rippled under him. After a moment he stopped, his hands tangling into your hair, gripping you by your jaw, looking into your glossed out, wide eyes.

“I really fucking missed you. I’m sorry.”

You shuddered. “I know.”

“Tomorrow we’ll talk. Alright?” There are a million things he needed to say. A million things he needed you to know, but there was nothing more important to him at that moment than having you under him, letting his body show you all of the things he couldn't put into words. He needed you, all of you. His head was fucked and he needed the wash of calm you gave him, he needed to feel whole, the way that only you could make him.

“Tomorrow.” You whispered.

He nodded solemnly. Ducking his head and pressing your mouths together, hot and raw and heavy. You were sweeter than sugar, stronger than whisky and prettier than all of the stars in the sky, and he struggled to keep himself from buckling at the knees under your touch. The only thing that could stop him from moulding your bodies together were the sweet little words that left your lips, the ones that rang like a gospel in his ears.

“Take me to bed, Tommy.”

————————————————————

He broke it off three months prior.

You had been missing each other, your schedules hectic and mismatched, and it had been a good few weeks since you had spoken for more than a few stolen seconds over the telephone. Finally, like the sun parting through rain clouds, there was one weekend that was empty in both of your diaries and Tommy told you to expect a car outside of your flat one Friday afternoon.

A whole weekend. Two days and three nights spent with your beloved, it should have been a time filled with late nights and rumpled bedsheets, coffee in the morning and wearing nothing but his linen shirts and the pretty lilac underwear he loved so much - but it turned soon turned sour.

On Sunday you had been making rhubarb pie. Folding and rolling the pastry between your fingertips, listening to the birds whistling through the open window and the lull of soft jazz from the radio behind you.

He had taken a call. A sullen look falling over his face as soon as he answered the phone. He had shut himself in his study, and all you could hear was the deep rumble of his voice and the sound of his footsteps, and so you left him alone, and busied yourself with other things.

It had all been so wonderful. Riding his horses through the fields, reading books under his arm as he rifled through papers, stealing kisses that tasted like hard candies and peppermint. You'd forced him to relax, made him take a bubble bath with you, poured lavender and vanilla oil across his aching shoulders until he let out an involuntary moan, ran your fingers through his hair until his breath evened out and his eyes fluttered shut, finally feeling at peace next to the woman he loved.

You’d laughed and made love and kissed and danced and it had all be so perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

For 48 hours he had been yours. He wasn’t “Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders,” he had been your Tommy. You weren’t a fool, you knew that work was always the most important thing to him, that he lived and breathed for the company he had built from his two bare hands, his work ethic and brilliance was something you admired about him, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t sting when he slipped back into business mode.

It had been about an hour, and you were cleaning the counters, something soothing about finding the dark marble granite under the mess of flour. You knew that Mary would have a fit if she knew you were cleaning, but you enjoyed the normalcy it gave you. You heard him before you saw him, the sound of his matte leather brogues on the tile in the hallway, and you lifted your head when you felt his presence in the doorway.

“You need to leave.”

His tone was so sudden and blunt that it almost made you laugh, but one look at the sallowness of his skin and the intensity in his eyes made you straighten up. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Sabini.”

“What about him?”

“He knows - he fucking knows.”

He was being uncharacteristically agitated, and it sent a deep chill down your spine. You lurched forward, hands spread, wanting to carry some of his worry. “Knows what? Tommy, calm down.”

“He’s had men lurking outside your flat.”

“What?”

“One of the new boys spotted ‘em. Fucking filth have been there all weekend.”

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. Truthfully, whilst the thought of Sabini and his men watching you made your skin crawl, you were more worried by the way it seemed to have frazzled Tommy. You weren’t used to seeing him so... anxious, and that sent red hot warning signs to your brain.

Your relationship had never been a secret per se, but you never made it public. After a few months of rendezvous in hotels and bars up and down the country, and Tommy realising his feelings for you were much more than just lust - he laid everything out bare. He told you he wanted you. But he also told you what the consequences of hanging off his arm were. You knew the risks, knew what chaos his love could bring, but you were falling so deeply that none of it mattered to you. You weren’t stupid, and Tommy did everything in his power to keep you safe, and the two of you found a mellow middle ground, a place where you could be happy and young and in love, without all of the mayhem.

“Well - it’s alright. I’m here. I’m safe aren’t I? He was probably just scoping the place out, he probably thought you were there and - ”

You were rambling, and most of what you were saying was untrue. You both knew the reason that Sabini was there, it was a message, a warning. A threat to Tommy that he could take away his weakness with one snap of his slimy little fingers.

You shrugged off your apron, and stepped towards him, shaking your head. “We knew that one day this would happen. That people would find out, it’s not your fault Tom.”

“We were stupid. We were reckless.”

“And what? We were supposed to just stop living our lives in case somebody saw us?”

“Not just somebody. Somebody who could fucking kill you.”

“Tommy.”

“You need to leave.”

“Listen to me -”

“I’ll get Bernard to drive you to the station. Your friend...” He paused momentarily, trying to remember a name he had heard in passing. “Sarah? She still lives in Manchester doesn’t she? You’ll stay with her till I’ve sorted this out.”

You scoffed, your eyes the size of dinner plates.��I’m not leaving.” You tried to make him see sense, but you were having a hard time keeping your voice levelled. “I’ve got work, Tom. I can’t just up and leave.”

He ignored you. You could see his brain whirring a mile a minute, the wheels inside his mind frantically looking for a solution. You marched over to him, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not scared.”

“Well then you’re a fool.”

“Am I? For not running at the first sign of danger?”

“Don’t fucking start with me. Not about this. This isn’t some fucking game.”

“I never said it was, Tom. But what? I’m supposed to hide out in another fucking city until all of this settles down.”

“Stop being so fucking difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult. I know what I signed up for, we both did. We knew this would happen eventually.”

“And now that is has - we have to be smart.”

“Not everything in life is a business deal.”

“What would you know about that?”

It was a low blow. Something that struck you like a winning punch to the gut, you stepped back from the impact, shaking your head and pursing your lips. You’ll let him brew in his anger, let him get worked up and pissed off, and you’ll wait for his apology in a few days, something expensive and designer showing up at your front door, his way of saying “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

“You know what? I’m leaving. Call me in a few days when you get your head fucking screwed back on. We can talk then.”

“No.”

It came out strangled, like the word sliced the inside of his throat when he said it.

“What?”

“You need to stay away. We need to end this.”

“End this?” You scoffed. “What? Like we’re just a business deal?”

“It’s not safe, and I can’t do anything that’s going to jeopardise the company.”

“The fucking company?” You were furious, your body stinging with hurt, feeling betrayal wash over you like sour milk. “How - How dare you!”

“I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.”

“So this is it then? You’ll throw away everything just because some fucking man has been looking around corners?” His silence made you more enraged, and you willed him to fight back. Fight for you. “Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to go, Tom?”

Silence.

And then - “It’s not safe.”

“Fuck you.”

That was the last thing you had said to him. Three words replaced with two that shattered around the room like an earthquake. You had tears in your eyes, and you rushed upstairs to pack your things, your heart breaking into sharp little pieces inside of you. He could hear the start of your sobs, the ones you tried so hard to muffle with your hand and he truly fucking hated himself. He gripped the marble above the fireplace and steadied his breathing, pushing out any thoughts of the weekend. He willed himself to shove away the happy memories, the sound of your laugh and the smell of your skin, the way he didn’t hear the shovels when you were beside him, safe and warm in his arms.

He needed to do what he did best, regain control and protect those he cared about, and right at the fucking top of the list was you. Any niggles of rationality and guilt telling him that pushing you away was wrong quickly turned to ash in his mind, he was certain that this was the right thing to do, despite the way that it really fucking hurt. He had to keep you safe. Men like him didn’t get to have nice things like you.

So he shut the door to his office, muffling the sound of you rummaging around upstairs, a part of you wishing and hoping that he would open the door and kiss you and apologise, and instead he picked up the phone, and went back to work.

———————————————————————

You woke up to sunlight painting your skin, and an empty bed, the silk sheets in disarray and bundled beside your bare body.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Like an ice cold bucket of water dropping over your head, you remembered every detail of what had happened overnight. Your skin relived the feeling of hands and fingertips and oh god, tongue dragging all across you, branded into your memory like a burn. It was the best nights sleep you had gotten in a long time, and the bed was so warm and soft and smelling like sin that you struggled to even lift your head from the pillow to check the time.

Mid morning.

You hadn’t slept in this long for a while, and you knew the reason why. Head slightly pounding from too much alcohol and adrenaline, you crawled out of bed, washing the remnants of last nights makeup from your face and pulling on your crumpled dress and stockings that had been haphazardly flung over the furniture. Your heart lurched a little when you freshened up in the bathroom and noticed your toothbrush still in the holder on the sink, right next to his.

You could hear cluttering downstairs and followed the noise, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, unable to stop the small smile that the sight gave you. He had evidently sent Mary on an errand, something far away so he could make you both breakfast in peace, away from prying eyes. He looked so boyish, so domestic, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, nimble fingers turning the bacon on the pan, his hair mussed from sex and sleep. It made you feel like you had swallowed a match. Your whole body alight from seeing him so gentle and vulnerable, so bare for just you to see.

Thomas Shelby whisking eggs and squeezing oranges, barefoot in his own kitchen, the sight rarer than a unicorn, and you were the only person who ever got close enough.

