#sorry this whole situation just makes me angry because it feels like another layer of ableism somehow

[emsleyanbluejay]

*through gritted teeth* i will not be that one asshole in the youtube comments it’s not worth it, even if they’re wrong

[pentacentric]

I am so so not gonna rb that john post bc of how it frames John caring so much about Sam & not Dean & such shallow take on John overall in general but i wanted to tell you how immaculate and on points your tags were.

I don't know why it's a war (i know why & you can see which side of fandom is shaping it as if John was attending to Sam 24/7 taking him on freaking themeparks every weekend) it's frustrating & upsetting. Let's not forget that in his last living moments John he was telling Dean he gotta kill Sam. Like this guy would've killed Sam unlike Dean. But hey, Sam had such loving tender father figure who cherished him. Anyway sorry for the ramble. I rarely see someone actually acknowledging that there's NOT supposed to be a competition but minimizing Sam's abuse and suffering is very common here bc they gotta remove Sam from the story in one way or another. I even consider myself a big john lover just bc how flawed but layered and damaged he was but he wasnt a good father for Sam either. He did NOTHING for Sam. Hell it was even Dean who carried Sam out of the fire. It was Dean saving and cherishing Sam, not John. I mean, I don't think there's an argument that he loved them both but that doesn't change how be treated them BOTH

Thank you❤️ 100% in agreement with you. This fandom can be a little exhausting at times as we all know and I generally try to stay out of that kind of discourse, but sometimes stuff like it slips in my feed and I just get so frustrated and I can't help myself. It's always nice to know there's other people that understand that the whole battle thing is just pointless.

And trauma fighting aside, even, it's such a bad take on its own. Like, not only are you completely erasing Sam's whole story and character (which is pretty much a capital crime, really), you are actually doing such a disservice to Dean! It removes so much complexity and nuance from his character, and only adds to the whole boring Dean woobification syndrome where he's the only one that suffered and is alone in the world and no one understands him (except, maybe hmmm I wonder…). Like Dean didn't have Sam suffering right there by his side. Like it wasn't the two of them against the world (which John was a central pillar of). Like all of that isn't such an integral part of why they are so intrinsically intertwined, which is what makes Dean Dean and Sam Sam and drives the whole damn show! You can't say you love Dean and try to remove his actual bond with Sam or reduce it to some kind of fanonized parentified-child/golden-child guilt trap. Because that's not it at all. And if they think that, they don't know Dean it all.

And I agree with you about John. I don't hate him (and JDM made me love him, even, with the way he portrayed him), but I can also be hard on him sometimes because he does have a lot of faults and he is abusive and it's very recognizable. But it's in a very realistic way where he isn't truly a bad person. That's part of his complexity as a character and why he's interesting. Like, someone can be loving and intend to do well and have a lot of great attributes, and also a total fucking mess and abusive and a kind of shitty parent at the same time. John may have tried, but he did utterly fail them in as many ways as he overall kept them safe and cared for them. It's fascinating because in those situations children tend to be pulled between loving that parent and wanting their approval and affectio , and also being resentful and hurt and angry, and both sets of feelings are totally valid. I think the show captures that really well with the way the boys react and develop as characters themselves. Villainizing John is as reductive as erasing Sam's canon history.

[marauderundercover]

Crashed Dates (Day 2: Scarecrow)

Marinette grins at her boyfriend, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth as they walk around the pumpkin farm. It was so nice, finally being able to go on cute dates like this. They’d first started dating while he was in Paris on business, around a year ago. Sure, he’d made trips to Paris and she’d made a few to Metropolis, but it was different now that she had moved to Gotham. Now they were able to go on random, unplanned dates, instead of dates that had been planned for weeks. He was definitely worried when she first told him she was moving to Gotham, but she had reassured him that it would be fine. (Not that she had a choice in the matter, Tikki had informed her on her last trip to Metropolis that Gotham was sick, that it was calling out for help and that as the Guardian, it was her job to help it). Gotham was….interesting, but she’d settled in just fine in the two weeks she’d been there.

And so, when he had called her out of the blue to tell her he found a place he thought she’d love, she made sure she had enough layers and jumped at the chance for a day with him. So far, the day had been absolutely perfect. They’d drank hot apple cider, ate warm donuts, taken a trip around the farm on the hayride- everything was great. But for some reason, her amazingly stubborn boyfriend didn’t want to go into the corn maze. 

“Please! You’ll be my favorite person in the whole world.” She begs again, her grin quickly switching into a pout. She keeps pouting, leaning against his arm, until he sighs.

“Fine, we can do the maze.” He says and she cheers, standing on her toes and tugging him down slightly to give him a quick kiss. 

“You are the best!” She says, over enunciating every word. He just grins, giving her another soft kiss. 

“If we get lost, I’m calling the Demon Spawn to come get us out. Pretty sure he has a tracker on my phone.” Jason says, letting her tug him along towards the maze. She just rolls her eyes, grinning. 

“You know you’re secretly touched that he cares enough to track you.” She teases as they near the entrance of the maze.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles, glaring at the scarecrow situated at the entrance of the maze. Marinette raises an eyebrow. 

“You have a problem with men made of straw?” She asks, legitimately confused by his reaction. 

“Geeze M, I knew you were new to Gotham but I forget how new.” He says, pulling her closer. She melts into him, still confused by his reaction, but happy to be close. As they walk through the maze, frustratingly running into deadends, Jason explains Scarecrow. Marinette decides that he’s number two on the list of villains she never wants to meet. Joker is number one. (Joker is also number one on the list of villains she wants to meet, but that’s because she’s always wondered what it would look like to cataclysm a psychotic clown). She’s just about to suggest they call Damian and utilize the tracker that was, undoubtedly on Jason’s phone, when the screaming begins. 

“There isn’t a haunted house here, is there.” Marinette says, her face pale. She wasn’t ready to be a hero again. She’d only defeated Hawkmoth a year ago. Just before meeting Jason. She didn’t want that part of her life again, not now. 

“No, no there’s not.” Jason says, eyes glancing around wildly. Marinette’s heart breaks at the panic on his face. She knew that, despite his tough guy appearance, he struggled. A lot. He had nightmares, constantly, mostly of the time Joker had kidnapped him (hence the whole, cataclysm Joker thing). Pushing down her own fear and doubt, she tightens her grip on his hand and squares her shoulders. 

“Come on.” She instructs, tugging him behind her as she darts through the maze, determined to get out. She stumbles over a rock and lets go of Jason’s hand in time for her to fall into a larger clearing. She curses as she falls, her palms stinging. 

“What have we here?” A voice says. Marinette sits up, staring up at a man in a scarecrow costume and suddenly, Jason’s fear, or rather, dislike, of scarecrows makes more sense. So much more sense. She glances around and lets out a sigh of relief. She’d let go of Jason quick enough. He wasn’t caught up in this. Hopefully, he could call his father. She wasn’t sure if the rumors about Bruce Wayne and Batman dating were true, but Batman was always quick to interfere if it was a Wayne or Wayne adjacent involved. 

“A girl who’s a little pissed that you crashed her date.” She retorts, standing up and brushing her stinging palms off on her jeans. She’d have to get the blood out later, which would be a pain. Better than having the blood on her palms mix with the dirt that also now covered her hands. 

“You’re either very brave or very stupid, little girl. Let’s see how you deal with my newest strain of fear toxin.” He says, and she lunges towards the man, not willing to go down without a fight. Almost immediately, a sharp pinch on her neck has her stumbling back away from the man as she tries to take in her new surroundings. 

She was back in Paris, but it wasn’t the Paris she had left. The city that was healing. Instead this Paris was underwater. Buildings were toppled over, and the moon was in pieces in the sky. She was back there. A place she hadn’t seen in person since she was fourteen, a place that had haunted her nightmares for ten years. She inhales sharply when she sees him. Chat Blanc. But instead of fear, she’s just angry. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir. And Adrien was….turning, she realizes that she can almost see him. Out of the corner of her eye, she can almost see Scarecrow, watching her. Waiting for her to react. Anger coursing through her, she charges the man, tackling him all the way to the ground. She pulls back her fist and punches him, repeatedly. 

“How dare you! How dare you use his face like that! You son of a bitch!” She screams as she hits, the roaring in her ears blocking out all other sounds. She keeps her focus on feeling the man she’s hitting, because the second she lets her focus wander, she gets sucked into her surroundings again. The way the sky just looks wrong. The odd haze over everything. And now, the corpses floating in the water closest to her. Adrien. Maman. Papa. She’s not scared, she’s pissed. Sure, those were her biggest fears and that’s definitely why she was seeing them all like that, but she’d already seen it. She’s lived it. They were gone, not coming back. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to fall down and break about it. Not when some asshole with fear toxin was running around randomly injecting people. Suddenly, something is wrapped around her and she’s pulled up. She kicks frantically, trying to get out of the steel grip she’s trapped in. She had to- what did she have to do? Another sharp pinch in her neck makes her eyes droop sleepily. She struggles again, barely able to hear the voice calling her name as she succumbs to the darkness.

---

Jason Todd feels like a major prick. He watched his girlfriend trip and instead of helping her up, he uses it as a distraction to try and call B. How the fuck was he supposed to know she tripped right into the Scarecrow? He’s cursing himself mentally as he rushes towards the ambulance. Replacement had texted him. 

Marinette was injected. At ambulances near front of farm

And Jason felt like shit. She’d never forgive him, not that he deserved it. He’d left her with one of Gotham’s biggest villains. His heart sinks when he sees the blood on her, and the oxygen mask attached to her face. Fuck. He’s almost to her, when one of the asshole cops stops him. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go over there.” He says and Jason scowls. 

“Like hell I can’t. She’s my girlfriend, let me through.” He says, and the man shakes his head. 

“Family only.” He states. Jason’s about to argue, when a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“I still need to get a statement from Mr. Todd, if you’ll excuse us.” Replacement says, leading him away from the cop. 

“I left her.” He says, the second they’re far enough away. Tim frowns.

“What do you-”

“I mean, I left her. She tripped and instead of checking on her, I was a complete and total asshole and left her so I could call B to get his ass over here and solve the goddamn problem.” Jason says, feeling like even more of an asshole now that he’s said it out loud. 

“Did you see Scarecrow?” Replacement asks. Jason scoffs. 

“Of course not! You really think I would’ve left if I had?” He asks with a glare. 

“No, I don’t. So stop blaming yourself. I literally peeled her off of Scarecrow, she was beating the crap out of him. She’s gonna be tired and scared and confused when she wakes up. Just be there-”

“Jason!” Her terrified voice echoes out and Jason turns, sprinting for the cot he’d seen her on a minute ago. She had ripped the oxygen mask off her face and was looking around while arguing with the paramedic. 

“Ma’am please-” “Marinette!” Jason calls, and her face relaxes as she leaps off the cot and launches herself into his arms. He holds her as she shakes, sobs wracking her body. 

“I saw them.” She mumbles once she calms down a little. He frowns. 

“Saw who?” He asks. 

“My parents. Adrien. Their bodies.” She says, and suddenly, Jason has another name to add to his kill list. Being a complete asshole to all of Gotham, sure. Making his girlfriend see the bodies of those she’d lost? Nope. Now the bastard better hope he didn’t meet Red Hood in an alley. 

“God, Mari, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I left.” He apologizes, his heart aching when she pushes him away. She frowns up at him and he winces, certain she’s about to break up with him. 

“Left?” She asks and he nods. 

“When you tripped, I swear, I didn’t know Scarecrow was there.” He says. 

“But you got Batman here.” She says and he jerks back. How the hell had she figured it out? When did she- “I know Bruce said he isn’t dating Batman, but honestly, I think he’s just in denial.” She adds. 

“I- what?” 

“Batman always comes when anyone in the Wayne family is in danger. Like, so quickly. And I know that Bruce says it’s just a bunch of rumors, like the whole ‘the butts match’ thing? But I also think that Batman is head over heels for Bruce, and your dad is just kinda clueless.” She rambles. Jason just laughs before pulling her into a deep kiss. She was okay. They were okay. He pulls back and grins at her, until he notices the blood again. 

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He says, taking her hand in his to try and find the source. He glances at her face and raises an eyebrow at the blush that had taken over her face. 

“Oh, um, it’s not mine.” She mumbles. 

“Then who-” “Apparently I beat the hell out of Scarecrow. In my defense, that fear toxin sucked. And I was kinda pissed.” She says, frowning down at the blood on her hands. Jason takes one of his hands and gently tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. He grins at her, giving her a short, soft kiss before pulling back. 

“I love you.” He says, and if the kiss she gave him in return meant anything, she felt the same way.

Next

Permanent tag list (open): @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth

[dracowars]

frostbitten | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 3,2k

summary: where anakin and y/n find themselves in a situation that forces them to confess their true feelings

a/n: another anakin one shot, i hope you like it!

warnings: angst, claustrophobia

universe: star wars

 “Anakin, you and Y/N continue to the north. Ahsoka and I take on the more southern areas. As soon as you notice something suspicious, let me know immediately via your comlinks”, Obi-Wan explains the plan to you in a loud voice in order to talk over the loud and angry snowstorm roaring around you. Nodding, you put on the fur-trimmed hood of your snowsuit and follow Anakin back to your Freeco bikes that you parked there shortly before to do a briefing with Obi-Wan.

You feel like you have been in the vast expanse of snow on Hoth all day long as you are fighting your way through its blizzards in search of a secret base of the Separatists. The Republic was able to locate plans of the Separatists, which show a base on this cold ice planet. Unfortunately, it does not show where said base is located and now it is up to you to find its concrete location.

“Stay close to me. Who knows what might awaits us out here”, Anakin orders while getting his bike ready to go. Holding your hands in front of your face to prevent the heavy snow from obscuring your view, you stomp through the deep snow to your vehicle and sit inside. You wait until Anakin does the same and then follow him through the desolated ice desert of the uninhabitable planet. Due to the snowstorm, you can only see a few meters ahead, which makes this whole mission a lot more difficult.

After driving through the endless snow for several minutes, a white mountain comes into view in front of you and Anakin gives you a hand sign, signalizing you to stop. Bringing your bike to a stop and opening the cockpit, Anakin is already by your side to help you out with an outstretched hand.

“What is this?”, you ask in amazement after thanking him, taking a few difficult steps towards the icy mountain, something that seems like a cave in the thick layer of ice finally coming into view.

“I do not know”, Anakin sighs and pulls a portable scanner out of his coat to scan the area. “But I think we will find out any moment.”

As you continue to walk towards the snow-covered mountain with heavy steps, however, you miss a small hole in the deep snow and your foot gets stuck in it. You can only manage to escape with Anakin’s help, but from now on he suddenly keeps a secure hold on your arm to not let it happen again, his gentle touch giving you butterflies in your stomach that you try to keep under control

Like you do with all of the feelings, deep down inside of you, that you have for this man.

“Did I not tell you to stay close to me?”, he reprimands you briefly but does not loosen his grip as you walk through the entrance into the small cave. The whistling of the blowing snowstorm outside becomes quieter, and you take a look around, taking off your hood, which was covering a little bit of your view. Freeing your snowsuit of snow, your gaze wanders through the cold cave.

“No signs of the Separatists yet?”, you ask when Anakin’s scanner still does not provide you with any information about what is hidden in this mysterious ice cave.

“Does not seem like it, but we should be careful. I have a really bad feeling about this”, Anakin says, concentrating while going further into the cave. You follow close behind him and the further you go, the colder it suddenly gets again, the blizzard outside raging even louder than before, the wind bouncing off the solid walls, creating a sinister echo.

“Look at this. These corridors do not look like they were created by nature, do they?”, Anakin mentions, who has let go of you in the meantime, only leaving a warm feeling on the spot where he touched you. You look around the corridor with interest and gently place your hands against the glittering walls of ice. With your eyes closed and with the use of the Force, you try to find some clue when you suddenly perceive a crack. And another one. And another.

“Do. Not. Move”, Anakin says in a hushed voice.

Not moving a single muscle in your body, you look at him. He is standing very close to you but keeps his look at the ground under your feet, which no longer looks as stable as it did before. Fine cracks in the ground emanate from your feet and spread through the entire corridor. Holding your breath, you try your best to hold still.

“Anakin-“

As soon as the simple mention of his name leaves your lips, a much louder crack disturbs the silence and suddenly the ground beneath you collapses. Screaming, you helplessly fall into the depths, but Anakin manages to pull you to him while falling down. With a loud thud, you land on solid ground, accompanied with a huge layer of ice and snow, and roll a few meters across the ground until you finally come to a stop. You are lying on top of Anakin, who is still tightly pressing you against his body to protect you.

With your head and entire upper body on his chest, you can feel his racing heartbeat. Groaning in pain, he grabs his head and you too need a moment to cope with the heavy shock you just went through.

“Are you- Are you hurt?”, he asks you worriedly while trying to sit up in pain, automatically pulling you with him.

“No, I do not think so. And you?”, you answer his question and scan his body to find any possible injuries. Anakin shakes his head, snow, that was caught in his brown locks, flying through the air. As he is just about to say something, already opening his mouth, his breath suddenly gets caught in his throat as he looks around. You follow his gaze and only now do you notice that you are in a large hangar several meters below the ground.

“What the-?”, Anakin speaks up again, getting up from the ground before pulling you back onto your shaky legs as well. There are numerous deactivated spaceships around you, as well as all kinds of battle droids. However, you do not get to look around more closely when you hear another crack above you and shortly afterwards further layers of snow fall on you. Anakin blocks the snow from you with his body, his arms slung around you, covering your head, after pulling you close to him.

“It is far too dangerous here. Come on”, he mentions and without letting you reply, he quickly pulls you away from the holes in the ceiling and under the thicker walls of ice, which appear more stable, right where the battle droids are.

“That is almost an entire army in here”, you whisper to Anakin, fearing that the droids might hear you and then activate themselves. “The plans were actually correct. There is indeed a secret Separatist military base down here!”

“But it seems to be abandoned, don’t you think?”, Anakin notices as he takes a closer look at one of the battle droids, examining the enemy of which you have already destroyed countless on the battlefield. “The Separatists have much newer technology in their droids than these have.”

Feeling very uncomfortable about how close he is to those droids, you grab his arm and pull him back.

“Great, we found the base now, so let us find an exit and get out of here, Anakin. I do not think we should stay here any longer than we have to, please”, you admit, and Anakin senses the fear that surrounds you, which is probably the reason why he agrees. Looking across the hall, you are on a lookout for a possible way out of this cave.

“There is a door over there”, Anakin points out and you sneak there with careful steps, past the deactivated droidekas and command droids. When you press the buttons on the door, it jerks briefly, creating an unbearable high-pitched squeak, but then stops, not moving any further after that.

“Great”, Anakin rolls his eyes before taking out his lightsaber, ramming it into the door before slicing a way out for you both through the heavy resistant door. You quickly do the same and start cutting through the door with your own lightsaber as well. When your hands touch at the top all of a sudden, you quickly pull your hands away. Anakin uses the Force to pull the cut-out part out of the door and set it aside.

Forcing yourself through the hole, you find yourself in another corridor that does not look much different than the one through whose floor you broke earlier, which is why you feel uncomfortable again. You carefully move and when you arrive at an intersection, Anakin grabs your hand to stop you. One of the paths is blocked, which is why you are forced to take the other one.

“This is a pure minefield. Everything in here is collapsing”, he explains as you continue to cautiously move through the underground passages, glued together as to not lose each other.

“Maybe that is why they left everything behind”, you mutter. “And we walked right into the trap.”

“What use would that have for them?”, Anakin questions when he tries to activate his commlink again. However, you both seem to be so deep under the ground that you no longer have any connection, and therefore have absolutely no chance of contacting the outside world.

“I do not know, maybe that they successfully kill two Jedi with it”, you respond snappily, which is why he looks at you with a frown. “What? It is true.”

“If you keep on thinking this negatively, then yes, they will probably really kill us”, he replies with an annoyed undertone in his voice.

“Oh sorry. I did not choose to be here either”, you roll your eyes at him, but when he does not reply and just walks on, you follow him quickly, too scared to walk around alone. Shortly before you reach him again, you are forced to stop because of the cracking of the ice above you. Anakin notices it as well and when in the next moment the ceiling threatens to break down directly down on you, he reaches you just in time and throws himself on top of you.

Together you fall on the cold solid ground, Anakin’s body acting like a protective shield over you as you two are buried under huge parts of the ceiling. The noises around you do not stop at all while new masses of snow come down every second and finally lock you in on both sides.

Even when the echoing noises subside, you do not move an inch, but you can feel your hearts beating quickly against each other. Your breathing is irregular and it feels like masses are pressing on your body, crushing you beneath them. Your vision has gone completely white due to the snow, making it very hard for you to breathe with the snow everywhere. Slowly and weakly pressing your hand against the thick layer of snow above you, squeezing your eyes shut in order to transmit all of your remaining strength into the Force, it eventually floats away as you create a safe bubble around you before sliding it aside and let go of it. The forces affecting your body disappear in an instant and you take in a very deep breath, desperately gasping for air.

“A-Anakin?”, you stutter out, your body aching. He does not answer, and your vision suddenly blurs before everything around you turns pitch-black.

When you gain back your consciousness at some point, you feel an incredible cold surrounding you, but nothing has changed. Anakin’s lifeless body is still on top of you, also ice cold. Adrenaline rushing through your veins, you push yourself up with him and quickly lay him down on his back.

“Anakin? Anakin, do you hear me?”, you ask frightened and firmly shake his motionless body. Quickly, you press your cheek against his chest and sigh of relief when you hear his very weak but steady heartbeat. His body is freezing, and you do not hesitate to take off your gloves and put your hands against his cheeks, hoping that your own body heat will warm him up at least a little bit.

“Come on, wake up. Don’t do this to me”, you silently beg him and keep trying to warm his cold body up, shaking him over and over again. Because of the extreme cold, you are not able to feel the tip of your fingers anymore after some time and your teeth are chattering, but you do not give into the cold. You are a Jedi, you can’t give up and you won’t, concentrating on the tiny bit of warmth that is still within you.

“If you do not wake up now, I will never be able to tell you how I feel about you!”, you yell at him and, as if on cue, he suddenly stirs awake, coughing while gasping for air. Startled, you stare at him for a few seconds before bending over him again.

“Do you hear me, Anakin?”, you ask again and he frowns when hearing your soft voice.

“Y/N?”, he breathes out softly and his eyelids slowly flutter open.

“Yes. I am here”, you confirm. He looks at you exhaustedly before sitting up with your help, groaning in pain. His body is visibly trembling from the cold, his lips discolored bluish, almost all the life vanished from his face.

“Why is it so damn cold?”, he stutters and wraps his hands around his body until he notices that you have taken off your gloves. “Are you crazy?! Put these on again!”

“I warmed you up”, you explain when he puts the gloves in your hands and you put them back on over your freezing cold hands. “We are trapped, Anakin. We can’t get out of here. Obi-Wan will never find us and we will freeze to death.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy, okay? We will make it out of here, I promise”, Anakin replies immediately, taking your face between his hands, forcing you to look into his beautiful eyes, preventing you from having a panic attack. “I promise I will get us out of here.”

Holding back the cold tears that have formed in your eyes, you nod and break the intense eye contact. You rub your arms with trembling hands, not making you feel warmer at all, maybe even turning it colder.

“Come here”, Anakin finally orders and spreads his arms to invite you in. You look at him puzzled, not knowing what he is suggesting. Interpreting that he only wants to comfort you, you refuse.

“N-No, it is okay. I am fine-“

“Body heat is our only chance”, he interrupts you and ruthlessly pulls you into his arms all of a sudden. He presses you close to his body, warming you up right away whether it be for his body heat or your burning cheeks due to the sudden proximity to him. Leaning your head on his shoulder, sitting against the wall with your back, your bodies are pressed close together.

“Why did you do that?”, you ask him out of nowhere as he takes your hands between his to warm them up as well. Because of the cold, your breath is visible in the air.

“Why did I do what?”

“Save me.”

“I can’t just let the snow bury you. I would never forgive myself.”

“You would sacrifice your own life.. for me?”, you ask incredulously and look at him, his eyes switching back and forth between your sparkling ones.

“Yes”, he answers briefly and suddenly something in his expression changes before he turns to you completely, his grip around your hands tightening even more. “I want you to listen to me. If we should really never get out of here, then I want you- I need you to know something.”

“A-Anakin?”, you stutter out and your pulse skyrockets, hoping that his words suggest exactly what you wanted to hear so badly for years now.

“I know we have our problems and I know that we are forbidden to, but.. Every time I see you, I get so nervous and do not even know what to say. My heart beats so much faster at the sight of you and I.. I admire you in so many ways”, Anakin confesses and looks deep into your glistening eyes, his hand gently removing the powdery snow from your hair. “I have to think of you every single day, you are always on my mind. I can’t concentrate when you are around and I-I had to admit this before it was too late.”

Speechless, you look at him, tears of joy shooting into your eyes.

“You do not have to say anything, you do not have to return the feeling either”, Anakin quickly continues when he does not get any reaction from you. Only when a gentle smile forms on your exhausted face does he stop rambling.

“You would not believe me when I told you how badly I wanted to hear these words out of your mouth”, you softly giggle, your lungs breathing in the cold air causing you to cough weakly. “I feel just like you, Anakin. I feel the same way when you are around.”

“Y-You- Really?”

“Yes, and before we die, I want you to know this. Anakin, I am deeply, truly in love with you. I have always been”, you cough, and your eyes feel heavier by each second as the cold slowly gets the best of you.

“I love you”, Anakin says in a shaky voice. Gently leaning forward towards you, he puts his lips on yours in a kiss that you both have longingly hoped for all this time. Your first and probably last kiss before none of you can longer withstand the extreme cold and your bodies shut down.

With your heads leaning against each other, breathing so slow that it is already dangerously close on the edge of fading and your skin color as white as corpses, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka find you only minutes later.

When you slowly gain back your consciousness a little later and open your eyes slightly, blinded by an uncomfortably bright light, you need a moment to remember what happened and why you just woke up with an oxygen mask covering your mouth and nose. Before the panic can set in, however, you feel a slight pressure, barely noticeable, on your hand and you turn your head to the side carefully, only to see that Anakin is lying next to you on a stretcher, his eyes full of exhaustion as he gently smiles at you, too weak to keep his eyes open. You gently squeeze his hand and return his reassuring smile and before you know it, the exhaustion overtakes you again as well and you drift off peacefully, thinking about the only person who has ever meant something to you.

[piratesfromspace]

You Again (Frank Castle/Reader)

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 1.5k TW: light description of wound and bruises, implied rape attempt, mention of alcohol, canon-typical violence, reader has ✨issues✨

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Some hurt/comfort with Frank Castle. For unknown reasons, reader can’t go see a normal doctor. This story was inspired by an unpublished fanfic written by a dear friend of mine, in which Frank already helps reader.

MASTERLIST

“You. Again.”

You never had been so happy to hear his gruff voice. 

“And you’re a fuckin’ mess.” Frank added, tone flat.

“You should see the other guy.” you croaked, trying as best as you could to smile despite the cut on your lower lip.

You were, indeed, a mess. 

Battered and bloody, you were sitting - or more accurately slouching - on the dirty floor, in front of one of Castle’s hideouts door, on a random Tuesday night. Your right hand was badly hiding the knife’s wound on your stomach, the gash in your blood-soaked T-shirt obvious behind your feeble fingers. Angry bruises were already blooming around your wrist, adding yet another painful layer to your miserable appearance. 

“Fuck.” He let the word slip between gritted teeth while scanning your body. You were not in great shape. 

“Fine, come here, don’t bleed out on my front porch.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, while you tried to put yourself on your feet, before admitting you were too weak to accomplish the simple task.

“I-I can’t... stand up.” 

Frank closed his eyes for a second, exhaling through his nose, just like he would do to try and calm himself to avoid scolding a child. He eventually crouched beside you, slipping an arm under the crook of your knees, and the other behind your shoulders, gathering you in his arms and lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. 

The door closed behind him thanks to a powerful kick of his foot, and you finally allowed yourself to relax a little, feeling safe for the first time in days. 

The dingy flat was nowhere near the level of comfort you would wish for yourself, but he was here, in this room, breathing and alive and focusing on you, and that was all that mattered at this moment. 

---

“I’m the first choice when it comes to patching you up I guess.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

Frank was trying his best to stitch the wound on your stomach without hurting you too much, but the lack of anesthesia was making it difficult. The witty banter was one way of distracting you, and you were grateful for it.

“Done.” 

The needle clattered on the plate he had put on the floor next to the mattress you were lying on. You let out the breath you were holding, pain slowly radiating through your whole body, making his lazy way from the cut on your belly to the rest of your limbs, awakening in its path the dozens of bruises littering your skin. Your vision got blurry for a moment, ears ringing.

“Hey, stay with me.” his hand was on the side of your face, cradling your cheek while avoiding to touch the cuts on your lips. His warm and callused fingertips against your cheek gently brought you back to reality. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, cataloguing every cut and scratch, and you did not miss the way his eyes just narrowed for a second when they fell on your neck, his fingers hovering above the bruises there. 

“Are you hurt elsewhere?”

“No.” you knew the moment the word escaped your mouth that you had answered way too fast and way too loud for you to be believable.

“You’re so bad at lying it hurts to see you try, you know?”

“I’m f-fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Since you’re the one bleeding on MY mattress, I would argue that it’s also my business now.” 

Your defense was pathetic and he was so patient with you, you wondered why you had to be such a defensive jerk sometimes. You slouched a little more, you wanted to disappear into his mattress. 

“Truth is… I-I don’t really know.” 

“Let me take a look.” It was not a question, but he waited nonetheless for you to nod your approval before helping you shimmy out of your torned jeans. You winced, the movement cruelly reminding you of the freshly stitched wound on your abs. 

“Do I need to kill someone?” was his only reaction when the galaxy of black and purple bruises on your thighs appeared from under your pants. 

“He’s already dead.” 

He knew you were not lying this time, the proudness in your soft voice too earnest to be faked. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice so low and caring, like he was talking to a wounded animal.

“You know what happened.” you answered sternly.

Frank wasn’t dumb and it would only take half a brain to do the maths and understand the situation given the bruises on your neck, wrists and thighs, and the broken zipper of your jeans.

“Do you need medication? Something for...” he seemed lost all of a sudden.

“No, Frank, I killed him before anything happened. That was the plan.”

“The plan? You planned on being attacked and… “ he froze, his mind working to make sense of your words. He quickly understood, his expression suddenly changing. If he was looking sorry a few seconds ago, now he was angry.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been up with this vigilante bullshit again?” 

“That’s rich coming from you.” you scoffed.

“You’re not a 6-foot-tall trained marine.”

“That’s the point, I can easily lure those guys, unlike you.” You cut him off.

“You should have told me first.”

“What? I don’t need your permission.”

“You need my protection.” he was starting to lose his patience.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Says the girl bleeding on my doorstep.” he snorted.

The bastard got a point.

“At least I’m trying to be useful.” you retorted, in a low blow, a foolish attempt to not lose too quickly.

“You won’t be useful when you’re dead.”

“Right now I wish I was.” you grumbled, running out of replies.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

“Fuck you Frank. Fuck you.” 

He was tiring. You should have known you had zero chance of winning this argument from the get go. You couldn’t even go and dramatically slam the door on your way out. Your shaking legs would barely carry you up. Ok, maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe it was a bad idea, and your injured body was just the proof of his implacable logic.

Frank rose on his feet slowly, a hand rubbing on the back on his head - he always did that when he was stressed and thinking too much. 

“Stay here until you’re somewhat healed.” his eyes were avoiding yours, his voice too soft whereas you wished he would be mad, because he would be way easier to fight him this way. “Please.”

It’s not like you were physically able to go anywhere else, and truth be told it’s not like you wanted to go anywhere else. The hurt in his voice made your heart clench. You had been unfair, just like usual. A stupid defense mechanism.

You thought about the last time he had to patch you up. A mean fever. Found you unconscious in a dark alley. Frank had taken good care of you, slowly bathed you in cold water to lower the fever, before tucking you against him under a blanket and nursing you back to life the following days. He had even kissed you that first night, and the next morning, when you felt better, he had pressed his body against yours and made you feel even better, this time with different means than some cold water. The memory of his kindness contrasting with your current ungratefulness had you on the verge of tears. 

You were mad at yourself. 

“I’m-I’m sorry.” you offered after what seemed like an eternity. 

”And… thank you.” you added, trying your best to not burst out crying right there. 

Castle said nothing, he just left for the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, before squatting next to you and handing you the precious liquid. You gulped the whole shot down, you had not realized before how parched you were. 

“You lost some blood, that’s why you’re dehydrated.” he explained matter of factly, voice devoid of hurt or anger, like your little scene had not existed. And that’s why I’m saying nonsense, you thought to yourself.

“I’ll bring you some more.” 

Before he could rise up again, you reached out to touch his face. The sudden movement sent sparks of pain through your guts but you did not flinch. His eyes bore into yours and you closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft then fierce, it felt like finally letting go of something that was burning you from the inside, your injury forgotten the second his lips touched yours. The taste of blood in your mouth was soon replaced by the taste of him and the lingering notes of the whiskey he surely drank before you arrived. 

Castle fell slowly on his knees, carefully hugging you, breaking the kiss only to bury his face in the crook of your neck and whisper inaudible praises between two “silly girl”. 

You closed your eyes. It felt like finally being home. Finally being safe.

[bokunosimpfiction]

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god 

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire​ and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In.          Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

 In.

 … out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

[lewispandora]

Middle of the Night | Wong Yukhei (Lucas)

In which you and Lucas can’t be together but still do it in secret in the middle of the night. 