“Hi.” It left your mouth awkwardly and rolled off your tongue like an ice cube.

“Morning.” He turned and smiled, his lazy eyes trawling the length of your body. You hadn’t noticed it, but he felt a flicker of hurt that you were in your own clothes, a part of him wanting and hoping that you would be in one of his shirts, something that he loved much more than he could comprehend. He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. “It’ll be done soon. I think I’ve burnt the toast though, and probably added too much salt to the eggs.”

You smiled thinly, the light not reaching your eyes. This was all too much, all too soon. He was here and he was beautiful and you were right at the frontline, ready to get your heart broken all over again.“Last night,” You cleared your throat, as though the words were lodged deep inside. “It was a mistake.”

He didn’t blink, cool stare focused on the meal he was preparing, long fingers methodically slicing and dicing, as though your words didn’t make his heart thump against his rib cage. He didn’t like it, not one bit, the way that it sounded as though you regretted the time you had spent together. He never wanted you to feel like that, like the intimacy you had shared was something crude, as though you were a one night stand of a drunken fuck at a bar, this was so much more than that. This was love.

But Tommy liked holding his cards to his chest, and it was much easier to tease you then tell the truth.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You scoffed, hating his cockiness yet knowing that he was obviously right. “Don’t be a twat, Tommy.”

The ghost of a smile on his face, if you had blinked you might have missed it, but you were always the best person at reading him - the only person he had let close enough to see him, flaws and all. He always liked when you bickered with him, his little firecracker. He didn’t tolerate just anyone speaking to him the way you did, but he would let you get away with bloody murder and he couldn’t deny that it didn’t bring a flush to his cheeks when you got particularly feisty.

You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, his hands full with cutlery and plates filled with slap up breakfast foods, and you couldn’t deny that your mouth was watering.

“Eat first. We’ll talk later.”

You let out a sound halfway between a huff and a groan but caved in, clambering into the seat he had pulled open for you and piling your fork high. He watched you with a smile, the way you looked so young and pretty and angelic in the morning light, no makeup on and eyes still drowsy with sleep, like some kind of Renaissance painting he wanted to hang above his fireplace and stare at whenever things got rough.

He filled the silence with small talk, noting the weather and a story about one of John’s kids hiding a puppy in her room for almost a week without anyone noticing. You listened as best as you could, but you were distracted by the palomino mare you could see grazing in the fields behind his house, and something was prickling at your skin like brambles.

You cleared your throat, acting as nonchalant as you could muster. “Emma tells me that May Carlton is training your new mare.” Your knife sliced through your yolk, rich butter yellow bleeding across your plate. You tried to keep your voice steady, but you could feel the thickness in your throat as you remembered how it hurt like a bullet wound when your best friend had told you of his new associate. “I hear she is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He murmured, cutting the edge of fat from his bacon. “But she’s nothing compared to you.”

You tried to pretend that his words didn’t make you swoon, and he tried to hide how much he loved it when you got jealous, something about the fire in your eyes making him want to push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t talk.

He paused, a coy smile on his lips. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

You scoffed. “Well, it’s only fair. What with all those Blinders following me. Can’t even go to the bloody shops without one watching me.”

So you had noticed. He had half been expecting a blazing call where you yelled at him for having men watch over you, and it had left a hole of disappointment in his gut when it never came.

“You know I would never let you be unprotected.”

“I know.”

Your eyes met, a wave of warm affection washed over the both of you, but you pulled your gaze back quickly, focusing your attention anywhere else.

“You should come and watch her.”

You froze, wondering if Tommy had just invited you to spend the day with May Carlton, you were sure that would be one evening that would end in blood and tears.

“The mare.” He said, picking up at your uncomfortableness and biting back a smile. “We’ve called her ‘Wicked Gypsy’, and she is brilliant. I reckon she could win the whole bloody thing.”

You liked how passionate he got when he talked about horses. Liked the way that he seemed to light up like a child, despite all the finery and bravado, you liked knowing that the little boy inside of him was still there, hidden deep, deep down, but still there. You were too busy being captivated by him that it took you a moment to realise that he had asked you to join him at the races.

You wanted nothing more, you truly wanted nothing more than to be his girl again. Cradled under his arm, dressed in lace and fur, his lips pressed to the heat of your throat, sweet little words whispered in your ear, a hand tight and possessive around your waist - but it just wasn’t that easy.

You sighed, crossing your cutlery. “Tom. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I want you there. I need my good luck charm.”

“Tommy, after everything. I don’t think we should.”

Firmer now, he looks at you, emphasising his point.“I need you there. When she wins, I need my best girl to be right by my side.”

He was so slippery. So sickly sweet that you could drown in him, struggle to move in the molasses that dripped from his tongue. He was dangerous, carnal fire and sin, but he wasn’t lying, he needed you, really fucking needed you.

You exhaled, thinking things through, and massaging the migraine brewing in your temples. He could see you trying to think of an excuse, another lie about how you’re bad for each other, but he got there first, not wanting to hear it.

“I’ll have a car pick you up on Friday.” He turned his hands so his palms were facing the ceiling, eyebrows raised playfully, “Or... maybe you can stay here the night. You know you’re welcome.”

Always so bloody charming. But you can’t stop the tsunami of thoughts, the mistakes of the past. “What is this, Tommy? What are we doing?”

“I fucked up. I never should have let you go.”

“But you did. And - I don’t want to get hurt all over again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You always do.”

You words stung him worse than if you had slapped him across the face, and he had to take a moment to swallow the sour taste that had been swimming across his tongue. He reached his hands out, clasping them with yours, so large and warm and safe, and he spoke with intensity.

“Just - Come with me, Friday. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Friday. Suddenly it was no longer about slipping up or falling back in love and wondering what your friends might think when you told them, it was about something else that you needed to tell him.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?” His tone was one of disbelief, his eyes sizing you up, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate excuse.

You sighed, taking your hands away from under his, noticing the lack of warmth immediately. “To Oxford. Peggy transferred me to the company over there.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because I asked her to.”

“You did what?”

You could see him thinking, wondering how none of his boys had found out this priceless piece of information that makes him want to throw his expensive fucking china at the wall.

“I did it all through work. Emma’s the only one who knew. I’m getting the train Wednesday night.”

He stood up so quickly his chair squealed across the wood floor, his mouth agape. “So what? You’re just going to leave?”

“There’s nothing here for me.”

He pointed one finger at you, scolding you like a child. “Don’t say that.”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s true isn’t it? Why should I waste more time on this stupid cat and mouse game?”

“Is that all this is to you? A game?”

“You left me. For three months I was completely alone! What happens when something comes up, huh? How do I know that you won’t leave me all over again?” It was hard to keep the emotion from your voice, hard not to show just how badly the impact of those three months had been. “We need this! Some...some fucking space. Maybe being a few cities away will be good.”

It was a lie. Nothing sounded worse, but you had to say your piece because god knows you can’t keep holding everything in.

His voice was frayed, split like the hairs in an old rope. “Don’t. Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you.”

His words and his actions never lined up, and it made your blood boil. All of the anger you had turned into tears had remoulded into red hot rage, and you slammed your hands down on his expensive counter tops, flesh on marble ringing around the kitchen. “So then why did you let me go? Why did you tell me to leave?”

“Because I thought that was best for you!”

“You aren’t the one who gets to decide that!”

“Everything I do. Everything I fucking do - is to protect you.”

“Don’t say that. Protecting me isn’t making me leave, and then not speaking to me for three fucking months.”

You could see the click in his jaw, the vein in his throat throbbing. “You knew what you signed up for when you met me.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I did.”

It was true. You expected late nights, days of no contact, blood staining your bathroom counter and men watching your every move. You expected fights and make ups, going to the races in your finery and then walking down the shit filled streets of Small Heath, but you never expected that he would just leave you the way he did.

He was breathless, trying to control the rise and fall of his chest and the way that his fingers clenched. He never thought that you would leave, he had some fucked up feeling that you would always come back to him, that the two of you would always end up on the same ship, drifting along the same ocean. It was maddening. He had tasted you once again, had you under him, his girl reduced to putty in his hands. It had all made sense, the night seemed to be sweeter and the stars a little brighter and his lungs a little looser when you were next to him. It had all felt so right, and now you were going to leave.

He put it down to exasperation at not being in control anymore, the fact that he was watching you slip between his fingers once again like grains of sand, and so he said the worst thing he thought of, something that he knew would rip through you like a shot to the heart.

“Well at least I got one last fuck eh? That was all you were really any good for anyway.”

He could hear it immediately, the sound of the bullet leaving the gun, or perhaps that’s your heart shattering in two. He regretted it, he regretted it so badly that he wished he could pull the words back down his throat and swallow them like they were poison.

Your eyes watered but you didn’t let him see you cry. Your mouth opened and then closed not wanting to waste your breath on a reply, not wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt you. You didn’t bother with a reply, not trusting yourself enough to talk, only wanting to be alone to like your wounds in peace. So you turned and left, last nights heels echoing through the hallway, the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut, silence falling once again.

Tommy pushed the plates off the table.

—————————————————————————-

Wednesday night and you were listening to your favourite record, something to distract you from the suitcase you were packing. Since the fight you hadn’t heard from Tommy, the first thing you’d packed had been your phone, pulling it off the wall as soon as you got home, not wanting to be on edge waiting for his call.

You didn’t allow yourself the time to wallow, refused to let yourself be beaten up by the words he had said, the ones that hung around your head like dead files. You hated that you let him speak to you that way, and you also hated that you missed him with every bone in your body.