Pairing: idol!Lucas x fem!reader

Genre: angst, smut, fluffy (?)

Word count:  1.8k

WARNINGS ⚠️: cheating, sex

A/N: It's really important to say that this was my first smut EVER. Actually, it was the first thing I wrote that was over 200 words lol. So please, be understanding to anything that is just not it yet – I promise I’ll get better with time. Also, this was inspired by Monsta X's Middle of the Night (those who know this song will get it as soon as they start reading it tbh). Another thing: although there is smut in here, this is not supposed to be a smut-focused scenario, the focus here is the agnsty situation Lucas and y/n are in. I’ll try to write a part II for this.

Ten and Yangyang’s thin screams could be heard all over the dorm followed by an angry and very Chinese Kun shouting “It’s too late for this!” Hendery was running after Bella who had one of his shoes on her mouth and Leon jumped from the dinner table to Xiaojun’s lap, spilling the Dak Gomtang he was having all over the floor. Winwin and Lucas could hear him exclamate “Oh no! Leon, it was the last portion! That is all Ten’s fault!”, although they both remained unfazed: it was just another normal late night in the WayV dorm afterall. 

“Louis, come here, come,” Winwin called for the cat, extending his hand towards him without taking his eyes off the phone. “Good boy,” he said after feeling the fur on his hand, patting the cat’s head. “Hey Lucas, do you want to watch something? Our schedule tomorrow is late anyway-” 

“TEN TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE CAT!”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? LEON WAS WITH YOU!”

“YES BUT IT WAS YOU WHO TAUGHT HIM TO BE SMART!”

“CAN YOU GUYS STOP SCREAMING, DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?”

“Why do I even live with these people?” Winwin sighed. “So, what do you say?’

Lucas was just going to say yes when his phone vibrated with your message. It was simple and short: 

“Can you come over?”

It was all he needed. 

“I can’t today, I’m going out.”

“What do you mean you’re going out? It’s winter midnight, Lucas. It’s her, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer just by the head tilt Lucas gave. “Dude, for how long do you intend to keep with this? Xuxi, you can’t-”

“Just save it for another time when I am devastated and will actually be willing to listen to you, okay? We both know it won’t take too long to happen anyway.” Lucas said and left the room. 

He got the first coats and first boots he could find, knowing he couldn’t take too much or you could change your mind. He knew it quite well, it was not the first time he was in this situation. 

To be honest, you two didn’t remember when you first met and it wasn’t important. The relevant facts were that you were truly and deeply in love when the time came for him to debut. As an idol, specially a SM idol, you could not even think about staying together: any scandal evolving Lucas meant a scandal evolving all NCT members and that was something he just couldn’t do. You understood him because deep down you always knew it would happen. So you distanced yourself from him for a while, met a rich guy ten years older than you and decided to stay with him – not because he was a nice guy because he certainly wasn’t, but because it was your way to remind yourself that Lucas was actually not the bad guy, he suffered just like you did. 

You two barely talked for ten months until his birthday came and he had the audacity to invite you. That was when everything started. Lucas was just as stunning as ever, his eyes glowing by the faint mention of the new permanent subunit he was in or the members that inhered it. But it was nothing compared to the way he looked at you when you  arrived. 

Feeling as dislocated as you could feel, you stayed in the corner for most part of the party, just capturing Lucas’ moves throughout the entire party. Mark was the closest NCT member you knew so you didn’t mind when he approached you all of a sudden to say:

“Hey! Heard you got into the university you wanted, congratulations, y/n!”

“Oh, thank you Mark. Congratulations on the success you are having down there in America as well.”

“Thank you. That’s sweet of you.” He took a deep sip of his drink. “So, why don’t you try talking with him more? I bet no one is going to find it… weird. Go there, I know you want to.”

You were indecisive for a moment, switching your gaze between Lucas and Mark but, being backed by his securing look, you held your breath and stood up, going straight to the birthday boy. That was when he looked at you and directed his cute, excited and goofy smile towards you that you found out: you were not only truly and deeply in love with Lucas. You were also madly crazy for him. 

Ever since then, you started doing the most insane thing you thought you would never be able to do: everytime you missed him too much and you knew your boyfriend wouldn’t appear, you sent Lucas a message asking him to come over. It didn’t matter what you guys did, it just had to be in between four walls and kept a secret by both of you.  You didn’t care what it was nor what it meant, you just had to have him. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Tired from all the college studies and your work, you took advantage of the fact that your boyfriend was in Daegu for a business trip and decided it was the moment to call him. 

Lucas took less than thirty minutes to arrive at your studio. He didn’t even wait for the door to be properly opened before taking you on his arms and kissing your lips.

“Why did you take this long to message me?” he asked, lips still connected to yours. 

“I’m sorry, it was the end of semester. I barely had time to sleep and I wanted to have a clean schedule so I could be only for you.” Nothing more was needed to be said. He knew you meant it.

Rapidly closing the door, Lucas turned himself back to you. Caressing your cheeks, he felt his eyes water. He was just so lucky to have you, even if it wasn’t as a whole. Even if it was just for a brief moment. Even if you actually weren’t his.

“Come, I have your favourite snacks. We can eat while relaxing, watching something.”

“I only want you,” he said softly, holding your buttcheeks and squeezing them while pushing you closer to him. The kiss shared by you two started calm and romantic but swiftly got fast and very needy. You pulled Lucas' hair a little bit, trying to contain the heat growing in your lower body but soon giving up. 

“Just take me. Take me, please.”

Slowly directing his kiss to your neck, Lucas moved both of your bodies towards your bed, gently placing you on it. He grinned just by looking at your body under his. You were so vulnerable and, no matter what others said, so his. He took your pyjamas while taking his time to kiss every single part of your body, eyes not leaving yours even for one second, stopping only after having you in your lingerie. 

Now it was your turn. Moving his head up to face yours, you started taking his clothes off. Some could feel bothered by the amount of layers due to the wintry cold but it wasn’t the case for the two of you. All you wanted to do was feel and kiss each other, deep gaze at each other. And that’s what you did. After taking his coat, jumper and shirt, you found yourself lost on his soft lips again. Kissing him passionately, you stroke his hair, slightly pulling him afar so you could down your kisses to his jaw. 

Lucas sighed at almost every touch of yours on his body. He had this soft look eyeing you, had given up trying to stop smiling a while ago. You kept going down his neck, placing wet kisses and smooth bites here and there just to make him abruptly lose air. You stopped to look at him once more before moving down to where a happy trail would be. Anticipating what was to come, Lucas held strands of your hair and lifted you chin so he could kiss you. 

When your mouth watered his manhood, it was still covered by his pants. You placed kisses in the entirety of his cock while massaging his balls, not taking your eyes off his. Lucas was so beautiful in every angle but this was by far one of your favourites. Smirking to yourself, you lowered his pants, revealing a knob wet by precum. 

Just the direct contact of your mouth and his dick was enough to make Lucas groan loud. The effect you had on him was indescribable. You started taking him with your mouth and hands but slowly let him play with you while fucking your face. Even doing so, he made sure to fill his actions with suavity and passion. When he felt he was close, Lucas switched places with you, putting you under his body again. 

“Y/n,” he said as he started trailing down kisses from your neck to your venus mount “you are so beautiful, so precious, so  special. I hope you know that.” And with no previous warning, he buried his face in your pussy. 

Eating you out into oblivion while kneading your breasts, Lucas made you quiver and arch you back like no one else ever did, like only he was able to. Making you moan his name and other inaudible things, you came undone. Not wasting any time, Lucas directed himself towards you, kissing you, making you taste your own juices. 

With no previous warnings, he sank his dick inside you. One hand holding himself over you and the other holding you hand, Lucas started his thrusts slowly but quickly lost patience. Moaning your name while hearing you moan his, Lucas bit your lips, your jaw, your neck and your collarbone, trying to contain the killing amount of pleasure he was feeling – and trying to make you feel the same. Lucas was a sinner and he knew this well but he also did not care a bit: all he wanted was you, was to feel and fill you. 

With sweat covering your bodies and shameful noises leaving your mouths, Lucas started to pound into you even harder. He was going crazy, completely mad. There was not even an inch that should stay untouched by him, not a single piece of your body that shouldn’t have his traces in it. You didn’t know where your mind was for a while already, all you were able to do was mark Lucas’ back while bouncing to his pace and moan his name uncontrollably among with other sounds which meanings are to be known. Actually, you did know: amiss. A terrible one. But you couldn’t care less. 

When your bodies couldn’t take it anymore, you both gave in to the suffocating feeling and came together. You crying in pleasure, Lucas filling you with his love. That was all you two needed. You were happy again. You were complete again. 

Unfortunately, the moment was not dogged to last too long. Before the sun rose up, without people noticing his steps, before the traces of your damnable actions could be alluded, Lucas would go back to his ways in the middle of the night just to pretend nothing really happened.

[eisforeidolon]

"Just look at how all his skeevy comments to Jensen are pointed implications Jensen is submissive to him, which is a fucking objectification power play." YES, well said, thank you. I'm so glad more people are finally starting to notice this and talk about it, because I've been observing this dynamic for years and been growing increasingly angry and creeped out by it.

I'm the cockles anon who sent you an ask regarding Misha's jacket a while ago and like I said I know a lot about the topic of cockles. One of my useless talents is that once something grabs my attention, I tend to remember every little detail about it.

So I have a mental catalogue spanning an entire decade now of every creepy, sexual, bdsm-related, objectifying, power-playing or otherwise inappropriate remark or "joke" Misha has ever made towards Jensen (and in general). Every con panel, every interview, every post or reply on his Twitter or Instagram where he has said something along these lines, I've seen it.

And it's... a lot.

That man is just giving me the worst vibes. Either ruthless psychopath who will do anything for money and to stay relevant vibes or just plain old predator vibes, if he really does have a sexual interest in Jensen, I can't quite tell.

And if we truly live in the dark time line where Jensen and Misha actually do have some kind of thing going on, then I feel sorry for Jensen. He could do so much better than Misha. And cockles actually being real would only add a whole other layer of creepiness to this already creepy and disturbing situation.

But most cockles stans don't see that. Quite the opposite, they get off on the idea of Jensen being in some weird bdsm-type relationship where he's submissive to Misha. If it wasn't already obvious from some of their more disgusting posts, tags, comments etc on Tumblr, you just need to take a look at some of the most popular destiel and cockles fanfics and authors on ao3, it's all "dom cas/misha", "top cas/misha" and "sub dean/jensen", "bottom dean/jensen" these days. And what feels like practically every other fic at least has a "dom/sub undertones" or "light dom/sub" tag.

And all of that can be directly blamed on Misha, for the most part. Jensen has always been one of the most heavily objectified and sexualized male actors or artists I've ever come across, but Misha has made it so, so much worse over the years. He truly makes me sick and I can only hope more and more people will open their eyes to just how much of a fucking creep and asshole this man is.

It really is creepy.

Jensen in particular does seem to have such a disproportionate number of people who just want to see him as a sex object and prop to bolster their actual fave. The actors don't care about being treated like horny sex objects in their fanfic, and their fanfic is totally based on what they "know" about the actors, so it's fine to treat real people like that! They're just "helping" the actors to feel free to publicly own up to what they already know, you see. It's one thing for the fans to do. A gross thing, creepily divorced from reality and blind to how one-sided their relationship to their idea of who the actors are is. But it's all part of having trouble divorcing fiction and reality and treating the actors, who are real people who live at least 90% of their lives out of the spotlight, like the caricatured characters in their fantasies constructed from sometimes wild "interpretations" of that other 10% we see.

It is entirely another situation to treat someone you actually personally know and have worked with like a mute sex object. They want to see Misha tweeting and talking about Jensen that way as "flirting" and intimacy, but it's not. It's not reciprocal, for one. If Jensen was responding regularly, that'd be one thing. Even negatively, it'd be a type of engagement. He doesn't, though, it's just Misha regularly making a public spectacle of himself by pointedly sexualizing Jensen for his own aggrandizement. For another, it does often specifically involve Misha implying domination or a lack of masculinity on Jensen's part; given the wider cultural context, it's pointedly demeaning and reductive of Jensen into a submissive sex toy. I.e. it's really about power, and using sex as tool to that end. Not only could Jensen do a million times better than Misha, that would be an insanely shitty way to publicly treat someone who was actually a partner. Shippers who don't want to see that are never going to see that, though. Especially since they themselves want to fantasize about making Jensen into someone more malleable that will follow their lead if they tantrum loud enough - like Misha does.

For a long time I waffled between thinking Misha was genuinely just kind of clueless and bad at thinking through the appearance and consequences of his actions, and suspecting that he was just using that kind of persona as a cover for being a calculating dickhead who cares about nothing but himself and his own ego. I've leaned more and more towards the latter over the years. I actually think Misha having genuine sexual interest in Jensen would make the whole thing a magnitude worse, because it's bad enough to sexualize someone you don't give a crap about either way as a power play, it's full on incel territory to do it because they won't let you possess them.

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

[erensonly]

Cuddle Buddies (Bakugou x Black! Reader)

Chapter 10: I’m Sorry

[series masterlist],[previous chapter],[next chapter]

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Banging on the door, you pleaded,"Katsuki, open the door! It was a joke." He won't even respond back to you at this point. It wasn't supposed to go like this. You should've never listened to Mina, Denki, and Sero.

"Leave me alone! Go cuddle back up to that moss headed asscrack!"

Ok let me explain what happened.

You were sitting in your room with Mina, Denki, and Sero. You were just chilling and messing around, giving each other dares and bullying people in the dorms.

You and dared Denki to go to class 1B's dorms and ask Shinsou out, which went surprisingly well. Sero dared Mina to go beat Iida up, (don't tell anyone but he lost), and Denki dared Sero to dress in your clothes for the rest of the week, and now your dare.

They all ganged up on you and dared you to cuddle with Deku until Bakugou came back from training. They did this apparently to get back at him for giving them the wrong answers on the last test Aizawa gave to the class.

You were reluctant to do this. One, because your relationship had been going strong for a little while, and two because obviously Bakugou still had a small problem with Midoriya. But the forfeit was almost, it not worse than the dare.

If you didn't go along with the dare, they would make you embarrass yourself in front of the whole school for the rest of the year.

Thinking it was mostly harmless (mistake #1) you went along with it, thinking you could just explain it to Bakugou and he would still be somewhat upset , but not as much (mistake #2)

Walking to Midoriya's room, whom you had gotten quite close to at this point, you explain the dare and dragged him to your room knowing that's where Katsuki went right after his shower.

Laying on your bed. Midoriya lied down next to you, pulling out his phone to wait for Bakugou to come back. You pull yours out to text Katsuki.

Big Head🐥

what time will you be back?

Bakuboy💥

i'll be back in 25 minutes

Responding with a simple k to make it seem like something was off since you never replied with 'k', you open tiktok and start to scroll.

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Hearing the door close, and another open, you immediately know that it's Katsuki going to shower. "Izuku, he'll be here in like 20 minutes. We gotta get ready."

"This is kinda nerve wracking. You sure you wanna do this?" he asked concerned.

"Yeah it should be fine."

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You heard footsteps coming towards your room, scrambling to get into position, you lay down on Izuku's chest and try to curl up without looking awkward. You see the door open. We're so dead.

"What the fuck is this?!"

"What are you talking about?" you ask, pretending to be clueless.

"Is this what we're doing now?! Going around getting close to everybody you see?"

Sitting up, you try to act surprised. "What are you talking about? You know me and Izuku are friends."

"Fuck it. Keep cuddling him." He walked out of the room looking dejected. You expected a bigger reaction out of him, but he looked... tired and sad.

Jumping off the bed, you follow him to his room, trying to get his attention. He just ignored you. He slammed the door in your face, locking it.

"Katsuki! It was just a dare, nothing was really happening."

"Leave me alone! I don't wanna talk to someone who cuddles every dude she sees!" Damn.. that kinda hurt. But can you blame him?

It was almost like he wasn't paying attention to what you were saying, just wanting to get you to leave him alone.

And that's why we're here now.

"Katsuki, open the door! It was a joke."

"Leave me alone! Go cuddle back up to that moss headed asscrack!"

You went silent, trying to figure out how to get him to let you in the room. But then, you heard small sniffles. By now, everyone had went back to their rooms, not trying to get involved, but if they were there you wouldn't even have heard the sniffling.

Is he crying? You had never heard, let alone seen him cry, over anything. He was always so tough around you, especially when you needed him in times of stress and frustration.

You didn't think it would hurt him this much. Obviously, he won't text you back, no matter how much you plead, and you can only think of one thing to do. Call Kirishima.

Pulling your phone out, you text Kirishima to come to Bakugou's door, explaining to situation to him. When he arrives, he can hear to sniffling as well. "Do you think you can talk to him? He won't even respond to me anymore."

"I'll try. But I'm not sure it'll work."

"Thank you so much. I owe you one."