Lilac, sapphire and emerald green. You threw your clothes together, watching the colours fade into a blur. You hadn’t packed anything he had given you, but you didn’t want to throw them out either and so they sat in a lonely purgatory in your wardrobe; a little gift to the next tenant.

You knew who was there the second the doorbell rang. Well, rang three times. The sound so shrill and violent that you tipped your head back in frustration. You considered leaving him outside in the summer rain, but soon the rings were switched with incessant knocking, your door surely about to break from the weight of his fists.

“Fucking hell.” You seethed, dropping your shoes onto the floor and stepping over the piles of toiletries stacked in the hallway. “Fuck you, Tom.”

You wanted to say those three words to him as soon as you opened the door, hoping your eyes reflected the anger bubbling inside of you, but he cut you off with a sigh of relief.

“Thank fuck you’re still here.”

“Not for long.”

You tried to shut the door, you really did, but he pushed past and into your flat with little effort.

“Get out, Tom. Now.”

He spun round to face you, and you finally got a good look at him. He looked rough, frazzled almost. His hair messy and his shirt ruffled and his eyes were mostly white, frantically watching your face.

“I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”

“You came all this way just to tell me that?”

“I should have followed you sooner. I should have followed you the second you walked through that door.”

You quirked an eyebrow in challenge. “Which time?”

He spread his hands out, biting down on his tongue. “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

You sighed, kicking a stray shampoo bottle with your feet, something to fill the emptiness that surrounded you. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He moved one step closer and you moved one step back. “Is this what you really want?”

“We can’t always get what we want.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You threw your hands up in despair. “I’m not doing this with you now, Tommy. My train leaves in an hour and I have my first day tomorrow and I don’t want to fuck it all up.”

“If it’s what you really want, then you should go. But don’t leave if it’s all because of me.”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“And I’m not going to let you go without telling you that I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“Tommy.” It’s a warning. It’s a threat. But it hangs between you both, lingering in the air like smoke.

“I know you love me too. I know you do. I also know that I’m a massive twat who fucked everything up, but I’m not letting you get away, not again.”

You're exasperated. His words like honey, but you’re scared that that’s all they are, and you’re more scared that they might be so much more. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because I’m telling the truth. I don’t care about anything. Nothing matters to me more than you. I don’t care if Sabini has men outside my house every fucking night, you’re only safe with me, and I can only do this with you by my side.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“If I have to spend every day proving how much you mean to me then I will. I can’t - I can’t be without you.”

He was so close to you. Your noses almost touching, the hair on your arms and your spine sticking up, something electric about him. You want to hate him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing in your dimly lit hallway, looking dishevelled and beautiful and dare you say, broken. The edge of his jawline caught the light, shimmering like a jewel, and the pools in his eyes were so sincere and so deeply blue that you wanted to fall right into them.

Were you going to do this? Were you going to let him in again? You thought of everything - rain splattered kisses, dancing under the pale moonlight, sour whisky in the corner of his office. You thought of all of the chaos, all of the blood, all of the family arguments and shouting that echoed around his manor. You thought of all the tears you had shed, all the times your throat had been raw and your heart shattered into pieces. You thought of strawberry fields and his hand in yours, laughing with his brothers until you couldn’t breathe, the way that he felt and smelt and spoke like home.

It had been bad, but it was also the best thing you had ever been a part of.

You sighed loudly, clicking your tongue, meeting him somewhere in the middle. “Fuck. I’m never going to get my deposit back.”

His whole body trembled, relief coming from every pore, and he made a vow to go to Church with Pol on Sunday and thank whoever was listening for getting you back. “Well you’re moving in with me so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You rolled your eyes, his large hands wrapping around your jaw, making you look at him. He smelt like woodsmoke and peppermint, like a million bad decisions and the tang of a smoking barrel. It took everything in you to not buckle at the knees and let him carry you like a child.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He cradled your face, hoping his words came off as strongly out loud as they did in his head. He’s not going to fuck up again, but even he can’t stop his brain from short circuiting at the sight of you, so pretty with your doe eyes and raspberry lips, the skin on your throat just begging for the tug of his teeth.

You buried your head in his chest when he pulled you close, your words muffled through the cotton of his shirt. “If you ever speak to me like that again I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”

A soft smile, one that washes over him like warm candlelight. “I know.”

He’s not letting you go, not again. You’re a fucking part of him, like the blood that runs through his veins and the steady thump of his chest, you’re a part of his body, the reason why he can breathe and run and love. You’re the thing that stops the tremor in his hands, the thing that makes him so unshakeable, so tough and in control.

He had something to fight for.

And only knowing that you’re by his side, safe and warm and pressed into the crook of his body, does he finally allow himself to exhale.

[ransomedrogue]

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

ah yes 1.6, so much attempted boundary setting, so little success... it’s mini make up scenes this time around :D

1.6

Weller had been in a bad mood all day; starting from a sleepless night at the office, before moving onto having his objectivity questioned by both Mayfair and Jane. And then there was the fact that he'd tried to compensate for getting called out by being hard on Jane, which had just made him feel shittier about everything. Even stopping the bad guys and blowing up a truck with a perfect grenade toss hadn't improved his disposition, the way it normally would of.

He knew why, of course. It had been eating at him since she said it. But Weller was loath to face what had to be done, despite being sure it was the right thing to do.

Jane was heading towards the elevator, so it was his last chance of the day to talk to her. But Kurt remained nervously irritable, not yet entirely sure he was going to go through with it.

What if she said yes, and told him he was too close? He'd have to accept it of course, though it would be like a dagger to the heart. Still, Weller knew that he had to offer, as much as he didn't want to.

He remembered back to earlier that day, when she had asked about his objectivity. It had struck him so hard, even though everyone else had already been loudly saying the same thing. Because it was Jane, of course. He had told her that he didn't want to make things any harder on her than they already were. So if he didn't want to be a liar then he had to act right then.

So Kurt forced himself to approach, pressing the elevator button and trying to push back the anxiety in his gut. For a moment he paused and considered chickening out, but in the end his personal honour code demanded that he follow through with it.

"Do you want a new lead agent?" he asked, blurting the question out quickly so it didn't get jammed up in his throat.

His heart froze as Jane gave him a confused look.

"What?"

"On your case," he explained.

"Back in the surveillance van you said… that I wasn't objective."

Weller pushed himself to continue, even though he didn't really want to say the next words.

"So I can step down," he said, unable to control the little shake in his voice.

"And Mayfair can assign you a new lead agent."

He felt like his life was hanging on her reply, even though that was very overdramatic. Yet, one little word right then could take her out of his life again, possibly forever.

When Jane eventually affirmed what he believed – that he was exactly the right man for the job, because of his dedication to her case – Weller's shoulders relaxed for the first time that day. He was sure no other agent would do better and, as long as she felt that way too, it didn't matter what anyone else thought.

Kurt was so relieved that he pushed it too far again right away; offering to drive Jane home even though her detail was there to do exactly that. He tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed when she pulled back and reminded him of the line they were trying to set.

But even that, the way she bit her lip and her shy 'better not'. It killed him.

She was an asset and the girl he'd spent his life trying to find. She had come to him with his name tattooed on her back and yet she wasn't his. It wouldn't be appropriate to act on the feelings she evoked in him, no matter how strongly he felt the connection between them, how much she blew his mind.

He'd been an ass to her all day, and still she hadn't jumped at the chance to get rid of him.

The elevator ride was quiet at first. Weller figured that Jane had already ended the conversation by rejecting his offer of a ride home, yet he still liked just being in the same space as her. It was pathetic, he knew. But true.

About halfway through the ride, Jane turned to him, wearing a serious expression.

"I really am sorry. I definitely don't want anyone else."

How was he supposed to take that?

Weller told his heart to settle down and hoped to hell that his brain would come up with something appropriate to say.

"I'm sorry too, Jane," he spat out, still trying to think though the fluttering in his chest.

"I shouldn't have been so hard on you today. None of that was your fault."

She offered him a hopeful smile that lit the green tint in her eyes, just as the elevator arrived at its destination.

"Thanks," she replied.

"And I meant it about coming for a drink sometime."

Jane ducked her head, her expression turning timid again.

"I don't know," she murmured, as they stepped out onto the parking level.

"It might feel awkward to start. But once Patterson gets going on the shots, she'll make sure you're having a good time."

Her face brightened a little at his words and Kurt struggled to keep his hands to himself, despite having spent an entire day trying to establish a more solid professional boundary.

"Maybe. Thanks for the offer." Jane said, flashing him one more smile before getting into the SUV with her detail.

Weller stood there as the vehicle drove away, his heart still in the same turmoil it had been in all day. It seemed like everyone was harping on him to pull back from her but he wasn't even sure it was possible. His usual rock solid emotional walls had come crashing down and he couldn't rebuild them with the onslaught of her presence.

He had told her that he was working on being objective. He just hadn't mentioned that he already knew he was destined to fail.

###

It was another quiet night alone, with only a head full of questions to keep her company.

Jane sat on the couch with the TV on but turned down so low that it was inaudible. She wondered how Ana was doing, alone in her apartment, with her matching security detail out front.

Her own life had been so action packed during the days and her first few nights had been so full of turmoil and self-questioning that Jane had only recently begun to register her loneliness. It had been a slow realization that everyone else had partners and friends and a life outside of work. Whereas she had just her doubts to keep her company.