Stepping away from the door, you see Kirishima try to plead with Bakugou to let him in. "I don't wanna talk to you or her or anyone. Leave me alone." This was heartbreaking enough, but what he said next really twisted the knife.

"I'm finished." The only thing you could think about him being done with is the relationship. Not wanting to pressure him anymore, you leave, thanking Kirishima for trying.

You walk to the roof, taking your phone out and opening spotify. Turning on Fight Song, you start to sing along. You really got in your feelings, feeling tears slide down your face. Hearing clapping behind you as the song ended, you turn and see the whole school clapping. Bakugou ran up to you and kissed you passionately. "I love you so much. I could never be mad at you-

(I'm sorry wtf. I cry laughed while writing this. i'm fucking with y'all. now for real this time)

You walk back to your room, feeling rejected and frustrated. You should've known better than to do this to him. But you didn't, and now your relationship was probably, no, was ruined. Midoriya had left by now, so you just sagged onto your bed.

You were so angry with yourself, you didn't know whether to cry or cut your own leg off. Decking to cry, you just layer there, tears streaming down your face as you silently cried. You had no right to cry here, but the only person you ever really got close to after the incident just dumped you.

Still crying, you curl up into the pillow Katsuki always slept on when he spent the night in your room. Smiling slightly at the thoughts of the sleepless nights you both had, and the meaningful conversations you both had, it just mad you more sad. How could you mess up like this?

'I'm sorry Katsuki' was the last thing you could clearly think straight before your head went into a clouded mess. Thoughts running rapid in your mind. Voices in the back of your head yelling at you that everything was your fault. That this wouldn't have happened if you weren't so stupid.

You knew none of this wouldn't have happened if you just refused the dare, but you just had to be stubborn.

This went on for hours on end. It went on so long, you lost track of time. But what snapped you out of your daze was a loud bang. At first you thought it was someone playing around but you heard it again. And again. And again.

Getting curious, you walk slowly to where the noise was coming from. You realized it was coming from Bakugou's room. Panicking when you couldn't get the door open,you run to Kirishima's, bursting through the door, you start to shake him awake.

"Kirishima, wake up. You have to help me."

"What are you talking about?" He tried to turn away but you kept shaking him.

"Something is wrong with Katsuki. Kiri, you have to help me." Now being alert, you runs with you to Katuski's room, now hearing the loud noises. Apparently other people had heard it too because you saw groggy people waking out of their rooms, wondering what the noise was about.

Kirishima tried to get the door open but he couldn't because it was locked. "Break it down," you said suddenly.

"What?" he asked confused.

"You have to break the door so we can help him. Quickly."

"But-"

"We have no time to be discussing this! We have to help him. Now!" Not meaning to raise your voice at him, you look at him apologetically. He seems to get it and uses his quirk to help him break down the door.

When he can finally get in, you see Katsuki sleep walking almost. He was standing up and getting ready to fire another explosion. Kiri covered you when it came. "You can't take her from me! Please!" He was.. crying? Is he dreaming?

Walking up to him, you try to touch his arm. He flinches and gets ready to attack again. He kept screaming about someone trying to take someone away. About him being scared to lose someone. Then he mutters your name.

"Y/N, please don't leave me. I need you to help me." Help him what? Kiri helped you try to calm him down. He grabbed his hands while you maneuvered him into a sitting position on the floor near the bed. He was struggling trying to get away, still pleading with someone to let you go.

This was to heartbreaking to watch. You gently lowered his head to his favorite place on your body. Your thighs. He often liked to lay on them and watch TV or scroll on his phone.

"Hey," you whispered, "it's ok. No one is taking me away." Trying to comfort him, you stay to stroke his hair, scratching his scalp gently. He started to calm down a bit. Kirishima saw this and let go of his hands whispering that he was going to get Aizawa just in case.

Continuing to whisper calming things to him, he gets calmer and calmer as time goes on. You notice Aizawa and Kirishima standing at the door. You tell them you have to situation under control and that you would you would call if you needed help.

Nodding, they leave the doorway.

You noticed that Katuski was starting to wake. "Hey," whisper to him, trying to not have him on high alert anymore. Seeing you, he looks away and tries to move.

"You don't have to move. Stay here as long as you need." Reluctantly laying back down on your lap, his breathing calms. "You wanna talk about it?"

Silence. "Can I explain what happened at least? You don't even have to forgive me, just let me tell you what happened"

He grunts in response. Taking that as a yes, you start to explain that it was just a dare, and no one would ever come between the two of you. Explaining how he doesn't have to worry about anyone trying to take you away from him because it won't happen.

"You mean it?" You had never seen him this vulnerable. "Of course I do." You kiss his forehead, still combing you fingers through his fluffy hair that was slightly matted down to his forehead with sweat.

"Now do you wanna talk about what just happened?"

Nodding his head, he gets to explain. "I fell asleep and at first it was normal. But then I was back in the dusty place I ended up in when I got kidnapped the first time. But this time, you were there and that burnt idiot was holding a knife to your neck."

"They were demanding that I join them or they would hurt you. They just kept digging deeper with the knife." He let out a shaky breath.

"You looked terrified. I couldn't bare it, so I started begging them to let you go. But that wasn't enough. He started to cut you all over with that damned knife. He wanted me to join them and then he would let you go."

"You told me to just listen for my safety, but i didn't care about my safety, just yours. I want you to be safe." Tears started to stream down his face.

"You don't have to continue," you reassured. So he didn't. He just cuddled further into you and let go. He looked so small and vulnerable. Continuing to reassure him, you just tried to make sure he was ok.

Finally settling down, he grabbed your hand tightly in his. "Promise you'll never leave?"

"I promise." He gets up and drags you to the bed. You looked at the clock. 4:47 in the morning. "You're still not fully forgiven m, you know that right."

"I know," you cuddled up to him. "And you know you're gonna have to make it up to me, right?"

"Anything you want."

He smirked mischievously. He pulled you closer and kissed your head a few times. Finally settling down, you both fall asleep, glad that you could help him and explain what happened.

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(and that is a wrap! over 2k words just for y'all since i haven't updated in a while. i hope you enjoyed and i'll see you soon with a new update 🖤)

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Six: mixed reunions Words: 4.2k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin, Daisy & Basira Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Basira seems happy to see you, Jon writes.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of gun and knife violence, mentions of death/murder, mentions of blood)

Stars are just beginning to fill the sky when there comes a knock at the door—two crisp taps, unhurried, but with a heavy insistence that has Martin standing from the couch quickly, mumbling, “I’ll get it,” and crossing the room while Daisy and Jon watch from where they’re still sat on the couch.

“Hel—oh, yes, come in,” Martin says as he opens the door and Basira immediately pushes past, her eyes scanning the room in front of her with a firm intensity. “Nice to see you too,” he mutters as Basira’s eyes find Daisy, and a wide-eyed expression crosses her face so quickly Jon can’t pin down what it’s meant to be.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and then she’s across the room and standing in front of Daisy, hand halfway outstretched towards her. “It’s… it’s really you?”

Daisy’s hand twitches where it’s clasped in Jon’s. He gives it a subtle, reassuring squeeze. “It’s really me,” she says quietly.

Basira’s eyes scan Daisy’s face, the outline of her body, as if searching for imperfections. After a moment, her eyes find Daisy’s again and she nods, as if confirming something for herself. “Right,” she says, retracting her hand and dropping it to her side. Next to him, Jon can feel Daisy tense slightly, though her face remains carefully calm. Basira takes in a deep breath, lets it out, then steps forward and wraps her arms around Daisy’s shoulders, bending down at an awkward angle to do so.

Daisy goes rigid for a moment before softening. Her hand slips out of Jon’s as she tentatively returns the hug, her hands ghosting across Basira’s shoulder blades and her fingers tracing the hem of Basira’s hijab. Basira exhales again sharply, gripping Daisy a little tighter as she does so, and says, “I thought you were gone.” Her voice is even, but there’s a layer of desperation underneath it that makes it sound choked at the edges. Jon suddenly feels very out of place, and he tries to subtly shift towards the other end of the couch to give them space.

“I was,” Daisy says, voice muffled by the fabric of Basira’s hijab. “But now I’m not.”

Basira laughs a bit unsteadily. “Right,” she says again. “I… I wondered if you were back. Didn’t want to think about it too hard, though. Just in case.”

Daisy is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t hear, she says, “I’m sorry, Basira.”

Basira grips her tightly for a moment more, then pulls back so she can study Daisy’s face. “Don’t be. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made you a promise, and I kept it. That’s just how it was.” She exhales slowly. “Besides, none of that matters now. You’re back, and that’s a good thing. God knows there’s enough that’s wrong in the world right now.”

Daisy sits very still, a strange sort of tension keeping her rigid. “You’re… not angry?”

Basira frowns. “No. It was hard, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t you, Daisy. You were trying to be better, before, but you did what you had to, and so did I. It’s just how it was; no point in being upset about it.”

Daisy looks down at a point just beneath Basira’s eyes. “Yeah. No point,” she echoes. After a moment, she says, “You’ve been… okay, then?”

Basira’s lips purse. “I’ve been managing. Finding my own way. Dealing with…” She waves her hand in the air, an encompassing gesture, and Jon doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick over to him. He’s not particularly fond of it, though he fights back the scowl. “It’s been a mess.”

“You said it’s been bad,” Martin says, coming up behind the couch with four mugs of tea carefully balanced in his hands. He passes the first one to Jon with a thin-lipped smile, then to Daisy and Basira in turn. “What does that mean?”

Basira sighs and blows across the surface of her tea in an attempt to cool it. “Well, after you… reset the world? Which we’re going to have a long conversation about, by the way.” She looks pointedly at Jon, who looks pointedly back and takes a sip of his tea to hide his glower. He’s still a bit irritated about the whole… group decision situation. Maybe more than a bit. “I woke up in the Institute, still sitting at the same bloody desk I’d been working at when everything went to hell. I knew something was off straight away, because that feeling of being watched? It just wasn’t there. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter why—it just wasn’t. So I assumed that the plan worked and the Fears were gone, but I didn’t know yet that we’d been thrown back in time or whatever. Got up and started looking around, trying to figure out where Georgie and Melanie went. Yeah, it was weird that everything looked the same, but I’d seen weirder.”

Basira takes a long sip of her tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Daisy shift, setting her still-full mug on the side table and tapping her fingers on her thigh in a rhythmic pattern. He thinks, for a moment, about reaching out, but instead, he just curls his fingers tighter around his own mug. “The place was pretty empty,” Basira says finally. “Before the change, the blood and stuff was all cleaned up about a week after that last attack on the Institute, and then it was just me and a few others. Rosie, a couple of people from Artefact Storage. The people who’d survived and who weren’t smart enough to just… stay away. Rosie was still at her desk. She looked like she’d seen… well. She looked like she’d seen what the rest of us had seen. And…”

Basira exhales slowly, and for the first time, she looks… hesitant. Like she’s not sure she should continue. After a moment, Martin says, “And what, Basira?”

Basira looks down into her tea, her jaw set. “And him. Elias. Jonah. Whatever. Just… sitting behind his desk when I opened the door to his office. Like nothing had even fucking happened.”

A shock of something simultaneously icy cold and red-hot laces up Jon’s spine, and he nearly drops his mug. He looks at Basira with wide eyes, even as he thinks that it makes sense, of course it makes sense, everyone who died while the world was wrong came back, of course he would too, why would it be any different. He remembers the sensation of the knife tearing its way through Jonah’s throat, the heat of the blood as it had dripped down his hands and wrists, tries to juxtapose the image of Jonah lying dead on the Panopticon floor with the image of him sitting alive and well and breathing behind his desk once again, and feels sick. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until the exhalation rips its way harshly out of his throat like it’s been punched out of him. He barely feels Daisy’s hand as it wraps around his, barely feels it as she takes the mug of tea from him and settles it on the floor so it won’t spill. He registers the brush of another hand against his arm, and he hears Martin’s voice from beside him, saying with concern, “Jon? Breathe, love. It’s all right, just breathe.” Then, to Basira: “Christ. He’s alive?”

“Was alive,” Basira corrects, and just like that, all of the air crashes back into Jon’s lungs and he takes a deep, rattling breath, his eyes focusing on her face as it twists into something that might be called a smile if one were being generous with the definition. “I… I didn’t really think. Just pulled my gun and pointed it at him. No Eye, no contract. No reason not to kill him. I wasn’t planning to shoot him, not really, but then he started rambling about- about apotheosis and failure and second chances, trying to convince me that there was no need to be hasty, that we could work something out. Called me Detective again. Just the same slimy bullshit, but without all the bravado and without the collateral.” Basira sighs and looks up from her tea, glancing at Jon with something unreadable on her face. “Melanie was pissed that I didn’t let her stab him.”

Jon makes a choked noise that he thinks, after a moment, might be a laugh. It’s devoid of any amusement, though, and might be bordering on hysterical. Beside him, Martin says quietly, “Shit. Well, uh. That’s… that’s good, at least?”

Basira grimaces. “Sure. It’s great that the bastard’s dead—again, I guess, assuming that you did kill him before everything went back to normal—but things are still a disaster back in London. I’ve been trying to keep them from tearing down the whole Institute, though don’t ask me why I even care about the place after all this. People are angry.” Basira taps her fingers on her thigh in thought. “It’s… probably for the best that you guys ended up out here, actually. Things haven’t been good for the people in charge of domains. They got ahold of Simon Fairchild, and it… it wasn’t pretty. There’s been some chatter about leniency towards the less actively malicious former avatars—I think that came up after they found Callum, actually, which… yeah, that’s a whole thing—but…”

Basira shrugs. But people wouldn’t be so forgiving towards the person who ended the world, Jon thinks with a wry, twisting feeling in his stomach. He fiddles with the notebook where it sits on his lap, but he doesn’t open it. After a moment, Basira continues, “So that’s the state of things, basically. Even though everything’s technically fixed, there’s still a lot of damage, and Georgie, Melanie, and I have been handling it as best we can. Though I think Melanie’s of the opinion that we should just let the entire Institute burn. She’s probably right, but…” Basira shrugs. “It’s just a building full of scary stories now. Might be able to make some use out of it.”

“Right,” Martin says with a sigh. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Basira says, sounding weary. “It’s… it’s nice to have a break. To just appreciate the fact that everything’s better now, you know?”

Better for us, Jon thinks bitterly, and he can feel the edges of his mouth twitching into a scowl that he forcibly represses. He doesn’t think pointing out that they’ve condemned an infinity of other worlds to suffering for their own peace of mind would be beneficial, given they’ve already driven that argument into the ground and then some. Besides, he thinks as he rubs his thumb over the spine of the notebook, that would require him to open the notebook and writing it down, and Basira doesn’t know about his voice yet. He’s too tired to hear whatever surface-level pity she might be able to conjure up for him.

“I’ve missed you, Daisy,” Basira says, an increased vigor in her voice as she turns to face Daisy. She looks like she wants to reach a hand out towards her, but she doesn’t. “It’s been… hard. Being alone with all of this. I’ve had Melanie and Georgie, but I… I could use my partner.”

Daisy stares at her for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is slightly more hoarse than usual. “You want me to come back to London with you.”

Basira nods, a slight frown forming on her face. “Do you… not want to?”

Daisy is quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stare down at the floor, focusing on nothing at all. “I don’t know,” she says finally, the words tense and choked, like the honesty of them pains her. “I… I need to think.”

Basira watches her for a few seconds, something stiff and rigid on her face. “All right,” she says at length, a touch of surprise and resignation lacing her voice. “That’s fine. I can’t stay past tomorrow, though—I have to get back and deal with what’s going on back in London. If you don’t want to…” Basira’s mouth flattens into a line. “It’s fine. I’ll understand.”

“It’s not—” Daisy cuts off with a frustrated noise, almost a growl. “I just need to think.”

“All right,” Basira says again, more placating this time. “I… won’t rush you.”

It’s quiet in the room for a long moment. Finally, as if at a loss for anything else to say and falling back on instinct, Martin offers a tentative, “Would… anybody like something to eat? You’ve been traveling all day, Basira, I don’t know if you’re… er, hungry or not.”

Basira stares at Daisy a moment more. Then, she sighs and says, “Sure, why not.”

“Great!” Martin says, sounding relieved. “Let me just… I’ll see what we’ve got that’s quick.”

He stands, and Basira stands in tandem with him. “I’ll help,” she says. “I’ve got some… things I want to talk to you about. And then after we eat, we’re going to discuss…” She gestures in the general vicinity of Jon and Martin. “Everything.”

Jon curls in on himself slightly. Martin just sighs and says, “Come on, then.” They disappear into the kitchen, and then Jon is left with Daisy on the couch, the faint clatter of cupboards opening and dishes rattling settling into the background.

Now that they’re alone, Jon reaches over and bumps his hand against Daisy’s, a silent question. When she turns her hand over, he takes it in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. With his other hand, he awkwardly flips the notebook open, ignoring Daisy’s sound of amusement as he clumsily takes his pen in hand and balances the notebook at the same time, and writes, Are you okay?