Jane briefly wondered what it would be like to have a normal life; the freedom to just head out the door and meet a friend. Even the thought of having real friends seemed like a stretch when she was trying to connect with teenaged hackers.

She cringed a bit thinking about being told off by Weller twice for the same thing, then pushing him away after the truth had slipped out about her loneliness. He'd even asked if she wanted him off the case, which had made her stomach drop out from under her. The thought of losing Weller when she had nothing else to hold onto was terrifying and not at all what she wanted, despite battling with him for most of the day.

He had never been objective about her and most of her really liked that. Despite the pressure she sometimes felt because of it, or the way he'd treated her that day. Weller was possibly the only person on the planet that cared about her, even if their relationship was intense and undefinable.

Jane sighed, realizing that her head was stuck on Kurt again. She looked at the TV for a minute, trying to turn her thoughts in a different direction. She'd love to be able to just go out for a walk on her own, without a team of FBI agents following her. But that was a thought for another day, not something helpful to entertain at the moment.

Her phone rang just then, jolting her out of her head. Jane reached for it in surprise and saw that it was Weller, so she figured that something case related had occurred.

"Hi," she said, picking up the call. "Did something happen?"

"No," Weller replied. "Sorry I didn't mean to worry you. I was just out walking and I thought about what you said earlier."

"About being alone."

He sounded… off. Which made her chest constrict as he paused and waited for her to respond.

Jane wanted to ask if he was okay but didn't know what she would do if he wasn't. In the end she was quiet for too long and Weller must have gotten anxious because he started to apologize again.

"Sorry, right. You need some space. I shouldn't have called," he mumbled.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

It was the same thing he'd said to her the previous night, after she'd held his hand to her heart and told him that he was her starting point. Then tomorrow had come and he'd been cold to her all day. She didn't want that to happen again.

"No, wait. Don't hang up," Jane replied hurriedly.

"Why are you out walking at this time?"

Weller exhaled audibly.

"It's a long story," he said. "I needed some air."

"Which is what made me think, you can't even go out and get a breath on your own."

Part of her was pissed off, that he was only just understanding that even after she spelled it out for him earlier. But it was nice to be talking to Kurt and she didn't want to make more distance between them. So Jane took a tone somewhere in the middle, more teasing than upset.

"Oh, so you're just figuring that out now," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

"Yeah," Weller sighed. "I guess I haven't been seeing everything you're going through, outside of the cases."

Jane wasn't sure what to say. She didn't want his sympathy and yet it did feel good, for her hurts to be acknowledged.

"Anyways, I was walking and I thought maybe you wanted to talk. Not about the case. But so you don't feel so alone."

It was a sweet gesture, if possibly somewhere past the boundary lines they'd been trying to set. But no one else was going to call to talk to her, and she definitely didn't mind being on the phone with Kurt.

"Yeah. I'd like that," Jane said.

"So… what do people talk about on the phone anyways?"

Weller laughed, and she could hear him relax at her question.

"Honestly, I don't talk on the phone much. Especially now with Sarah and Sawyer living at my place. Back when we did call, it was mostly just catching up on what's happened in our lives."

"Well. You're pretty caught up in everything that I know about my life," Jane replied.

"So, it's going to have to be up to you. Tell me what you like to do when you're not working."

She could feel Weller frowning at the idea of not working, but then he laughed again, a little shyly this time. It was a comforting sound, and Jane felt herself smiling in response as Kurt ummed and uhhed a few times before he re-found his voice.

Then, hesitantly at first, Weller started telling her about hot summer evenings at the ballpark, drinking beer and cheering on his team. Which quickly turned into a full fledged conversation about baseball in general and ending up blowing Jane's mind when she was told how much money professional players could make for being good at hitting a ball with a bat.

She asked about his own history as a ballplayer then, which drew a few more embarrassed chuckles from Weller before he opened up about falling in love with the sport as a boy by spending long nights at the local ball field, throwing pitches until his arm was dead tired.

After awhile Jane realized how easy it was to talk to Weller when things weren't loaded with expectation and tension. Despite the way things had been between them that day, it seemed strangely natural to be on the phone with him, laughing at his description of teenage Kurt's athletic prowess.

By the time he was back at his apartment, Weller had given her a full rundown of his military school sports career and Jane was a bit sleepy from being cozy on the couch and listening to Kurt rumble on about baseball. She grinned lazily as she heard Weller opening the door to his building, still telling her about strikeouts and home runs. It was as relaxed as she'd ever been, in her remembered life.

"Are you still awake? I can't believe I just bored you with baseball for so long."

Kurt's voice startled Jane out of her thoughts and back into the conversation.

"Actually, that was really nice," she said. "Thank you."

Weller laughed self-consciously, but she could still hear the smile in his voice.

"Watch out or next time I'll tell you about my failed basketball career," he joked.

"But you're right, that was nice. Thanks for putting up with me."

She heard his worry slip through in his parting words and was startled back into reality. Where he'd offered to recuse himself from the case and they were trying to draw a line between them. Talking on the phone for such a long time hadn't exactly helped that process, yet it had felt so right.

"I wouldn't want anyone else to explain baseball to me," Jane said with a little laugh.

"Goodnight Weller."

"Goodnight Jane," he replied. "See you in the morning."

Jane ended the call with a grin on her face and a warm buzz in her chest. She didn't have much, not even a life to call her own. But at least she still had Weller, despite being at odds with him all day.

[b1ksh88p]

Be Mine ⛏

Plot Plot: You’ve been in a few relationships, unfortunately all ending in tragedy. You had a reputation for being a bad omen. Truly you were a sweet girl but it seemed like every single one of your lovers ended up dead or horrendously disfigured in the long run. This Valentine’s Day your boyfriend decides to jump ship for some blonde crushing the little hope you had left for your love life. In a slightly drunken haze you sneak into the mines for a rant about the cursed corporate holiday and to drown your sorrows in the solitude of the mines. But it seems like you’ve got a listener.

Tags/Warnings: Lots of cursing | Sprinkle of angst | Fluff

The cold air of the abandoned labyrinth did nothing to cool you down as you ventured further into its clutches. To put it lightly you were on fire. Every part of you wanted to tear someone apart. The auburn liquid sloshed around as you clumsily stomped past heaps of forgotten debris. If not for your drunken stupor you would’ve turned back. Everyone knew the horrific tale of the pickaxe cannibal murder. Although you were sure the story was somewhat embellished you’ve heard worse. Poor fuck did what he had to do to survive. Anyone else would’ve done the same, it’s human nature to do anything no matter how gruesome to survive.

“Give a girl a box of cheap chocolates and a fucking bouquet of withering roses and she’s supposed to repay ya by sucking your fucking dick and acting like yer the best thing since sliced bread.” You grumble.

The deeper you go the darker it gets. Stone walls become suffocating and everything looks like the enemy. A fight or flight response may have kicked in but you were in no place to think rationally. When your heel broke you fucking snapped.

“Stupid Roses, fuck ass chocolates, fake relationships for fake people who wouldn’t know love if it fucking stabbed them in the face!” You yell throwing the broken heel piece deep into the darkness. “A corporate holiday with no fucking insignificance! Just a money plot and a excuse to fuck and act like you like that worthless pathetic fuck you’re dating that you like them. When all 364 days you’ve been with em ya fucking loathe them!” You continue on tearing up the damned holiday in partially incoherent babbling until you hear glass break.

Despite your conditions you aren’t stupid. “Fuck is that?” You call out whilst backing up. At first you’re sure it’s a group of horny teenagers but through the gritty lights you see a single foreboding silhouette. This was where you run. Or at least you should’ve. Instead you squint your eyes like some tourist taking in the sights and step forward. “Bud y’know the mines are abandoned cuz of the poor guy who had to eat his friends right?” You call out. “I mean do you if this is your thing I support it but it’s kinda weird since you look exactly like the serial killer guy. Spot on cosplay.” You compliment. The figure doesn’t move. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. You feel your hairs start to stand up and goosebumps pepper you skin. It seems your liquid courage was fading.

“Welp I’ll leave you be, don’t wanna bore you with the details of this fucked up holiday.” You let out a wry laugh before turning your back on the figure. You get about 12 good steps in before the stride of death crescendos behind you. Now you were running. Your broken heels doing wonders at making this chase the easiest for your attacker. In the midst of running you take them off and throw them off behind you. Now look you weren’t aiming for the guy but when you heard the hit connect and a surprised grunt you got the feeling you were fucked. Instead of running in a straight line you dip into a little crawl space. Maybe he’d give up and fuck off you. To your horror the man crouches down and starts to crawl his way inside.

Without thinking you take the whiskey bottle and crash it on his head. “Leave me alone I don’t even like this fuckass holiday you fucking weirdo!” You cry. He looks up at you and stops trying to fit.

“Why not.” His voice was eerily calm. As if he weren’t some insane pickaxe murderer but a man.

“Well because it’s stupid and to lovy dovy. And because it feels wrong to celebrate it when such a tragedy had occurred.” You explain. “And...and I got dumped today so there’s that.” You huff.

“...You pity me?”

You shake your head. Words weren’t really your strong point and you didn’t need him thinking you were coddling him or anything. Instead you just stare into the glossy eyeholes with your own praying he’d just fuck off. You practically shit yourself when he continued to scramble through and stand up. You grab a rock and stand ready to knock him upside the head with it only have your wrist harshly grabbed mid throw.

“I don’t want your pity.”

This was it. You were gonna die. And it was gonna be painful and super fucking lame. On your headstone it would say:

“Loser girl no one cares about got dumped on Valentine’s Day...also got murdered lol”

Even though you wanted to sob and cry your eyes out you were way to stubborn to go out pleading and begging. “I was being empathetic you weirdo! We do what we gotta do to survive, and you did just that. You aren’t some crazy murderer. You’re just angry and traumatized and that’s ok!” The grip on your wrist only tightened. “Gah! Th-the system failed you dude. The whole fucking city failed you and still is failing you! You ha-have a right to be mad! I’m not excusing what you’ve done b-but shit I would’ve done the same!” You squeal feeling the blood flow completely cease as he tightened his grip.

Suddenly the pain stopped. You open your eyes and rub your poor wrist hoping the feeling would return. He seemed more docile. It was as if his entire aura had changed. The man sat down on a hunk of rubble, his weapon clenched in his grip. If you didn’t know better you could’ve sworn he was crying. It was a silent sob. Nothing overtly dramatic, kind of how like you’d expect a man who’s rarely cried to cry. It was unnerving. The only man you’ve ever seen cry was your dad and that was when he laughed to hard. This...this was gut wrenching.

This monster that was hellbent on killing you seconds ago was now a sad man huddled up in a corner like a child. You could never feel the pain he’s felt, relive the days of utter darkness and skewed rations. Never could you imagine the gritty taste of human flesh. The depravity one must have for themselves. The survivors guilt. The nightmares he must relive. He kept muttering something about the dark and the how he wasn’t a monster. How he just wanted to see the light again.

“It’s ok.”

You weren’t sure you could touch him so you just sat in front of him. He was still shaken up but the sound of your voice seemed to get through to him. “It’s ok and you’re safe. I’m here. I won’t go anywhere I’d you don’t want me to...” You could bare the cold for a night. You’d rather be frozen to death then brutally murdered.

Both of you sat there for what seemed like ages until he moved. You were on the edge of slumber before seeing a gloved hand slither towards yours. You wanted to move it. Make haste and dip but your body had become heavy. Your eyes seemingly weighed down by stones. Before you knew it he was oddly holding your hand. You saw him looking at you intently. Probably waiting for you to scream or pull away but you stayed put. One hand held up your head whilst the other was his to experience. It had probably been awhile since he’s been so vulnerable so you let him have this. It wasn’t like you had anything else to do tonight but sleep and pray that the hang over didn’t beat your ass in the morning. Before you could fall asleep he pulls you into a really awkward half ass embrace against the cold stained suit. It was far more comfortable than the back straining position you were in a second ago but man this guy was bad at ‘snuggling’. You felt like he was gonna smother you! When he found a comfortable position he rested that stupid ass mask on top of your head with a satisfied grunt before you gave up on protesting and fell asleep. How the hell were you gonna get home

When you wake there’s no cold embraces or odd masked men. Instead you find yourself wrapped in some dusty old quilt at the entrance of the mine. For a moment you think everything that occurred was a mere fever dream. A whiskey fueled hallucination. You scramble to your feet and notice a little note that had fallen from the tattered cloth. The paper, or what you hoped was paper and not dried human skin, had fairly neat handwriting. It was short and morbidly sweet.

Thank you.

There was a part of you that was absolutely mortified. The note solidified your suspicions of what had taken place last night. But the other part of you was strangely elated. You turn to the mine and put your hands to your mouth to amplify your words. “THANKS FOR NOT KILLING ME ILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU!!!!!!” You yell happily before heading back into town. You were pretty sure he didn’t hear you but it calmed you to know that he not only spared you but someone actually appreciated your presence.

This was definitely not your final encounter ⛏

#⛏

[mr-and-mr-dameron]

Learning to love ALL of Star Wars

I’ve grown a lot the past few years, and with that I’ve came to appreciate a lot more things about what I love. I’ve went from bitter and spiteful about what I don't have to appreciating what I do have, and at the centre of that storm is Star Wars. A franchise I’ve only really been invested in the last year. 

The beginning

So I was always a “fan” of Star Wars, sure. I grew up with the prequels and I was excited when Disney was releasing their new movies. But the past year is where I really got invested and found a whole new love for the franchise. And strangely enough, it was through the simplicity of Lego.  You see, I started watching videos by Brickvault about Lego Star Wars minifigures, and something about seeing the toys I loved as a kid from a modern perspective took me right back to wooshing my Jedi starfighter around my room. From there, I started moving away from Lego and dipped my toe in theories, lore videos and eventually discussion and review videos, the turning point being Cosmonaught Variety Hour.  Now, I have some opinions on the guy now, but Cosmonaught was perfect for me at the time. He was opinionated, entertaining, but most importantly knew his shit, and I liked that. His videos on Star Wars are pretty good, and really helped form my opinions back then... In a bad way... Now I’ll make this clear, this is NOT on Cosmonaught, it was just how impressionable I was as a person back then. I’m just saying how his video affected me on a personal level.  Up to this point I didn’t really understand the hate for the prequels besides the fact they were “bad movies” and “people don’t like them”. Cosmonaughts video on the prequels gave me those reasons, and I finally felt like I got the distaste for those films. However, like they say... A little knowledge can be dangerous, and boy was I about to learn that lesson the hard way... 

The fall

So here I am, knower of all things, the CORRECT things... I’ve watched my fair share of videos from a handful of sources, I know my shit. I’m making my opinions known, and I’ve become that friend.  But whats this! A dissenting opinion!? My boyfriend actually likes the prequels more than the Original Trilogy!? SACRALAGE!! I must prove him wrong! And prove him wrong I...! Did not... In fact, something rather bizarre happened... He convinced me.  I was stubborn at first, but I’ll admit, my wall got broken down at long last. He (bless his soul for dealing with me) managed to get through to me exactly what it was he loved about those films, and it wasn’t just the nostalgia. I had always seen the politics of the Galaxy like most other people did, some boring preachy nonsense that had no place in Star Wars, but I came around to it.  Granted with a little help from the Clone Wars I managed to piece together just what it was there was to like about these films... I wont say they’re perfect, far from it. But internally they have so much more going on compared to the Original Trilogy. The Era has some of the most fun and expandable concepts and ideas in all of Star Wars, and while it may not be as iconic, the visual artstyle of it all is still its own recognizable brand of Star Wars.  And almost like magic (or my phone spying on me) youtube started recommending videos that disagreed with Cosmonaught, and I got my first taste of how his video wasn’t as sound as I thought. Now as a side note: I still like Cosmonaught. He’s a funny guy who like I said knows his shit, but he obviously isnt the be all end all right and wrong which I hadn’t quite learned. I can enjoy his content while disagreeing with it, and I think thats just fine. I find myself disagreeing with a lot of creators I watch now and he’s just joined them.  But hang on, we’re missing something here... A certain... Mouse? Perhaps?

The dark times... The Disney Empire... 

So hop back to modern day for a sec, this timeline pretty much lines up with the end of the Disney movies right? So how do I feel about those? Well... When the first three came out, I liked them. Like everyone else I was loving new Star Wars. As a young art student, I loved Rogue One and TLJ for their stunning visuals, deeper themes and their attempt at something new and fresh. I loved the throne room fight scene, the light speed ram and how Rogue One had such a bitter sweet ending.  But ho ho no one else felt that way! And whether it be peer pressure or my love of dumpster fires my opinions changed like that. I laughed at the Rose Tico and Snoke memes, I hated the Canto Bight subplot and poor Luke being butchered on screen like that, and then there's Rey...  Solo came and passed. I refused to go see it, as I did with TROS which came out around the time I was getting back into Lego, and along with the prequels I was watching video essay upon video essay about why the sequels sucked and how to rewrite them. Some of them coming from a positive place, others... Not so much..  And so my hatred for them grew as I got back into the franchise and came to appreciate the originals for what they done great, and loathing the new films for lacking that same spark. And unlike the prequels, I didn’t really get enough pushback to change my mind. But what I did get was the full brunt of spite and hate the fans had for these new films, and honestly? It was depressing. 

Hate leads to suffering. 

I finally reached my rock bottom. I genuinely reached a point where I debated giving up Star Wars for the sheer amount of negative feelings I had towards the state of the franchise (which might I add is valid if you ever end up feeling that way about something you’re meant to be enjoying). 

I struggled to get past how Disney “ruined” Star Wars, and clearly nothing was going to change. 40 Years of history had been wiped out and the new timeline was a contorted mess, and the amount of discourse and disagreements in the franchise honestly did not help at all. 

Nothing was simple, everything had a catch. You like how Kylo was irredeemable in TLJ? Well he’s redeemed in TROS. TFA is a fun film but it sets up a lot of the things people hated about the sequels so you cant even just head canon that the other two never happened. And then...

Saved by Lego

There was Lego, making the best of a bad situation. It didnt care if you didn’t like that Palpatine was back (somehow), it didn’t care about the clunky prequel dialog, and it didn’t care about the thousands of retcons from the entierety of the franchises existence. 

Whether by contractual force or not: It was pure, distilled Star Wars. 

I loved how a set with Rey could stand beside a set with OT Luke and thats just how it was. It put into context that this was reality, and I could either be bitter about what could have been or accept what was, which wasn’t easy and I’m still not really over it. But I reached a place where I could accept the fun in all of Star Wars, that I liked how some of these characters looked, that these characters all existed in one Galaxy, and it was nice. 