Daisy pauses for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Jon waits for her to elaborate. When it becomes clear that she’s not going to, he writes, Basira seems happy to see you.

Daisy exhales slowly. “Yeah. She does.”

Again, Jon waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he sighs, taps his pen on the paper a few times, and writes, And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Daisy stares at the page a long while. Just when Jon thinks she’s not going to answer him at all, she says, “It’s… good. Just odd. Feels… like she shouldn’t be.”

Jon raises an eyebrow and gives her hand another gentle squeeze. After a moment, Daisy continues, “Even after the coffin, there had been this… weight, between us. I knew she was glad I was back, but I could also tell she was disappointed. She tried to hide it but, heh, she’s always been easy to read for me. She wanted the person I was before, and I knew that, deep down, she was frustrated that I wasn’t that person anymore. I was never… angry with her about it. I understood. Basira’s practical, always likes to have the upper hand. And me choosing to ignore the Hunt… it wasn’t practical. Not for her. She was happy to see me, but she also wished it was a different me. It just… feels weird that it’s not the same now. I’m different, and Basira doesn’t like different. She doesn’t like change.”

There’s been a lot of change lately, Jon writes. Then, while Daisy’s reading his words, he continues, She went through a lot after you were gone. With everything that’s happened, the world the way it is, I

Jon pauses, and Daisy waits as he taps the pen on the paper, leaving little half-formed dots of ink where it makes contact. After a moment, he sighs and finishes, I think she’s just glad that you’re back. Whatever version of yourself that may be.

Daisy looks towards the kitchen. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, too quiet to make out any words above the sound of things sizzling in pots and pans. “Maybe. I… don’t know.” There’s a pause, and then she says, quieter, “Maybe she’s just glad that I’m not a monster anymore.”

When Jon goes to write, she squeezes the hand of his she’s still holding tighter, shaking her head. “Don’t. It’s… complicated.” She’s quiet for a long moment, looking away from Jon and focusing on the faint light streaming in from the kitchen. “The parts of me that she valued the most,” she says at length, “the ones that made me a good partner, that made me strong—they were all that was left by the time she found me after the change. They were all Hunt. And I knew when she looked at me, when she pointed her gun at me, that she saw me. Not the Hunt, not some… monster. Me. But I don’t… know if she believes that it was really me.”

Daisy grimaces, like she’s not happy with the words. Carefully, giving Daisy time to stop him if she wants, Jon writes, You don’t know if she accepts that all the worst parts of yourself are still yours.

Daisy is quiet for a moment. “Something like that,” she says finally. “She… she said it wasn’t me. That the person she hunted through the apocalypse wasn’t me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her that it was. That it is. It feels like…” Daisy blows out a breath. “Basira’s good at compartmentalizing. It makes her a good partner, a good… hunter. But if I go with her to London, and she just… puts everything that happened during the change behind us, I don’t think things are going to last.” Daisy huffs out a laugh. “She’s stubborn. I like that about her. Can also make things… difficult.”

Jon laughs through his nose and writes, Yeah, Martin’s like that too sometimes. He hesitates, then continues, So what do you want to do?

Daisy studies his face for a moment. “What do you want me to do?” At his look of surprise, she continues, “I can see it on your face. You have an opinion, so just… spit it out. Write it down. Whatever.”

Jon scowls. I do not, he begins to write, before his hand stills, leaving the sentence incomplete. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and scratches the words out with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Next to them, he writes in thick, dark lines, I want you to stay. Then, quickly after: But you should go with Basira.

Daisy reads the words and hums. “Why?”

Because she’s your partner, Jon writes, irritation and a strange sort of sadness mixing in him and twisting his lips into a grimace, and because she needs

“I meant,” Daisy says, bumping her knee against Jon’s to cut him off, “why do you want me to stay?”

Jon blinks at her, surprised. He looks down at the paper, holds the pen tightly for a moment, and then writes in careful, neat letters, Because I like you. Does there have to be another reason?

Daisy hums and, after a moment, shakes her head. “No. I guess not.” She bumps her knee against Jon’s again, a bit firmer this time. “Thanks. But you’re wrong, you know. About Basira.” Daisy looks at the kitchen again, where the sizzling has stopped and there’s the faint clattering of dishes. “She doesn’t need me. She’d be fine without me. Always has been.” She sighs. “And so would you.”

Jon nods and squeezes her hand. I know, he writes.

Daisy sighs again, leans her head back against the couch. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that… I have to do what’s right for me. Not me and Basira, just… just me.”

Jon is about to ask what that entails when Martin’s voice floats over from the kitchen, telling them that the food’s ready. Daisy doesn’t say anything more as she stands, snorting softly as her maintained grip on Jon’s hand pulls him to his feet as well, and together, they head into the kitchen.

The first half of the meal is spent in relative quiet. Basira keeps shooting looks at Martin, who returns her gaze with something firm and unyielding. Jon shifts in his chair and nibbles on his cheese toastie, trying very hard not to grab his pen and start tapping it on the table just to fill the tense, awkward silence between them all. Finally, Basira finishes her sandwich, looks at Martin again, sighs, and says, “Martin filled me in on what happened.” Then, at Martin’s glare: “What? I’m not talking about it. I’m just… acknowledging it.”

“Good,” Martin says, pinching his toastie just a bit too firmly between his fingers. “Because there’s not much to talk about. Which is why we agreed not to talk about it.”

Irritation washes over Jon, and he tries to squash it down. He can’t help the way his knee starts bouncing under the table though, and he takes a sullen bite of his toastie. Not much to talk about. Sure. For a moment, he entertains the thought of dropping the sandwich unceremoniously, grabbing his notebook, and scribbling out, Thanks for asking for my input before telling Basira your version of events and saying that there’s nothing to talk about, but he pushes the thought away and takes another, bigger bite to distract himself. It’s fine. Martin’s… Martin’s right, it’s not the time.

(He’s still upset that he didn’t even get the slightest say in the matter. It’s fine.)

Rationally, Jon knows that Martin is just trying to avoid what would probably turn out to be a long, spiraling, extremely upsetting conversation-turned-argument. Irrationally, he wants to push the words we’ve condemned a thousand realities to hell; are you happy now? into Basira’s face and watch her try to defend herself. Was it worth it? he wants to ask. Was it fucking worth it, just so you can have your happy ending?

He doesn’t ask. He knows what her answer will be, and he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

It’s fine.

“So,” Basira says, not so much breaking through his thoughts as driving a battering ram through them, “the Fears are gone. For good. And they took your voice with them.”

“Basira,” Martin hisses.

“Just making sure I’ve got all of my bases covered,” Basira says defensively.

Jon glares at his plate. He sets his sandwich down, suddenly no longer hungry. He takes a deep breath, looks up at Basira, and nods. His fingers itch towards his notebook; he keeps them still.

“Hm.” Basira taps a single finger on the edge of her plate. “That… that makes sense, I guess. What with Annabelle’s whole… thing.”

Jon’s stomach squeezes. Throat tight, he nods again, looking away. His eyes land on Daisy, who’s sitting beside him and watching Basira with something unreadable on her face. Her toastie is sitting on her plate in front of her, completely untouched. Then, stiffly, as if preparing herself for a difficult truth, Daisy says, “I... know a little bit of BSL. Picked it up back when I was still a PC. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Basira looks at Daisy, her finger stilling on the side of her plate. When she speaks again, it’s quiet, and she doesn’t sound surprised. “You’re not coming with me, then.”

“Sorry,” Daisy says roughly. “Just… need a bit of time. Soon, I promise, just…”

“… just not now,” Basira finishes. “It’s… all right. I understand. Honestly, with things the way that they are out there right now, it… it might be for the best. Just until things settle down.”

“Yeah.” Daisy picks at the edge of her toastie. “You’ll… be safe, though?”

Basira takes a deep breath, and when she lets it out, her lips settle into a smile, thin and bordering on humorless but still warm in its own way. “Always am.”

Daisy laughs a little, just an exhalation of air through her nose. “Right.”

It becomes clear that none of them plan to eat more, so Martin and Jon clear the plates and stack them in the sink while Daisy and Basira sit at the table. Basira says some things to Daisy in hushed tones, and Daisy responds under her breath, and Jon takes wet dishes from Martin and wipes them down with a towel and stares out the window into the darkened sky and focuses on the sensation of cloth under his fingertips so he doesn’t lose himself in the inky black swirling thoughts that are threatening to drag him down.

“Hey,” Martin says quietly by his side, letting their fingers brush as he hands him another dish. “You all right?”

No is probably the honest answer. Jon is sure that Martin can see it on his face even as he nods and busies himself drying the plate in his hands. To his eternal gratitude, Martin doesn’t push, even as his mouth flattens and he continues scrubbing the dishes in the sink with careful, methodical motions. Jon is sure that, at some point, something will crack and Martin will push. Push until it all breaks and shatters and crumbles into a million tiny, sharp pieces. But for now, Jon dries dishes and scratches his thoughts into the back pages of his notebook where they’ve begun to pile up into messy tangles of words and emotions and focuses on the fact that, when Basira leaves in the morning, Daisy will still be here.

That, for now, he thinks, will have to be enough.

[wevegottogetaway]

I love you

First I love yous...do I need to say more? Anyway, please don’t hesitate to reach out for anything, whether that be comments, requests, feedback or just to have a chat! Happy reading xx

It’s been three days of utter pandemonium ripping through your brain in complete disarray. Three days of pent up stress storming through your mind as you ran like a headless chicken to try and find a handle on a situation that frankly, you didn’t give a rat’s ass about.

It all started when your boss had called you in his office, his signature tyrant-resting face on, solid frown drafting his features in a look of severity. Well, this can’t be good, you’d immediately thought once you took a hesitant seat across his desk. You’d hoped for a benign reason behind the sudden meeting, and that the scowl on his face was merely a residual of some other trouble that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

Your prayers had fallen on deaf ears however, as the summoning proved to be a twenty minutes angry diatribe about how one of your most recent client had expressed their wish to withdraw from their deal and de facto, the company. Though it hadn’t been your fault per se, your boss didn’t have any reservations about reminding you of your supposed responsibility to keep your clients sated and on the company’s leash. He’d given you three days to fix it after that. Three days to persuade the client not to pull out of the deal, or you risked some serious downgrading if not redundancy.  

You’d called Harry for support the minute you got home and spent the whole evening brainstorming the craziest ideas to him. He’d listened patiently, holding your hand on the table as you both indulged in the Thai take-out he’d picked up on his way over. That first night, you’d barely slept as you laid in his strong arms, back to his chest. Your reeling mind had still been trying to conjure up any sort of plan that would help you out of this chaos; but for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, your hopes had dwindled some.

You hadn’t known then, but Harry couldn’t find rest either as he spooned you against him. You two hadn’t been dating long, several months at best, but already your distress was unbearable to him and every bone in his body ached to do something to help you. This feeling of powerlessness was crawling out of his skin and swimming around like a shark amidst his prevalent thoughts of support, admiration and love. Because, while he’d shown you the first and conveyed the second countless times in the past, the third had yet to tumble out of his lips, despite the confession burning their flesh a bit stronger every day.

What really had had his mind reeling though, was knowing that maybe, just maybe, he had the power to make this situation go away; and for each switch of the glowing red digits on your alarm clock, his hopes grew some.

Your earlier utterance of the client’s name had been ringing through his mind in faint recognition, an itch starting to fester at his fingertips. Dialing a phone number was all it could take. A couple choice words and if he played his cards right, the deal would be back on the table. He’d known interfering was arguably a bad idea, and truthfully he’d always made a point of honor not to use his connections to serve ulterior motives (his or anyone else’s), but how was he supposed to do nothing when the person that caused you trouble was in fact a friend of a friend that might reevaluate their stance if he pitched in with a bit of charm and compelling words? How was he supposed to stay idle, watch you dissolve in an anxious mess, if he wasn’t as powerless as he thought?

So he didn’t. 

He’d originally planned on keeping you in the loop, but you’d been gone by the time his forest green eyes had fluttered back to consciousness the next morning. After a quick shower, a large mug of the coffee you’d left for him before running back to work, and locking your apartment with the spare key you’d given him a couple weeks back, he’d pulled out his phone. Two minutes was all it took for his friend to pass him your client’s number and without hesitation, he’d launched the call and brought his phone to his ear.

It took a bit longer than a couple of minutes for that conversation to take effect, but eventually his words hit their target. After all, his lovely nature could pierce through the most robust walls and stubborn minds. He didn’t even have to put on the charm that much, instead drawing earnest sentiments about your impeccable skills and rambling about how there was no better person to keep their account safe in the business. He’d gnawed at his lips the whole time, desperate to pull through but still scared to fail you somehow. You’d already been let down by the client and your boss, you certainly didn’t need your boyfriend added to the list.

The call had ended with their promise to reassess and consider your undeniable abilities in the equation, yet the next day you were once again convoked to your boss’ office with a snarly bark of your name. Puzzlement washed over you as you speed-walked after him. Why was he still so resentful with you when you’d gotten the client to reenter the contract?

Another twenty minutes of intense scolding provided you with that answer. With a disdainful gaze puncturing your poise, your boss told you that while your job was no longer on the line, you’d been given a firm warning about using your boyfriend as negotiator for the company’s dealings.

How he knew when you yourself weren’t aware of the fact, you didn’t know. In retrospect, your talk with the client had been suspiciously easy for someone who’d made their will to ditch the company crystal clear. You’d merely laid out your arguments, expecting resistance and some pushing, but were only met with a squinted look and cautious acceptance. Now you know your case had already been pleaded once, by the man who was taking more and more space for himself inside the chambers of your heart.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it; didn’t know if you should be mad or grateful. You were specifically stunned because you knew it was out of character for Harry. Your boyfriend was the most generous being you’d ever met, but humility was even more so a prevailing layer of his beautiful nature. You certainly didn’t expect it, didn’t wish for it to happen again because you were always adamant not to ever use anyone for their assets. Yet there was a tingling, a mixture of discomfort and gratefulness, sloshing in the pit of your stomach. 

This whole thing was a mind-fuckery of emotions you were too tired to process.

What you did feel though, was the pure frustration at your boss’ hypocrisy. You both knew he didn’t really care how you’d gotten the deal back, just that you did, but his intolerable disposition wouldn’t allow him to applaud your efforts and move on.

Wanting to put this all mess behind you, you bit back the retorts that you craved to force down his throat, simply nodded through his chastising charade, and leaped to your feet as soon as the dismissing words left his stupid trap.

Now that you’re making your way inside your home, your nose is hit by a waft of delicious aromas traveling from the kitchen. Your mind is still fuzzy with every trouble and startling revelation that transpired in the past three days, but as your eyes settle on your apron-clad boyfriend, you take a moment to appreciate the sight of his soft figure stirring the content of what must be a pan on the gas. His back is facing you, but you can hear the gentle humming under his breath, as he hasn’t registered your arrival yet.

After another minute of whistling, he finally twists around and his eyes almost pop out of their socket when they find your timid stance a couple feet away. "Jesus, pet, didn’t know you were home yet," he chuckles softly before taking in your somewhat moony features. Your expression is hard to pinpoint, your delicate traits blank of any emotions yet your eyes have the same sparkle that greets him every morning and every night when he pulls you for a deep kiss in his warm embrace. "Everythin’ okay, love?"

The query snaps you out of your semblance of trance, your head looking down to the floor to gather your wits before you level your gaze back to his. "Yeah it is. Umm, my boss called me in again today," your bite your lip, not knowing how to navigate the conversation. In all honesty, you just want to be done with the whole thing, would rather spend an evening full of cuddles and potentially mind-blowing sex, but you know this ought to be acknowledged.

"Oh," his brows pull together with the same confusion you’d experienced when your boss ushered you to his office. "Did he thank you for the big save?"

"Not exactly," you clear your throat bracing yourself and Harry’s face tenses at the realization about where this is going. "My job is safe and I’m still working on the account," hie loosens up in relief, but your next words have him stiffen right back up in alarm. "But I got a warning for a certain someone’s involvement in the company’s operations. Apparently, my boyfriend called the client on my behalf and forgot to clue me in…"

Your voice is calm and doesn’t carry any reproachful tone, but Harry’s pulse is suddenly speeding with dread regardless. The fact that he could have lost you your jobs is the only thing registering in his frenzied mind, as he sets the dish towel from his shoulder down on the counter and steps closer to you. His eyes are bouncing off yours in a frantic back and forth, as he gulps his remorse down. Before you can appease him with reassuring words, and show your lack of anger, he launches in an apologetic rant, enclosing both your hands between his palms.

"M’so sorry, love. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. Fuck I just- I kept thinkin’ I could help since your client was a friend of a friend. And, the more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking 'I can’t do nothin’. Cause I hate seein’ you in pain an’ I really want to be here fo’ you and I know this was probably the wrong way to go about it, but damn y/n, I couldn’t stand doin’ nothing, m’sorry-"

"I love you."

The words come fast but distinct, airy but firm, not an ounce of doubt laced through their utterance. An eerie silence permeate the small space surrounding them, as Harry tries to find his own words back. It took three of them to steal all of his, but in his defense they were the ones he’d been dying to hear and to deliver himself. His eyes are wide, blinking in total surprise. He’d expected irritation, disappointment perhaps, maybe even anger, but definitely not the sweetest words he’s been keeping at the forefront of his mind. "I- you do?"

You still have that wondrous look on your face, but this time a bright smile enlivens your features, "I really do." You take your hands out of his grip to hold onto his wrists and pull him closer to you. You have to look up since he towers over you but you’ve always liked that about your relationship; the way he always seems to dwarf you in his embraces, whether because of his height or his bear-paw hands. "I mean, don’t that again," you let out a soft laugh, "but I know why you did it, and I love you for it." 

Harry smiles rivals your own now, as your hands smooth up his arms to clasp at the nape of his neck, "plus, my boss is a jerk anyway so, who cares?" You pull him in a loving kiss then and his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders in a tight lock. His lips are as soft as ever between your own, and you detect the faintest taste of pepper and other exotic herbs lingering on their edge, from his cooking endeavors. He’s always been one to have a taste or two while he’s working, whether that be in the kitchen or other rooms…and regardless, you always like it when you get your share from his supple lips.

He feels slightly distracted against your mouth though, his technique not as ravishing as it usually is. and before you can wonder why, he’s pulling an inch away from your swollen lips, hurriedly whispering your tender confession back to you as though the words couldn’t be out of his mouth and into your heart fast enough, "I love you too, pet. So much." His hands are cajoling your face, thumbs drawing soothing circles across your cheeks, and his beaming smile is melting your heart in a goo of pleasure after all the strain it suffered in the past couple of days.

"Fuck, c’mere, don’t ever wanna stop kissing you," Harry mutters against your lips before diving in for a real mind-bending, soul-shaking, tantalizing kiss this time. Just like that, all your worries and sorrow evaporate into thin air, only to be replaced by an intoxicating pink loving brume. You two definitely spend the most perfect evening with lots of cuddles and endless mind-blowing lovemaking. Screw everything else.

➪ Masterlist

[bestworstcase]

tired of ‘it doesn’t make sense for cass to trust zhan tiri’ takes 

cass is a cautious person with a good instinct for danger which yes means that for most of the show she is indeed the ignored voice of reason saying ‘hey this OBVIOUSLY SKETCHY situation is sketch’ YES

but

in the latter half of 2 she is mutilated by her friend, blamed for it, made to apologize for her own injury, denied any space to feel hurt or upset or angry about this, and literally told ‘you should know we never listen to you!’ when she gets mad about yet another instance of her saying ‘this seems sus’ only for them to literally walk out on her mid-sentence without even acknowledging that she’s speaking. 

cass tries again and again to communicate her feelings and every single time she’s brushed off or scolded or belittled by her friends. her friends have so little respect for her that by the time they hit the hoyt the aren’t even pretending anymore. this hurts her, terribly

then - ok listen. take off the ‘zhan tiri is a horrible evil monster’ goggles put aside your entrenched preconceived biases against this character for a minute. 

what is the first thing zhan tiri does when cassandra meets her?

cassandra hears a voice calling her name. following it leads her here, to a disembodied (disemwalled?) door in some sort of enchanted forest. this is one of those obviously sketchy situations that instantly puts cassandra on her guard: she draws her sword while getting her bearings. 

[sidebar: those light-and-dark green swirls on the forest floor look an awful lot like the clouds in the lost realm, don’t they?]

then: 

ZHAN TIRI: There you are, Cassandra!

[Cassandra looks around, sees Blue, and lowers her sword slightly in confusion. Blue approaches her.]

ZHAN TIRI: I’d nearly given up on you.

CASSANDRA: [shaken] Who- who are you?

ZHAN TIRI: A friend. Or, at least—I’d like to be.

cass at this point is baffled but still on her guard - she holds her sword in a low guard and she’s physically leaning away from the unsettling ghost child. 

more important here is zhan tiri’s opening gambit. ‘a friend, or at least i’d like to be.’ she’s dodging the question of what her name is, yes. but also the second part of that statement implies a correction of the first, an acknowledgement that they are not friends and becoming friends is contingent on whether cassandra accepts her overtures of friendship; there is, in saying ‘at least i’d like to be,’ an implication of acknowledgement of and respect for cassandra’s personal boundaries. this is not something cassandra has ever experienced before. contrast it with rapunzel’s aggressive, domineering pursuit of cassandra’s friendship in beginnings.

continuing: 

ZHAN TIRI: Come.

[She leads Cassandra away from the door, deeper into the enchanted forest. Though hesitant, Cassandra sheathes her sword and follows.]

CASSANDRA: Wherever you’re taking me had better have a blonde princess.

note how the blank confusion on cassandra’s face hardens into a glare the instant zhan tiri says something that could be construed as a command. cassandra has two years worth of experience in the minefield that is friendship with someone in a position of authority and power over her so of course she bristles at this. i think it is also not coincidental that she refers to rapunzel in response.

but there is also a second dynamic at work here. for two years cassandra’s whole life has been locked into orbit around the blinding sun of rapunzel, and even before then by nature of her existence in the palace as a young girl only a little older than the lost princess she would have spent her childhood in the shadow of a child who wasn’t even present. zhan tiri is the first person cassandra has ever met who is flat out indifferent to rapunzel’s existence. even in vardaros, where cass was better liked by the populace than rapunzel, the people still focused on rapunzel - they disliked her, and they cared enough to make sure she knew it. 

but zhan tiri does not give a single fuck about rapunzel. she ignores cassandra’s attempt to make rapunzel relevant to this conversation. she called out for cassandra. she has been waiting for cassandra. she has something she wants to show cassandra. she wants to be cassandra’s friend. rapunzel just...doesn’t matter to her, but cassandra does. and that is disarming, both in the figurative and literal sense. so cass puts her sword away and goes to see whatever it is that this strange child wants to share with her. 

[They reach the forest’s edge and enter the memory. Cassandra is startled, struck by the familiarity of this new setting.]

CASSANDRA: This place... feels familiar?

[Blue takes her by the hand and leads her into the cottage. She remains silent, allowing Cassandra to take it all in, until Baby Cass enters with her music box.]

ZHAN TIRI: Do you recognize that child?

[Her prompting makes it click for Cass that she’s watching herself as a child.]

again, set aside your knowledge that zhan tiri is an evil villain and your instinctive distrust of everything she says and just... take a look at this screenshot. what does it look like if you take what zhan tiri says in this sequence at face value? 

this is a horrible memory. zhan tiri knows precisely what it entails, because she is the one who dredged it out of cassandra’s mind and set it up for her to experience again. cassandra, however, has only just recognized her younger self and has no idea what’s coming. it’s going to hurt her so badly when she remembers everything—but this is an experience she needs to confront in order to heal from the damage it did to her. so much of her suffering can be traced back to this defining, forgotten moment of her childhood.

we the audience know that zhan tiri doesn’t care, doesn’t have any real interest in genuinely helping cassandra, isn’t revealing this memory to her out of the goodness of her heart - but all cassandra knows is that this is a strange ghost who expressed a desire to be friends and has brought her here to, apparently, show her a childhood memory she forgot. so erase your audience knowledge from your brain for a second and look at zhan tiri’s expression here.

she looks weary. sad, even. she looks like someone who truly values cassandra’s wellbeing, who knows that reliving this memory is going to hurt, who’s showing it to cassandra anyway because she thinks cassandra deserves to know and she understands that this is the root cause of cassandra’s pain and that in order to grow and heal it must be seen, it must be acknowledged, it must be examined.

and that is the impression of zhan tiri’s character that cassandra walks away from this experience with. someone who saw her, and saw her pain, and saw the deep festering forgotten wound of this memory buried under layers of repression and denial, and gently unpeeled those layers and brought that wound to light, because she knew cass couldn’t heal from it if she didn’t know it was there.

moving on: 

[Baby Cass approaches Gothel with the music box, only to be coldly brushed off.]

CASSANDRA: ...That’s my...

ZHAN TIRI: Mother, yes. It is.

[Skipping transcription of the remainder of the flashback; what matters is that Blue exists the scene at this point. She isn’t just standing quietly in the corner; she is fully gone, leaving Cassandra by herself to experience the rest of the memory.]

again - obviously zhan tiri knows what happens in this memory, but that isn’t the point. by staying just long enough to help cassandra put this memory into context and then leaving, she gives cassandra complete privacy to process what she is seeing and feel whatever emotional reactions she has to it and express those feelings openly, without any of the reservations she might have about having a breakdown in front of a ghost she met a few minutes ago.

again, contrast this to the way rapunzel treats cass. in under raps, when cassandra tells rapunzel that she’s dealing with ‘some stuff’ and asks rapunzel to wait until she’s ready to share, rapunzel’s response is to stalk her. in RATGT, cass tells rapunzel that she feels disrespected and unwanted and rapunzel brushes her off. in RDO, when cass is mad because rapunzel’s reckless choices resulted in cassandra’s hand being mutilated, rapunzel is furious and backs cassandra into a corner in an attempt to force her to share her feelings and then get over it so things can go back to normal.

how soothing, then, must zhan tiri’s quiet departure must be for cass? how comforting, how much of a relief must it be to have this new person recognize by herself that cassandra needs a moment alone and give that to her without cass even needing to ask?  

there is, i think, a direct line of causation between zhan tiri exiting this scene and cassandra crying for the first time in the entire series afterwards while zhan tiri comforts her. cass doesn’t cry, right? even when she thinks rapunzel is going to be trapped as a bird forever, she stops herself from crying. she doesn’t cry when her hand is burnt in the great tree, not even from physical pain. she doesn’t cry in RDO. 

but zhan tiri is the only person in the whole series who shows consideration for cassandra’s emotional boundaries, so when cassandra is upset after reliving this memory, she freely allows herself to cry, and she lets zhan tiri comfort her. 

because it’s safe. so much blame is heaped upon cass for not being more open with rapunzel, but the thing is - a) cassandra is a lot more open with rapunzel than most of the fandom gives her credit for, and b) rapunzel is not a safe person for cassandra to be emotionally open with because she tramples boundaries, doesn’t listen, routinely chooses to hear only what she wants to hear, and never acknowledges or apologizes for any of the hurt this causes cass. 

which segues us into this:

ZHAN TIRI: I’m sorry that happened to you, Cassandra. Sometimes the most painful truths are the most difficult to remember. You’ve always felt outshined by Rapunzel, haven’t you? And you always will, unless...

in this statement, zhan tiri: 

1 - expresses sympathy for the trauma cass suffered

2 - empathizes with the pain she feels right now

3 - connects the dots between her past trauma and present angst

4 - verbalizes her fear that this pattern will never change

and

5 - offers to help.

zhan tiri is, once again, the only character in the whole series who does these things. in s1, rapunzel does occasionally try to be emotionally supportive of cassandra - under raps and big brothers of corona are the big examples here - but the way she goes about it tends to do more harm than good. in UR she runs roughshod over cassandra’s clearly stated boundaries and continually escalates to the point of actual literal stalking; in BBoC she utterly disregards cassandra’s statements vis a vis how rapunzel can help in favor of doing a bunch of other things that rapunzel thinks cass should want, and in the process she actively interferes with cassandra’s rest and makes her recovery experience worse.

in contrast, zhan tiri gets it. she is absolutely correct in her perception of the situation: cassandra has been trapped in this pattern of inferiority to rapunzel her whole life. her mother abandoned her for rapunzel, and everyone in her life now is willing to sacrifice cassandra’s needs, her feelings, her physical health on the altar of Rapunzel’s Destiny, and that will never change if she continues on as she has been. and... if cass tried to simply leave, by herself, do you really, truly, honestly think rapunzel would let her go?

she feels trapped because she is trapped, and she’s desperate for a way out, and zhan tiri sees that, understands that, and most important of all, shows her a way out.

so like

when she walked through that door in the house of yesterday’s tomorrow cassandra was a heap of emotional pain and unfulfilled emotional needs—for respect, for compassion, for basic consideration of her boundaries, for someone to see how much she’s hurting, for space to feel things without being asked to sacrifice more of herself for somebody else, for someone to care about her and what she needs and thinks and feels and wants, for an escape from the toxic inescapable dumpster fire of her life—and in the space of maybe a couple hours zhan tiri answered every. single. one. 

cassandra entered this situation expecting trouble, and instead she got someone treating her with dignity and compassion for the first time ever sO OF COURSE CASSANDRA TRUSTS HER!!

it beggars belief that the show expects me to believe she never bothered to ask what her new friend’s name was between this point and OAH, and yes, if cass were in a healthier place or surrounded by less toxic people then i’m sure she’d be more inclined to be suspicious of the weird little ghost child who reached into her head and pulled out a suppressed memory. but nevertheless it does, in fact, make sense for cass to conclude after this experience that blue is trustworthy and really does care about her and is a better friend to her than rapunzel. 

tts was allergic to acknowledging the legitimacy of cassandra’s grievances in any way after s2 and refused to allow zhan tiri even a modicum of depth as a character so the vast majority of their relationship exists off-screen, which is, yes, deeply frustrating and does a huge disservice to both characters and to the overarching plot of the season. but “why would cass trust her?” is a question the series answers, on screen, in spades. 

[sailtoafarawayland]

Living a Life (1/2)

Summary: Sometimes the things we see ourselves in most clearly aren’t made from glass, and sometimes death is not the ending we think it is, but a pause of breath that gives life to a new beginning.   

Rating: T for now

AO3 - FF

Chapter 1

Emma didn't really know why she did it, why she stopped at all.

The sidewalks were an icy mess, like the city didn't even care that they were staring a lawsuit in the face, and the clean, shoveled pathway through the cemetery  was just too tempting to pass up. She was exhausted after a day spent at the precinct with her latest collar – some sort of mix up with the payment, or the filing, or whatever nonsense it was this time – and she just wanted to get home.

She didn't like the thought of using the cemetery as a shortcut, but the thought of being out of work for two weeks while she recovered from a sprained ankle was even worse.

Maybe it was because she walked past so many other gravestones that had been recently dusted of snow, the past few days of New England weather not accumulating on top of them, brushed away by the hands of loved ones. Maybe it was because she saw the wreaths leftover from Christmas dotting the quiet cemetery, bright orbs of red peeking through snow sprinkled like icing sugar across them.

But she stopped in front of a gravestone that seemed lonelier than the rest, slightly removed from the path and resting beneath one of the many bare trees, days of hardened snow and ice frozen to its surface.

Looking at it – neglected, ignored – she wondered if that's what her grave would look like when she died.

She should probably get cremated.

She should probably just leave. She had no business here, staring at some stranger's grave like the person lying below it cared about anything – cared that no one had stopped to sweep off the snow, but she didn't.

Instead, she stepped off the clean, salted path and crunched through layers of icy snow, deeper than she had thought. She could feel it crumbling over the tops of her low boots, icy pebbles melting and trickling down her heel. Well, she was stuck for it now.

She crouched down in front of the gravestone, and raising one gloved hand, she began brushing the frozen chunks of snow from its shoulders. Removing the dusting of windblown ice from the engraved front proved to be more work than she had anticipated, but after a few minutes she had most of it cleared, the rest would just have to melt on its own. Her hard work rewarded, she finally took the time to read the face of the stone.

She hadn't been to any funerals in her life, but she knew enough that the brevity of what she saw surprised her.

Liam Jones, 1977 – 2011

Her breath left her body, a chill wind stirring her hair and leaving her feeling somehow exposed, like she was doing something she shouldn't be - peering through the window of someone’s life only to find it was an empty house, abandoned. She had expected an old gravestone, someone with no family left to come sit by them and wipe away the snow.

She hadn't been expecting this.

He was young, not much older than her, and since it was only February, it hadn't even been that long since he'd passed. She glanced at the frozen ground she was squatting above and moved hastily to the side, wondering if there was some kind of graveyard etiquette. There must be. Don't stand in front of the graves where people are...resting, she guessed. She wasn't really sure. She'd never had a family, a grave to visit.

She probably should be thankful for that, less heartache.

Snow removed, job done, she stuck her hand back in her pocket and headed down the path. She wouldn't be back again. He wasn't her family, whoever she was, and she wanted to leave the nagging fear that one day that might be her in the cemetery where it belonged.

Weeks passed and she told herself when she headed down the cemetery path again that it was because another big storm had just blown through Boston, and for some reason known only to the city, they never cleared or salted the sidewalks in this neighborhood.    

But she didn't try to stop herself when she reached his grave again, this time the name Liam Jones clearly visible, a thick blanket of fresh snow cushioning the top. She walked between the first row of graves and to the side of his, taking care not to step where she assumes he's buried. It seemed like the right way to go about it, even if there aren't any rules. She probably should've googled it, but she hadn't planned on coming back.