And it led me straight back into... 

Learning to love Star Wars

One of the most important lessons I learned in the past year was trust your gut. Sure, hear out other peoples take on something, and if it changes your opinion all the more power to you. But don’t fight the fact you felt something in that initial reaction. I liked the prequels as a kid, so why don’t I as an adult? Is it because i outgrew them and see them for the disasters they are? Or is it because a someone who watched them as a fully grown adult that grew up with the OT was underwhelmed? 

And to that extent... I rewatched TFA and TLJ with an open mind and an open heart. The result? 

Im indifferent towards TFA. It has fun character moments and has a decent adventure, for what it is its good. But I actually found myself enjoying TLJ after all these years of hating on it. I liked their take on Luke, I liked the mutiny subplot, it didnt push the story forward leaps and bounds but it was a more methodical take on the franchise and for the I liked it. It wasn’t perfect, its biggest flaw is how bleak it can feel and its lack of doing anything interesting with its setting, but it does do a fair amount of decent things and I’ve come to appreciate it for that. 

I’m planning to watch TROS at long last soon, so maybe I’ll update it here. But what I will say is that I hope Lucasfilm don’t give up on the sequel era and characters quite yet. There is still a lot to love here as much as you may not like it, and I hope that they can explore more interesting meaningful themes and narratives in external media that they couldn’t in mainline films cough cough Stormpilot cough cough...

I know not everyone will agree with how I feel now, heck a lot of my problems I had still stand, but I’m at peace with it all now. I just want to sit back and enjoy this franchise for what it is. While I might not forgive Disney for its severe mishandling of... everything (a rant for another time) I’m content just not them supporting to the best of ability.

Star Wars is in such a unique position where each generation has a different stance and appreciation for different parts within the franchise. The prequels were hated until its fans grew up and started defending it, The Clone Wars was hated until its fans grew up and started defending it, and the sequels ended last year, their fans haven’t quite got their voice yet. But I’m interested to hear what they have to say. 

[wordofrecall]

character playlists: ori

so. let’s do this. my playlists are long and scattered, but they make me happy, so i might as well share them and the thoughts behind song choices. so. here’s some songs for runaway knights & wannabe witches, and what have you.

something holy - childhood & riches & wonders

pearl diver - mitski - oh hunter, if you didn’t want the beautiful so badly, perhaps you would’ve found it in your spirit singing softly - look. it's on the nose, considering that her title is "the pearl hunter," but also, like, that rules. this is a song for wren, i think; ori in the present reflecting on her mother and the similarities between them.

icicles - the scary jokes - i can only be forgiven if i’m giving myself up to you on a silver serving tray / must i bare myself to the stabbing of your knife & gnashing teeth while our lovely company appears so entertained? - aaand a song for childhood. 99% of ori's socialization came from her parents having important guests over, so. uh. yeah. show off your reclusive child prodigy like a pageant whenever you have the opportunity. she probably won't grow to loathe you.

life: the cruel interlude (on god) - kilo kish - why do i dare believe in me when i bleed? - questioning was. always a big thing for ori. i don't think she ever believed that the mirzha was god, and i known that she never truster her father's patron, but. in her studies, in her passions, there's always this tiny sense of desperation for something to have faith in something. not herself.

bluejays & cardinals - the mountain goats - the stars come out of hiding for you, & i would too - there is. a lot, in ori's relationship with her brother. she was the favorite child, yeah, the one destined for great things in spite of her... troubles. but he never had those troubles! she didn't, doesn't understand how he went through life so unafraid. there's envy there. i also think that the line i quoted is terribly true, like, canonically. because. she sure did do that stupid shit.

be calm - fun. - take it from me, i’ve been there a thousand times--you hate your pulse because it thinks you’re still alive! - sometimes you have intense social phobia. and that's okay!

country death song - violent femmes - kiss your mother goodnight & remember that God saves, kiss your mother goodnight & remember that God saves - i think andrei is a much less pitiable or even sympathetic man than the narrator of this song, but. like. it's a country song about a father killing his daughter while preaching godliness. i had to.

i’m all bloody inside - liam lynch - inside me, well, it’s dark & gross as hell, i’m not a pretty sight - the family business!

the hazards of love 3 (revenge!) - the decemberists - but father, don’t you fear, your children are all here - fantasies. part of the fantasy is imagining a world where she doesn't feel terrible about the thought.

shankill butchers - sarah jarosz - they used to be just like me & you, they used to be sweet little boys - "blood hunters are ghost stories." "and also, they're fucking terrible. violent, cruel, zealous. the worst."

sparrow - st. vincent - & no eyes are on the sparrow, eyes are on the sparrow, how could that be the case? the lark keeps whistling his number, silly little number, as if he isn't prey - pity for the boy. sort of retrospective, but it's a thought that's been there since she was a child.

something burning - rituals & fire & running

starchild - ghost quartet - but i will transcend & vomit this loser out of me; i will become the next big thing, i will light myself on fire - maybe she is some kind of angel? bursting with radiance and terrifying to look upon.

arsonist’s lullabye - hozier - don’t you ever tame your demons, always keep them on a leash / when i was sixteen, my senses fooled me - oooor maybe she is a sixteen year-old who is having a panic attack and setting everything in sight on fire by accident.

blood - my chemical romance - i’m the kind of human wreckage that you love! - so she's broken.

girl anachronism - the dresden dolls - it’s not the way i’m meant to be, it’s just the way the operation made me - so she's failed and she's broken and she's sick, and there's no time to fucking think.

when the chips are down - anais mitchell - cast your eyes to heaven, you’ll get a knife in the back. - so she does what her mother did before her, and she runs from that which she has always known.

body terror song - ajj - i’m so sorry that you have to have a body / one that will hurt you, & be the subject of so much of your fear - feelings on being built Wrong; feelings on your mind's undue control upon your body.

in corolla - the mountain goats - & no one was gonna come & get me, there wasn't anybody gonna know, even though i leave a trail of burnt things in my wake every single place i go - very good as an ori song in general but this is her justification to herself in the water. under the docks, she says this to herself.

the harrowed & the haunted - the decemberists - will i be so brave? - just to get that oceanic vibe up.

luna - the mountain goats - rise through the flames & end again in flames at last - an inexplicable feeling.

unwhere - reeder - a song for leaving what you've always known.

something lonely - years & woods & dreaming

runs in the family - amanda palmer - run from their pity, from responsibility, run from the country & run from the city, i can run from the law, i can run from myself, i can run for my life, i can run into debt, i can run from it all, i can run 'till I'm gone - she is broken and all she can think to do is get as far away as possible

panic attack - liza anne - i hate that i can be seen like this

black eyes - david wirsig - my hammering heart hears the voices of spirits that tempt us, the scorn that they’ve spoken

for the departed - shayfer james - they will bury me alive, but i’m not inclined to care; i am too far gone now

hurt - johnny cash - everyone i know goes away in the end; you can have it all, my empire of dirt

my body’s made of crushed little stars - mitski - i work better under a deadline! i work better under a deadline!

blood in the cut - k. flay - guess i’m contagious; it’d be safest if you ran--fuck, that’s what they all just end up doing in the end

little pistol - mother mother - i think i might be scared of the world & the way it makes you feel afraid & how it gets in the way

villains pt. 1 - emma blackery - built to create, designed to destroy

the beer - kimya dawson - & the christians gave me comic books as if i would be scared of burning in hell while i was already there [...] i tried to scream fuck you but blood was pouring out my mouth

something safe - family & finding it & fighting together

haunted house - sir babygirl - i’m running just to hide & i’m hiding just to breathe & around every corner is the same night on repeat

your heart is a muscle the size of your fist - ramshackle glory - i love you & you make me glad to be alive; i promise that i’m gonna pay you back / you always know how funny everything is, even when i’m so serious that it’s gonna be the death of me

medicines - the taxpayers - o, but our rotting corpses lying there soon began to leak & grow these lesions that all smelled just like a rose / & all the blood & guts inside us germinated into timeless pages stained with lines of lovely prose

autoclave - the mountain goats - i am this great unstable mass of blood & foam

alligator skin boots - mccafferty - i’m cool to the touch, leap to my death, i’ll die for you all, i’ll die for my friends, it goes like this

100 years - florence + the machine - lord, don’t let me break this, let me hold it lightly, give me arms to pray with instead of ones that hold too tightly

tomorrow will be kinder - the secret sisters - but i feel warmth on my skin, the stars have all aligned

armour - rae spoon - you know i placed was to build a life for you

amy aka spent gladiator 1 - the mountain goats - play with matches if you think you need to play with matches; seek out the hidden places where the fire burns hot & bright / find where the heat’s unbearable & stay there if you have to--don’t hurt anybody on your way up to the light, and stay alive

curses - the crane wives - won’t you stay with me, my darling, when my walls start burning down?