She really hadn't.

Instead of questioning it too much, she brushed the snow away with her sleeve and tossed a few stray, fallen twigs back to the ground. It wasn't until after she'd thrown them that she thought to make sure she hadn't dropped them onto another resting place – littering on dead people was most definitely poor graveyard etiquette.

When she stopped in spring, she told herself it was just to enjoy the blossoms on the cherry trees that blanket that portion of the cemetery, knowing it was a lie. She knew because she'd bothered to look up cemetery etiquette online, and yes, it was a thing. She was also mildly curious to see if anyone had been to visit him now that the weather was nicer, if she would even be able to tell.  

There were a few graves she'd passed that had small flowers gracing their shoulders, and others with ornate vases built into the stone, colorful blooms filling them. She brushed a scattering of cherry blossoms from the top of Liam's grave and wondered again at the emptiness of it. He must not have had anyone, because if he had, surely they would have written something other than just the year of his birth and death.

Was he a father, a brother? Was he a son? Was he alone, as she was?

“Who were you?” she asked, but no one answered.

The next time she passed through, the cherry trees had long since lost their blooms, and she swept the sickly sweet smelling remains of them from his grave, bending down to tug out the stray clumps of tall grass where the granite sat, immovable. It seemed pretty obvious no one else was visiting, and that not even the groundskeeper had enough hours in the day to really keep everything neat.

They'd had enough dry days that she didn't have to crouch to visit, and found herself sitting back onto the grass between his gravestone and the next.

“Is this...weird?” she asked, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to her talk to a dead person she didn't even know. “I'm sorry no one comes here but me.”

Suddenly she felt self-conscious, the whole situation settling heavily around her, the overpowering perfume of dying flowers clinging to her skin. What the hell was wrong with her that the only connection she'd allow herself was with some stranger's gravestone? Angry with herself, she jumped up and hurried back down the path towards home. She was out of the cemetery and an entire block away when she finally remembered the daisies in her bag. Reaching in, she brushed the crumpled edges of the petals and sighed.

There was another visitor a few graves down when she returned, but they clearly knew enough to not eyeball her or say anything when she walked back over to Liam's grave – mildly flustered – and gently placed the rumpled cluster of flowers on the ledge in front of his name. She brushed her hands roughly on her leather sleeves and left as quickly as she came.

The next time it was a lot easier to talk to him, even if she knew he wasn't listening, and he certainly couldn't talk back. The daisies hadn't lasted very long, so she tossed them and said she'd bring more next time, although she realized she may need to leave something other than flowers. Work had been slow lately, and she wasn't stopping at the precinct all that often to drop off skips – and she couldn't just make a special trip once a week to refresh his flowers.

That would be crazy.

She didn't even know him.

So when her fingers ran across the smooth ridges of the seashell on her windowsill at home, she put it in her pocket.

Spring faded into the suffocating heat of summer, the grass parched and brittle beneath her feet as she crouched next to Liam's grave, brushing away the small ant hills that had formed in the sandy soil with a vengeance she didn't know she had in her for the tiny creatures.

“You know,” she said, and the words hurt before they even left her mouth, “you might be the only person I've got to talk to. How pathetic is that?”

She worked around the back of the grave, tugging up stray weeds she'd missed the last time.

“I brought you something other than flowers. Maybe you weren't even a flower guy, when you were around. I'm not much of a flower girl, I don't think. I've never really had anyone to buy them for me though. There was Neal...but he...well, let's just say he didn't leave me with any good memories, let alone flowers. Is there anyone who has good memories of you? I wish I knew some. It would be nice to know who you were, not just sit here guessing.”

The cemetery was empty, and that's when Emma felt most at ease, most like she could just say what was on her mind without having to worry about anyone listening, or whether they think she's crazy.

She laid the scraggly bunch of weeds at the side of the grave, reminding herself to take it out to the trash can when she leaves.

“Here,” she shrugged, pulling the seashell from her pocket and placing it on the ledge where she last left flowers.

It was a spiral shell, small, but perfect and white with a soft, amber colored center.

“I don't know if you really like seashells either, but...I picked that up a few years ago down at the beach. In the summer, it's always full of families and couples, so I don't go much, but sometimes when it's a little grey and stormy...it's just the most peaceful place to sit and think.”

She didn't say the rest of what she was thinking aloud – that seeing the happy couples and the parents with their kids just made her stomach clench, that all she could think of was how that was never something her mom wanted to go with her.

– was never something she got the chance to do.

That feels like too much to unload, even on a dead guy.

“It's pretty peaceful here too,” she sighed.

Summer relented and fall crept into the city, the once green leaves crisping and drifting to the ground. Despite getting a payday, she was leaving the precinct in a pretty shitty mood. Her skip had almost given her the slip, and she was going to be nursing a bruised shoulder from where she tumbled in an alley trying to keep up with him. By the time she stepped through the archway of the cemetery, the sun had already set, the streetlamps casting cold halos across the damp ground. She heard them before she saw them, and it took her a few seconds to realize they'd gathered just off the path next to Liam's grave.

“Hey!” she snapped, immediately angered by what she was seeing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Christ, relax, lady,” one of the kids drawled, taking a swig from his beer and clinking it against the gravestone next to Liam's.

Emma didn't know who it belonged to, but it was always well cared for, and she was furious. There were four kids, teenagers, and they'd stomped all over the damp ground in front of the graves, clearly not caring that they were drinking and walking all over someone's remains.

“Look, kid, you and your buddies have about ten seconds to take your crap and get the hell out of here. I just left the precinct, and I've got Chief Humbert on speed dial – ” They didn't need to know how untrue that was, that, in fact, the guy gave her the creeps “ – so I suggest you take your party somewhere else.”

A few eye rolls and snarky comments later and they'd cleared out, leaving Emma feeling both pleased and worried for herself. She plopped down next to Liam's grave, wincing as her palm hit a piece of broken glass.

“Little shits,” she hissed, pulling the chunk of glass from her hand and setting it aside. It was too dark to find all the pieces. “What the hell am I doing?”

She leaned forward and straightened the seashell that was still resting on the stone, glad it had survived Boston's vagrant youths for this long. Wet leaves stuck to the front and sides of the grave, and she pulled off a few that hid his name.

“That's going to be me one day,” she muttered, eyeing the paltry engraving once more. “Emma Swan, time stamp. I'll be lucky if anyone comes to chase delinquents away from my grave.”

Everything was wet and cold, the smell of decomposing leaves rich in the air, and while fall made most people think of pumpkins and Thanksgiving, warm cups of coffee on cold walks – right now she could only think about how dark and cold and oppressively heavy it must be six feet under.

The next time she visited, she left a little fist-sized pumpkin she'd picked up at the bodega. She'd thought about carving it, what with Halloween around the corner, but that was never something she'd done before, and if she messed it up, she'd have nothing.

It didn't take long for the pumpkin to turn into a Thanksgiving feast for the city's squirrels, barely more than a rind left behind like something someone had tossed into the garbage, and she felt bad. She should have come back sooner.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, removing the half-frozen leftovers and pulling the few stray weeds with enough gumption to grow in later November. “Looks like you had quite a bit of furry company while I was gone. If I were a normal person, I'd be home sharing a Thanksgiving meal with my family, or friends – but I don't have either of those, so here I am, talking to you. Happy Thanksgiving, Liam.”

It wasn't long after the first snow hit Boston, and Emma was reminded of that first time she visited the cemetery and wondered who Liam Jones had been, why no one stopped to visit his grave. She could have googled him, but if she was being honest with herself – which she was really trying to be better about these days – she didn't really want to know if he had family that couldn't be bothered to visit. If she didn't know, she couldn't be angry with them for no reason, since she had no right to be.

She didn't know Liam Jones.

She had no right to bear a grudge for him.

As Christmas approached, Emma saw more people visiting, sometimes with family, and other times alone, leaving little battery powered tea lights and wreaths to warm the cold stone. When she saw the bouquet of poinsettias at the bodega, she didn't feel the least bit strange as she placed it on the counter. There aren't any Christmas decorations in her apartment, but she felt like Liam should have something to show that at least one person was thinking about him on the first Christmas he was missing.  

The air was bitter and cold as she made the trek though from her neighborhood to the cemetery, but she didn't mind. When she reached Liam's grave, there was a soft blanket of fresh snow atop it, and she brushed it gently to the ground.

“You know, I really should thank you,” she said quietly, glad for the peace and solitude that hung around her. It made it easier to say the words. “I felt like maybe I was doing something nice for you, remembering you in the way I would want someone to think about me, just so that I wasn't completely forgotten, but I feel like coming here...shit, it'll be a year in a couple months. I think I figured something out. I don't want to be alone, Liam. I know I can't guarantee that I won't be alone one day in the ground, with no one left to care, but...I don't want to feel that way now. I've always kept people at a distance, too afraid to get hurt again, but I'm tired of being alone. I want a life, I want to live it...”

There was no answer, but she hadn't been expecting one.

Instead she leaned down and brushed the snow off the little ledge that still held her seashell, frozen to the stone, and gently placed the poinsettias beside it. She reached out and traced her finger along the carved edge of his name before turning to leave, glancing up at the blue sky between the bare branches of the cherry tree.

“If you're, uh, listening anywhere, well, thanks for everything, Liam. Merry Christmas.”

~ * ~ * ~

When Killian woke, it felt like he was being dragged from the bottom of the sea, every force on earth weighing him down still not enough to keep his blissful, dark peace from being disturbed.

Once the light hit him, it wasn't like in the movies. He didn't wake up groggy, or wondering where he was, confused about the machines beeping around him and the tubes connected to his body.

No, he knew exactly where he was and what led him here, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down to that darkness that was so complete and starving it devoured every thought before he could think it. He wanted to close his eyes and fall back into that oblivion that had been his only respite from the flashes of memory, the pull of voices.

He didn't want to have to remember the sound that steel makes when it cracks and groans, the way the dock shook beneath their feet as the freighter slid into the crane, the sheer force of it toppling the massive tower of heavy steel as easily as if it were nothing more than a house of cards. He wanted to forget running for his brother, watching the mass of cables and metal come down over them – screaming, screaming his name and trying to reach him, unable to move, unable to breathe...

“Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Whale.”

The voice was leaning over him, his mouth moving, more words floating around him. Killian didn't understand why they wouldn't just leave him alone – he tried to roll onto his side, ignoring the the objections from the doctor, and that's when he felt it – a pain that burned up his arm and into his brain, as if his hand had been crushed by his movement. He jerked his arm, trying to understand what he'd done, why it hurt so badly – and then he saw it.

The bandages, the stump, the strangely shortened arm that most definitely used to have a hand at the end of it – except now there was nothing, and it couldn't possibly be his arm he was looking at, his hand that was missing, because he could feel it. The agony was so real it eclipsed everything else – the pain in his ribs and elsewhere vanishing as he thrashed and tore out lines and catheters.

There were hands on him, holding him – voices shouting, someone screaming. He was screaming, but it was so far away, a sea of darkness rising between him and the place where his hand wasn't, cradling and dragging him back down to that deep oblivion where there was nothing.

Nothing at all.  

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo

[cl-01-kestis]

Incorrect Morals

Dismay - Grand Admiral Thrawn x Rebel!Reader | Part 7

Summary: You receive a call from Thrawn once again and spend the night getting lost in conversation, and after a tense negotiation with a team of rebels, you get stuck in a sticky situation with Kallus.

Warnings: slight romance, angst (literally all these chapters have angst i-) (I’m also sorry to all of you Kalluzeb shippers. I do ship it very much but it isn’t a thing in this story 🥺)

-

Chiss translations:

Ch'ah tsucarah = I promise

Rab nor rah vah k'ir ch'at rihn? = but only if you do the same?

Ch'ah csarcican't, k'ir nah can'a about ch'ah = I will, don’t worry about me

Ch'ah’ll can'a about vah veah ch'otco veah ch'ah ran'as, non ch'pae = I’ll worry about you as much as I want, now go

It was 10:45 PM.

The sky dimmed into a pitch black and Omani had gone to bed due to how mentally and physically exhausted she was, mostly because of the journey and the fact she had seen her dad in person for the first time and her mind wouldn’t shut up about it. As for you, you had just gotten out of the shower. It had been a long day and your visit to Naboo had been cut short due to obvious circumstances and you felt the need to clean up.

You stood in front of the comunual refresher mirror, drying your hair with a spare towel you had lying about as your body was on full show. No one used the refreshers at this time of night so you didn’t necessarily need to cover up.

You brought your bag to the showers since you went in a refresher as soon as you undressed from your Senator outfit. You scrubbed your hair and body, unable to shake the feeling of anxiety off your skin as you washed yourself under the cold water.

The towel soaked up all the water on your body as you dried your hair and flung the towel around your shoulder. Your body was cold against the cool air coming into the showers, but you found it pleasant, it made you feel comfortable. You brushed your hair and put on clean briefs and a black sports bra after putting deodorant on. The towel was still draped around your shoulders and neck, catching whatever water droplets left your strands of hair and making sure none of them soaked your bra. You slid your legs through a pair of black leggings, shimmying your hips into them and bending your legs slightly so they could adjust and not fall down.

You shuffled around in your bag and grabbed ahold of your holo device, switching it on as you washed your face in the mirror. You scrolled through the news articles that came up on the holonet, nothing too exciting was going on at the moment apart from the galactic war. A twi’lek presenter was broadcasting the daily reports for the New Republic, her face plastered with a fake smile as she read off the papers sorted nearly in front of her. You watched with a bored expression, listening in loosely as you put on some deodorant and whistled a small song to yourself.

As you rubbed your hair with the towel some more, a small incoming call notification popped up on your holo device and you stopped to look and inspect the number with squinted eyes. It was Thrawn.

Sighing to yourself, you accept the call and turn around to make sure no one’s coming in as his holo image illuminated in front of you on the bathroom sink. You were met with a tired looking Thrawn, now wearing a white long sleeved T-shirt and his hair no longer layered by gel. You looked at one another for a brief second, Thrawn’s scarlet eyes looking down at your torso and realising you were wearing only a sports bra before returning his gaze to yours in a respectful manner, he made no comment.

“Hello again,” Thrawn managed a small, warm smile. You repeated his actions and let the corner of your lip curl up as you ruffled your hair some more with the towel and placed it on the counter of sinks after.

“Hey” You mumbled back, resting your palms on the edge of the sink just so you had something to lean on. Your posture was relaxed but your shoulders seemed tense, that’s what Thrawn noticed as you rolled your neck around your shoulders to relieve some tension. You looked stressed.

“I want to apologise for today, I didn’t realise you were going to be attending” He sighed, fumbling with the hem of his T-shirt sleeves as he kept his eyes on you, doing his best not to look away out of shame. You shook your head, turning around so your hips leaned against the sink.

“It’s alright, I’m not judging you for doing your job” You noted, crossing your arms and smiling in an assuring manner at Thrawn who took some relief towards that, his body relaxing slightly as his eyes grew soft.

“I do feel embarrassed though, I also want to apologise for Pryce” He continued, causing you to cringe and frown at the mentioning of that woman’s name.

“Don’t be sorry for someone who isn’t; you don’t need to cover up her tracks, she worked beside me a few times back when I was an Imperial after all, so I know what kind of person she is” You corrected Thrawn quickly, gaze turning fierce and angry but it wasn’t directed towards him. Your face scrunched up in displeasure for a moment, hands clutching at your bare upper arms and trying to ignore the rising frustration building up inside you.

“She is... dull to work with, so I don’t blame you” Thrawn’s words made you chuckle and nod in agreement, your eyes unconsciously staring at him for a bit too long until you quickly cleared your throat and ran a hand through your scalp.

“It was a pleasant surprise to see you today” Your words projected veracity, and Thrawn felt his heart beat flare up in anticipation at that single comment, even if it wasn’t a massive one. He bit back a smile and nodded his head.

“As with you, Rcati,” Thrawn beamed, some strands of loose navy hair falling in front of his eyes that made your heart skip a beat, or were you just imagining things?

“I must admit, you looked very beautiful, I can’t recall ever seeing you in a dress” Thrawn leaned back with the support of his arms, it made you realise he wasn’t sitting in his chair but maybe the floor? You weren’t sure, but it certainly wasn’t his chair.

“Dresses aren’t my thing, I only need to wear them for the Senate to make a ‘positive impression’” You used your two fingers on each hand to make a sarcastic emphasis on the last part, and it warmed your heart to see Thrawn chuckle in response.

“I know the feeling, it’s all about positive impressions now a days. But how has it been? Being a Senator?” Thrawn looked more and more excited the more he spoke and asked you things, his eyes sparkled with interest and his mouth never stopped curling up as he looked right at you. You reminded yourself that this was the real Thrawn you were talking to, not the Thrawn you saw back at the Senate. As scary as he could he, this was as real as he could get, and you were grateful he showed this side of himself to you, even after years of not speaking to him. The trust was still there.