something daring - islands & visions & loss

jane’s dream - janelle monáe

beekeeper - keaton henson - hear me, o woman that has gone astray, gone astray

fire - kimya dawson - i’m reading books about how they’re corrupt [...] as long as i’m burning, i’ll keep on yearning to save the world, not sure how, but i’m learning

cosmic hero - car seat headrest - i love you, but i can’t stand the touch, & of course i’m alright with death

turn the lights off - tally hall - everbody likes to get taken for turns to see how bright the fire inside of us burns [...] should be stronger, books abandoned

eat you alive - the oh hellos - child, i’m afraid for your soul; these things that you’re after, they can’t be controlled

cry for judas - the mountain goats - hallucinate a shady grove where judas went to die

o death - monica martin - no wealth, no land, no silver, no gold, nothing satisfies me but your soul

blood of angels - brown bird - and i would wage my soul to bet that there ain’t no one throwing lightning anyhow

the universe is going to catch you - the antlers - the arms of the universe kept you from falling [...] those arms did not come back

a burning hill - mitski - i am the fire & i am the forest & i am the witness watching it / i stand in the valley watching it

something terrifying - conversations & selfhood & divination

the lamb - dessa - but blood is blood, & what’s done is done; blood is blood, & its burden is a beast

going invisible 2 - the mountain goats - i’m gonna burn it all down today & sweep all the ashes away

the lion’s roar - first aid kit - she plays a tune for those who wish to overlook the fact that they’ve been blindly deceived by those who preach & pray & teach, but she falls short & the night explodes in laughter

the villain i appear to be - connor spiotto - even if you can’t see the good inside me, i don’t have the time to tell you why i do the things that i do, just please hold on & soon you’ll seem

up the wolves - the mountain goats - there’s bound to be a ghost at the back of closet, no matter where you live; there’ll be a few things, maybe several things that you’re gonna find really difficult to forgive

thursday girl - mitski - glory, glory, glory to the night that shows me what i am

at the bottom of everything - bright eyes - we must take all of the medicines to expensive now to sel; set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell

everybody does - julien baker - i know i’m a pile of filthy wreckage you will wish you’d never touched, but you’re gonna run when you find out who i am

tongues & teeth - the crane wives - i know that you mean so well, but i am not a vessel for your good intent 

a pearl - mitski - you’re growing tired of me and all the things i don’t talk about / sorry, i don’t want your touch--it’s not that i don’t want you

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Family Matters.

Uh...hey...

Hm? Oh, hey...

Hey...

Listen I...

...

...*sigh*

Can we...Talk? Privately, I mean...Away from everyone else...

Um...ok?

There’s a lab office that we can talk in private if you want...

*Minako leads Yoruko to the lab she mentions.

Hm...That’s weird...

What is?

It’s not usually this dark...

I like it dark...

AAH!

Jesus CHRIST Mikako, don’t do that!

Look, it’s your fault...I don’t like being disturbed...

You really ought to get some more sun...

Hm?

What’s up with you?

You look familiar...Have we met before...?

No...But it’s nice to meet you I guess...

I’m Mikako Kurokawa. I’m a scientist and I was formerly known as the Ultimate Exorcist...

Right...Where have I heard that name before?

Well, I suppose it makes sense...As much as I loathe to admit it...Kokoro Kurokawa...Or, Kokoro Mitsume as you knew her, was my mother...

O-Oh...right...That whole fiasco...

You two look like you’re in the middle of something, so I’ll just get out of here and leave you two be...

*Mikako leaves.

Trust me, we’ve taken to her a lot better than it seems...

So, what was it you wanted to talk about?

I’m...I’m sorry, ok?

What for?

What do you mean “what for!?” For everything!

I haven’t spoken to you since...Since then...Even when we spoke briefly after the killing game, I’d hardly count that as a conversation...

I’ve been wanting to meet you again, after all this time, and yet now that you’re here, I couldn’t muster the guts...

Ah, so it’s about that is it?

I know you may not want to hear it Minako...But I really am sorry for what happened to you...I’m sorry...

...No...

Yoruko...I’M the one who’s sorry...

Huh?

I...We both remember what happened after I got the sack...I blamed you for it all, and I ended up slapping you...

But I was just frustrated and needed someone to take my anger out on...And I blamed you, even though you didn’t do anything wrong...

But...I’m the reason you got sacked...The manager said that I was better, and they didn’t need you anymore because of it...

All you wanted was to support your family...And all because of me, you suffered...

And who was it that introduced you to the hostess business in the first place?

...

You reap what you sow I guess...

The manager clearly never intended to let me stay from the start. He wanted to let me off for a while...You were just his excuse to...

Minako, I...

Look, long story short, stop blaming yourself...I’ve already taken my undeserved anger out on you...

Can we not just...fix things? Go back to being friends? It’s been a while but...I’m gonna do what I can...

I...I was really hoping you’d say that...

Honestly...I still feel a little guilty...Not just because of what happened, but because I didn’t do more to help your family...

I reacted pretty badly to being fired...I understand why you avoided me...

But even so...When I heard about your daughter...

Oh, right...

I didn’t have as much experience taking care of people as you did, but when I heard that you were raising her on your own...

I...should have approached and offered help...

You know, I still remember it...The last conversation I ever had with her...

Your daughter?

Yeah...

Mom...No matter what you say, my mind is made up.

I get that sweetie, but this is a bit much isn’t it?

Why is this such an issue for you? Hope’s Peak guarantee’s success to it’s graduates! If I go, I’ll graduate for sure, don’t you get that!? Then you don’t have to worry about it!

I can’t help but feel like you’re using that as an excuse not to try hard...

Or maybe I’m trying to live my life without any regrets, unlike you!

Why, I never!

Face it mom...You’re always carrying so much weight...I don’t want to miss this chance if I’m going to turn out like you...

...

Yeah...yeah, you know what? You’re right! I have regrets! Everyone does!

But the one thing...The only thing in life I don’t regret...!

Is giving birth to you!

...

...

Minako...

She’s always been very dishonest with both herself and everyone else...I can tell what she meant really...

She claimed she was just looking our for herself...But she wanted to become an Ultimate to get a job so she could provide for us...Kind of like how I did for my family at the bar...

If only she’d listened to her mother...maybe she wouldn’t have died in the killing game...

She would have died in the tragedy regardless...I loved her, but the fact that she got as far as she did in that killing game surprised me...

It was her own personal issues that caused her downfall...

...

You know...?

...Know what?

If...by chance...I told you we could bring her back using the machines...

You’d do that for me...!?

I would...but, I can’t...

Byakuya Togami is the guy who runs the resurrection operations...and he’s super strict on their usage. He likes to avoid using them...or granting others the means of using them themselves...

...I get that...After all, it’s a machine that can create copies of people who died, along with their memories...

It’s playing god...It’s too much power for a collection of people to hold...

It’s ok though...The offer is more than enough...Thank you.

You’re welcome...and...thanks for hearing me out...

*With nothing more to say to each other, Minako and Yoruko hug it out.

[bookofmirth]

So my thoughts on Nesta and apologizing are she 1000% needs do it. Whether it’s through actions or words I’m not sure on, but the implication of apology for past abuses needs to happen. Not just for the people she has hurt, but for the hurt she has caused herself as well.

I don’t think Nesta will ever be able to apologize to anyone until she apologizes to herself. She’s so self loathing and I think that has been a huge issue of hers even before ACOFAS. I don’t know if it’s because she was consumed by hate for her father to the point she put her little sister’s life at risk everyday or if it comes from even before that time, back to the days of her mother. Either way I think a lot of the reason for Nesta’s cold and cruel behavior is because she has so much self loathing. She needs to learn to love and forgive herself.

Once that is achieved she needs to atone for her past with her sisters and father, Amren, Cassian… basically I think she needs to go through a 12 step program and realize how she hurt these people who love/care about her and apologize. I don’t care if she goes on an apology tour or if she talks things through or if she decides to be better through her actions - just something needs to happen. I want that moment where she decides that she truly hurt these people whether intentional or not and want to actually make amends and have a stronger foundation for a future with them.

In the sneak peek at the back of ACOFAS we saw how she tried not to be bothered Feyre put up portraits of her family in her home while she was notably absent. I think that’s pretty much how Nesta will always feel until she actively acknowledges the pain she’s caused and work to fix that hurt. Like she’s perpetually on the outside. I want all good things for Nesta and I think that can only be achieved if she forgives herself and then works to receive forgiveness from those she hurt.

Okay so I *just* listened to the scene where Papa Archeron is killed by the King of Hybern, plus after all the discussion recently... I think that a lot of times people forget that apologizing serves so many purposes. And so does forgiveness. 

Papa Archeron apologizes to Nesta, right before he dies he says:

“I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am... I am so sorry, Nesta - my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.”

That really gutted me, reading this time. And Nesta has *not* dealt with that apology. I think that her feelings towards her father are super complex and maybe resentment and hate was the biggest feature as we know her, but as a child? When her mother was still alive and they were still a family? I mentioned a similar parent/child dynamic towards the end of this post re: apologizing and how powerful it can be. I think that maybe, her father’s apology will give her a starting point with apologies. She’s got to deal with how that felt - with the sudden rush of relief, the likelihood that she instantly forgave but then struggling with the feeling that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but then didn’t have a chance to fully heal that break, and then a shift to thinking about herself in his position and how maybe, she is far more like him than she thought. And how, if his apology gave her a sense of closure and healing, maybe she could do that for other people.

Now, I don’t think that it would have to look the same, not at all. Like you said, if she talks things through with people and they come to an understanding without the actual words “I’m sorry”, or if she decides to behave differently in the future, I think that will be the Nesta equivalent. A lot of healing can still happen that way, and it would still show that Nesta has reflected and grown. Not everyone needs to hear the words, though they can be powerful. But idk, even though Feyre feels like the last person Nesta would say those words to, maybe that’s exactly why she should? I’m clearly changing my mind the more posts I write on this lol

I like your point about self-loathing, and being able to forgive herself. I think that Nesta knows she should make amends, but she’s not able to face... anything, really. She has so much reconciling to do - with herself, her past, the way others have treated her, the way she has treated others. It’s as if at some point in her life she found herself at conflict with the world. I know lots of people like to reference Nesta going to the wall as if it were some sort of atonement, but seriously... she has not changed since then. She still pushes people away, she’s still rude, prickly, she alienates the people who put themselves out there and try to connect with her or support her. So that was not an effective roundabout apology in the way we (you and I, nonnie) are talking about. The whole point of the apology, the thing we want, is for Nesta to heal.

I’m almost to acofas so I want to examine the thing with the portraits more! Maybe they had to sit for them and Nesta being Nesta, she just refused? And then they didn’t press and she was like oh.... okay...... idk I’ll have to pay more attention.

I wonder how much of the discussion around Nesta apologizing or not is related to pain somehow absolving people of guilt. Like, just because someone has suffered doesn’t make their actions okay. Just because someone was abused doesn’t mean that they can go about the world treating others like shit. I have very, very strong convictions about that. (It’s why I don’t like Kylo R*n, why people don’t forgive Tamlin, etc.) That’s the thing that really bothers me about this discussion. I do not give two fucks why someone treats other people like crap, which Nesta objectively has, especially if they are 100% conscious of the harm they are causing. When they are unaware or misled or being manipulated etc., that’s a different story. To me. 

So then when we have Nesta, whose father let her down, whose one sister showed strength she was unable to find, who lost her social standing and financial security and her mother and was assaulted by the one guy whose name escapes me, and then saw her father murdered and bloody battle and now is dealing with alcohol and sex in (probably) unhealthy ways.... and all of those are very, very good reasons to be broken. To be downtrodden and to struggle. But none of that means that she shouldn’t have to recognize the harm she has caused. If anything, it means the opposite, because she’ll never find herself in a better place until she does recognize that, and take some action.

[lifeofroos]

Part 2 of 3! And I want to thank everyone for the lovely comments, it made me feel awesome. The rest of the story is on my AO3! (and also my Tumblr if you look through the Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson, Trials of Apollo, fanfiction or Dionysus tags). 

For those who don’t know: This is the sixth installment of a fanfic I am writing about Nico getting therapy from Dionysus. There are a few ToN spoilers, but not so heavy anymore that I feel the need to put the big warning at the front. 

This Might Be Crazy - Ice cold water

Where am I? In a bad place. I was lying down on something, perhaps a couch, with my face turned upwards. The ceiling was… dirty. And was that chewing gum? How did there get chewing gum on the ceiling?

‘Hello, Nico. You are awake.’ Oh, I am awake, that’s nice. ‘Can you tell me what you are seeing right now?’

‘What I am… hm.’ 

‘Start with the colour.’ 

‘White. I... I am seeing the ceiling and it is white. There are black spots as well, and I think I see a lamp. There is light.  Also, I think there is chewing gum stuck to the ceiling? Except that would be weird.’

‘I am afraid you are right about the chewing gum.’ 

I turned my head, until I could see Dionysus. He was sitting next to the couch I was laying on and he had a serious expression on his face. It dawned on me  why he was looking so worried. Something told me I should be panicking. Yet, I wasn’t.

Mary came over with a cup in her hands. ‘Is there something serious going on?’ Oh shoot, was there? 

‘No, I think not.’ Oh, he thinks not. Mary put the cup on the nearest table.

‘Nico, you have to try to sit up straight,’ Dionysus told me. ‘Can I help you?’ I slowly nodded. I was feeling slightly dizzy, but with the help of Mary and Dionysus I managed to sit up. I figured Dionysus probably knocked me out one way or another. That would explain why I rememberd the world dissappearing in a cloud of purple. 

Mary sat down on the couch, by my feet. I wanted to tell her to stay away, but when I opened my mouth, words would not come out. Tell her, tell her, tell her what a monster you are. More worthy of Tartarus than we ever were. The voice made me flinch. 

‘Here, Nico. Take a sip of water.’ Dionysus handed me the cup, which was filled to the brim with water and ice cubes. I managed to take a sip without spilling everything that was in it over my shirt. 

‘So. Now take a deep breath.’ I did as I was told. ‘Good. Now we are going to talk about what just happened.’ It felt as if someone lit a match in my stomach.

‘...Okay.’

‘Fifteen minutes ago, there was a monster attack in this Denny’s. You took one of them down by turning the beast into a sentient skeleton. After that, you went into a shock, presumably because you are afraid that you will hurt the people around you with this new power.’ He paused. I felt as if someone gut-punched me, but I wanted him to go on. Get it over with. Allow me to repress it. You should never repress it. You should see this as a sign. Piss off, pretty please. ‘Is that right?

‘...Yes.’ 

‘Alright. Can I go on?’

‘Yesplease.’

‘You are afraid of hurting the people you love. We were talking about that earlier this night. After seeing a concrete example of what you could do, it felt like evidence that you were dangerous. That is, however, not true.’ Another pause.

‘How?’ Watch him lie. Watch him pretend like you are a good person. He probably gets something out of it. There must be favours from Hades.  

‘You only turned a monster into a skeleton because you were trying to protect a friend.’ He nodded at Mary, who smiled and winked in a way only a daughter of Aphrodite ever could. ‘If you think about yourself, Nico, do you truly think you would hurt someone you care about? Knowingly?’ 

You always do. ‘Well… when… when I was young…’ My hands began to shake. I shoved them under my shirt. ‘I... I tried to destroy Percy. I was… I hated him.’ For a second, Dionysus had a look in his eyes that seemed to say ‘didn’t we all?’

‘Why did you hate him?’

My throat closed up. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. ‘Bianca’s death.’ It could not have been louder than a whisper. ‘My sister died, after Percy… he had promised to bring her back safely. He promised!’ It had been a stupid promise. Somehow, I could not blame Percy after all those years. What else could he have done? ‘But she did not. And I loathed him because of it.’ I sobbed a few times, while the tears kept coming. Mary stood up and walked towards the counter. 

‘You were ten when your sister died, right?’

I counted on my fingers for a moment. ‘I… I guess.’ 

‘Who could blame a ten year old, who just lost his sister, for being angry at the person who, in his eyes, caused this loss? Wouldn’t that make someone a monster? And you said it yourself - you hated him. With a d at the end. That makes it a thing of the past. You’ve grown and understand now that he did the best he could.’ He said it through gritted teeth, as if he could not believe he was defending Percy Jackson of all people. ‘You never wanted to cause him harm out of malice. And I know of no other instances where you hurt anybody who didn’t deserve it. You are a good person, Nico di Angelo. As I said earlier, you can make friends with almost anyone, including gods, titans, monsters, troglodytes and who knows what else.’ 

I looked at my hands, then at my cup of water, still sobbing. For one of the first times since I started therapy, I could not wrap my head around what he was saying. It went one ear in, out the other. He could have been speaking Russian. Still, somewhere, I knew he was right. I could just not get in touch with that sentiment. 

‘Are… do you… sure?’ I wiped away a few tears. 

‘What purpose is there in lying? Appeasing Hades? Like I want to. I broke the rules of his realm thrice, there is nothing I can do to salvage that relationship.’

I trusted him on his words. Get three people back from the dead, sure, why not, man, why not. It made me feel calmer. I even let out a shaky giggle. 

Mary came back, with a washcloth for my face and a new milkshake. ‘Here. With extra ice-cream. Gods, you need it.’

I managed to give her a teary smile. ‘Thanks.’ She held it out for me, but I did not take it. She sighed, sounding a little sad, and put it down on the table. I picked it up. 

A few big sips later, I got a brainfreeze. ‘Ow!’ 

‘Oh, come…’ I flinched when she touched my forehead. ‘Oh no. Sorry.’ 

‘...Hm.’ She did not turn into a pile of bones - that was something. I took a few more sips, but already knew that there was no way I would finish the entire milkshake. 

I began to feel tired. Not that the voices piped down. Dionysus laid his hands onto the table. ‘Nico, I think it is time we go back to camp. A lot happened tonight.’ I slowly nodded. 

Dionysus helped me get up from the couch. Mary smiled, with a little wave, when we disappeared. 

We reappeared in front of my cabin door. Dionysus gave me a little push in the back. ‘Right now, I want you to go to sleep. In the following days, I want you to think about my words and what happened. If you feel like you made up your mind, you come to me to talk more about it.’ I nodded again. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘Thanks,’ I whispered. 

I stood in my cabin for some time, until I heard a knock at the door. I looked up, while Will was walking in. ‘Hey, Nico.’ 

My heart pounded in my chest. ‘Get away.’ I might destroy you. You will destroy him. 

He shook his head. ‘No. I think you need someone to look after you right now.’

‘Are you sure Dionysus isn’t the one thinking I need someone to look after me?’

He shrugged. ‘If you really want me to leave, I’ll leave.’ 

I fell down, onto my bed. ‘I don’t want you to leave,’ I whispered. ‘But I don’t want you to touch me either. Not now.’ 

Will walked over to my bed and sat down at the foot. He smiled at me. It was a small smile, but also one that told me he would love me through everything. ‘I’ll just sit here.’

I nodded. ‘Thanks.’

I was beginning to drift away myself when I noticed Will had flopped onto my bed and fallen asleep. Slowly, I inched a little closer, but only a little. 

The next morning I woke up with my left arm around Wills’ waist. I must have put it there in my sleep. His right arm was around my shoulder. And we were both fine.