“It’s been tiring, I’ve not been working recently but all the travelling and meeting new people really drains you” You answered frankly, scratching the back of your neck as Thrawn hummed softly. He seemed to study you in a subtle sense as you awaited his answer, he trapped his chin between his thumb and index finger and his eyes stayed unfocused for a few seconds.

“You hate both of those things, i genuinely can’t believe you took a career as a Senator- I mean, you dreamed of being a soldier your whole life, why not do that with the rebels?” Thrawn’s voice held interest as he tilted his head slightly and a few more strands of his hair fell on his forehead. Thrawn frowned and tried fixing the hairs but gave up soon after they kept falling on his face. You noticed it now, Thrawn’s hair was longer than it was when you worked with him at the Empire. He had it cut much shorter, but now it was at least a few inches longer. Of course it wasn’t as long as his hair used to be on Csilla, but you’d give a lot to see him with that hair again. He suited it more than you wanted to admit.

“The reason is our daughter, and I’m too busy to be a soldier now. The fear of dying in battle and leaving Omani alone terrifies me, I could never do that to her... I’m the only person she has at the moment” Your voice lowered the more you spoke, gaze drifting off to think about the scenario you feared most. Thrawn nodded his head, understanding what you were getting at and doing his best to try and emotionally sympathise with you.

He wasn’t good at emotions, he never was. He feared weakness, and made little to no efforts to connect with anyone in the Empire what so ever. It was a cold life for him, but now he felt he had to do something, anything, to connect with you. He never realised it until you left, but Thrawn liked you, a lot, and not just for the sex or company. If anything, he loved you. And the thought of you disappearing again made him nauseous, completely sick to his stomach with anxiety, and that was something he had never experienced before. Pure and utter dread.

“That’s a fair point, I wouldn’t want her being left alone” Thrawn returned his gaze to you and he took his time to study you until you looked back at him. Your body hadn’t changed that much since he last saw it, but he noticed the stretch marks peeking out of the hem of your leggings, it was obviously from your pregnancy. The sight made his heart swoon.

If there’s one thing Chiss are always proud of, it’s having a family and a mother or father to have their kin. Thrawn’s gotten so used to the fact he was a father throughout the last few days, he forgot about all the worries and concerns he had about the Empire just by looking at Omani’s face. He didn’t even know her, hell, he didn’t even know she existed until recently, but he already felt so much pride. That was his daughter, a daughter that you gave him. And the thought of you looking after Omani for so long, and risking so much to keep her safe, made Thrawn utterly fall in love with you. Not that he wasn’t in love with you before.

“She was at the Senate today as well, wasn’t she?” Thrawn raised a brow, bending his knee up to rest his elbow on it. Okay, he was definitely sitting on the floor, or his bed maybe.

“She was, she saw you and freaked out” You chuckled, making the situation more lighthearted and trying to avoid telling Thrawn about how scared she was, you didn’t want him becoming guilty.

Thrawn sighed. “She smiled at me though, I guess that’s a starting point”. Your smile widened at his comment.

“Omani will come around eventually, hopefully when the war ends, then maybe-“ maybe we could be a family. You cut yourself off before you said anything else, wincing internally after realising you said too much and would probably be questioned by Thrawn about it. Your face was hot with embarrassment and you cleared your throat to waft away the tension.

“Maybe...?” Thrawn persuaded with curiosity, leaning forward and raising his other leg up so he was sitting more comfortably. You looked away from Thrawn and pinched the bridge of your nose, waving away his comment and trying not to get butt hurt about thinking too much about what you desired more than anything in the world.

“Just getting ahead of myself, that’s all” Your voice was quiet but clear enough for the Chiss to hear. You sniffed but no tears were in your eyes, thankfully for your sake. But that didn’t stop Thrawn from wondering desperately what was on your mind. He practically knew you when you were a baby, your parents knew his very well and he bonded with you the moment he met you; him being 5 years old and you, a new born. But when you became an adult, he wanted to know what you were thinking, what you were perhaps feeling, maybe - and hopefully - feelings towards him? He could never crack you, and now he was faced with the same issue.

“I won’t push, but whatever it is, it’s obviously bothering you” You sucked in a breath at Thrawn’s statement. He was right, he knew he was. Were you ready to tell him though? You only spoke to him once before now, after 14 years, but somehow your feelings for him have never changed. If anything they’ve grown stronger now that you’ve got a direct link; Omani.

“It is bothering me, and it has for the longest time... but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just yet” You clutched the edge of the sink and ground your teeth, afraid you said too much all together. You felt like keeping your feelings from him was unfair, he done nothing but tell the truth to you and he proved his loyalty to you after saving you and Omani at the Senate. He might have been Empire, but you and Omani being rebels didn’t stop him from protecting either of you from harms way.

“Do you... remember the nights I’d come over to your office, and we’d just talk? Sex or not, but just... being in each other’s company?” It was a strange question, you knew it, but Thrawn wasn’t confused by what you were getting at, he nodded his head and urged you to continue. You chewed the inside of your cheek nervously and raised your hand up to your mouth to bite at your nails. Thrawn noticed this and reached out on the hologram, his blue, illuminated hand reaching out but unfortunately going right through you. He flinched back, his hand slowly returning to his side and his expression falling.

“Those were some of the best memories of my time at the Empire, with you, and only you” You looked at Thrawn with pure sincerity and he knew instantly you were telling the truth. His throat went dry at your confession and for a second he had no clue how to reply, your words caught him so off guard but he didn’t waste too much time coming up with words to respond with.

“The feeling is mutual, Rcati, you’re the only person I’ve really confided in” Thrawn looked conflicted as he let the words slip through his teeth, the hands you weren’t able to see below the hologram were clenched and his knuckles were light blue. He was struggling to get his emotions out, but he loved to hear you do it.

You said nothing in reply to his comment, you only smiled at him. Looking at you now, Thrawn thought you were stunning. You were glowing as you looked at him with such emotion, the tears visible in your eyes even though none of them spilled and the breathtaking smile covering up half of your face. It truly was a wonderful sight to see, it made him realise for the first time in years that he really needed something like this. The Empire was a tough place to work in, he never knew how much he needed you to keep him afloat until this very moment, even the moments before on the hologram.

You were his life, and you always had been, but he was sad that he was only realising that now. He had known you since birth, known you for 42 whole years and now did he know you were his reason. His reason for what? Life. To carry on. To push through the war until it was over and hopefully see you after it was all over. Omani as well. Maker, he needed Omani just as much as he needed you.

“What’s on your mind?” The Chiss asked in a small, quiet voice, as if someone outside was passing by his chamber door. You ruffled your hair once again with the discarded towel on the sink and rolled your neck around your shoulders, sighing pleasantly at the released tension.

“Us” You answered in a hushed whisper, your mouth snapping shut after the word slipped through your teeth and made it’s way to Thrawn’s attention. He smiled at your reply, looking down shyly at his clasped hands before peeking back up, his scarlet gaze piercing right through you. You felt exposed but you didn’t want to hide, he had seen through you many times before.

“Same with me” He seemed to lean in closer through the hologram, you got a sense you were leaning in too and trying to kiss him, but the distant echo of Rebels chatting to each other caused you to whip your head around to the entrance of the comunual showers. Thrawn seemed to hear it as well and his once calm expression was replaced with a disappointed frown. He wasn’t worried of getting caught, he was pissed your time was cut short.

“I have to go” You whispered, looking back to Thrawn with eyes full of reluctance. He nodded once, running a hand through his face and closing his eyes momentarily, you genuinely thought for a second he done that on purpose just to rouse you up, but you brushed it off your shoulder and cleared your throat.

“Till next time, Rcati ton” Thrawn smirked, his fingers still tangled in the back of his scalp as he leaned forward to the holo device to hang up.

“W-wait” You called out just before he hung up, his gaze raised on you once again and he bit back a smile.

“Take care of yourself, for me?” You blushed, head hung low but your eyes were still connected to his. Thrawn’s face softened and he sent you a small curt nod. “Ch'ah tsucarah” He spoke softly, catching you off guard slightly with his sudden use of Cheunh but you chuckled softly in reply.

“Rab nor rah vah k'ir ch'at rihn?” Thrawn tilted his head to the side, his hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck which stood on edge, he wasn’t anxious, he was just excited at the interaction between you.

“Ch'ah csarcican't, k'ir nah can'a about ch'ah” You chuckled.

“Ch'ah’ll can'a about vah veah ch'otco veah ch'ah ran'as, non ch'pae” Thrawn ushered in a quiet voice, laughing softly as he spoke which made you too laugh.

“Till next time, Mitth’rawn’nuruodo” You nodded, eventually tapping the red button to end the call and feeling a part of yourself leave with Thrawn the moment the bright blue glow of the hologram disappeared, leaving you alone in the refreshers once again and in the unpleasant white light on the ceiling.

-

“So we’ve got squadrons coming in left and right, we should relocate our star fleet to somewhere where the Empire doesn’t find our base” You said in a clear voice to those standing around the holo table, including Kallus and Zeb, who had recently returned from a mission with the Phoenix squadron. Hera was standing nearby, listening into the negotiation which you were the chairman of currently, listening in to people’s different ideas and hopefully coming to a mutual conclusion.

Kallus was recording down everything being said, typing frantically on his data pad and gathering all of the different ideas from everyone so you could look into it after the meeting and hopssully come up with an idea to settle things. He was a busy man, he worked his ass off and you noticed how much he cared for this rebellion.

He never changed throughout the years, even if he was a cold hearted Imperial once, so were you. You had your fair share of horrid deeds that you certainly weren’t proud of, and neither was Kallus. But you Teo seemed to be like two peas in a pod when it came to planning meetings and getting a mutual agreement. He was your right arm, always.

“I think we should take the fleet outside of the outer rim” Someone came forward, a young zabrak female with full suited soldier uniform and a sniper attached to her back.

“That might be a good idea, but the outer rim has more New Republic ally’s than outside of it. Still, I shall record that down- Kallus” You regarded the blonde man standing opposite you at the table, his dark eyes focused on you in a way you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You held your stare on him for a moment longer than necessary, before turning your attention back to the zabrak who smiled at you, grateful you took her suggestion into consideration.

“Any other ideas?” You asked, eyes looking around the table in one quick glance before turning to Kallus who pursed his lips at the sudden silence that fell on the group.

“I-uh, pardon me for asking Senator, but weren’t you at the Senate negotiations on Naboo yesterday?” A young rebel man raised his hand with a polite expression on his face. You tensed at his question and nodded.

“Is it true? Was Grand Admiral Thrawn really there?” Another rebel asked with a peeked interest, desperation to know about the events that took place yesterday, the events you were trying so hard to stop thinking about. Kallus’ eyes widened and he felt himself tense for you, this wasn’t going to end as well as you and him had planned.

“It’s true” You sighed, resting your hands on the edge of the holo table and trying your best not to look too uncomfortable about the conversation.

“Woah, how did you get out?” The same rebel asked with a look of astonishment, but you didn’t budge. Your face stayed stone cold and you exchanged an uneasy glance with Kallus who cleared his throat and adjusted his T-shirt collar.

“Save those questions for later, I need you all to focus on the fleet, please” You insisted, hitting your hand slightly on the table with your teeth clenched.

From afar, Kanan and Hera looked at one another, knowing fine well what was going on in your head the moment Thrawn’s name was mentioned. The two of them heard about the events at the Senate, and how you were the one who managed to get Thrawn to prevent any arrests from happening. There had been chatter around the rebel base, and Hera was fearing for you. If your secrets got out, you would be untrustworthy amongst the rebels. And that was the last thing she wanted for you, especially with Omani by your side.

“Meeting dismissed, I shall look at the suggestions and come up with something, for the time being please go and get some rest, it’s late” You waved away all of the rebels who had joined the meeting, bidding them farewell with smiles and nods of the head. Kallus stayed with you and walked around the table once the rebels were away, resting a hand on your shoulder and waiting for you to say something. Instead of words, you unexpectedly grabbed Kallus and wrapped your arms around him, tears brimming at your eyes and lip quivering as you gripped onto his jacket and sniffed. Kallus froze for a second but placed his data pad on the holo table, wrapping his strong arms around you tight and raising a hand to stroke your head.

“It’s alright, shh...” He soothed, rubbing your back and holding onto you as you fought back an army’s tears that started to spill down your face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been really stressful recently” You cried softly, holding onto Kallus for dear life as he leaned his chin on the top of your head and closed his eyes, the smallest crease next to his eyebrow as he listened to your sobs.

“You don’t need to apologise for anything, just let it out” He encouraged, continuing to stroke your head and doing his best to comfort you.

Leaning back, you looked up at Kallus with glossy eyes, cheeks stained with fallen tears and face hot with humiliation. Kallus cupped your cheek, studying your face before frowning at your state and sighing.

“What’s got you so worked up? Is it Thrawn?” Kallus asked with calm articulation, his hands keeping you in place as you wiped away your tears and nodded your head weakly. You couldn’t verbally say anything in fears you would start crying, and Kallus seemed to understand that. Beneath the worried expression on his face, he was angry. He knew he was going for the wrong person, he knew you’d never be over Thrawn.

But he loved you, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Ever since Kallus met you on the grounds of the Imperial Palace 16 years ago, far before you fell pregnant, he was smitten with you. Even if he was a higher rank than you, and trained you, and was meant to see you as a mere soldier and nothing more, Kallus always had a soft spot for you.

“I’m going to regret this” Kallus murmured, right before pressing his lips against yours and causing you to freeze in his arms. Your eyes shot wide open, you weren’t expecting this at all. His actions were so sudden and the feeling of his lips against yours made your brain cloud over with endless thoughts. It was nice being kissed, it always had been, but this wasn’t right.

Even though it wasn’t as good as a kiss from Thrawn, you closed your eyes and kissed him back, maybe just to feel something aside from the stress. You hesitantly cupped Kallus’ cheek and tapped it a few times, signalling for him to pull away. You didn’t want the kiss to go any further, you didn’t want to lead him on, and by the looks of it he knew what he had done was a mistake.

“That was nice” You commented with an assuring smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb and making him chuckle awkwardly at your words.

“I’m sorry, I felt like if I didn’t do that any sooner I’d beat myself up” He hung his head low, frowning and probably mentally strangling himself, but you didn’t like the way he looked so sad. He knew you didn’t feel the same way towards him, maybe you did like Kallus, but you weren’t over Thrawn. Either way, you tilted his chin up and kissed him once more. The blonde man sighed against your lips and closed his eyes momentarily before grabbing your hand and taking it away from his face, eventually pulling back once again and frowning.

“What was that for?” Kallus raised a brow, looking confused but also amused at the same time.

“I wanted to even things out” You smiled, nudging him playfully to try and get rid of some of the tension surrounding you both. He seemed to be pleased by your comment and laughed. The sting of rejection was soothed by your kindness and Kallus realised that you didn’t feel any different about your friendship with him. But still, it hurt.

“Are we gonna have to start giving each other goodnight kisses now? Cuz if so-“ You joked.

“No, don’t be silly- unless that’s what you want of course” Kallus joked back with a relaxing demeanour. You rolled your eyes at his comment and shoved him playfully, eventually bringing him in for a hug once again and feeling shitty for not feeling the same towards Kallus.

“Well that was weird” Hera whispered to Kanan and Zeb who were watching from afar. The two men nodded in agreement, confused stares on their faces as they watched you depart from the ex-ISB agent and make your way to your chambers.

How weird, indeed.

[alisarb]

the nature of frenchie and kimiko’s relationship

in every frenchie-kimiko video about their relationship there’s always someone commenting how much they ship it and there’s always someone else pointing out that their relationship in the comics is like father and daughter

so, being the obsessive shipper that I am and weirdly overthinking everything about a tv show because i can’t enjoy things like normal people, i decided to write this post to defend why I think their relationship in the show (and even a bit in the comics) is anything BUT paternal, and why their relationship in tv vs. comics is so different

(please bear in mind this is my opinion and in no way i wanna force ships onto anyone, you’re free to interpret stories and ship characters however you want!!)

Okay, the first thing we learn about frenchie in the show is that he is a man of many skills: in his own words, a gunrunner by trade, but with a very particular niche. we also learn he used to be a hitman, probably, and then he talks about his victims like scars he has to carry forever. he’s the first character apart from hughie that expresses some kind of remorse in the show about killing someone up until that point in the show (and i know it’s only the second episode, but by then we’d already seen quite enough violence)

he’s a layered character from the beginning, going from what looks like a man who likes his pills way too much and who seems dangerous to someone who actually has more to offer. still, he has other personality traits that differentiate him from the rest: frenchie describes himself as a womanizer in a conversation with m.m, who he mocks for being in a loving relationship with his wife. he “goes to sleep every night next to someone different.” we’ve met cherie by then but we can assume they are not really in a relationship by this statement, more like a casual lovers situation

and then, like a joke from fate, he meets kimiko. and from the very beginning they form a connection like no other. one can argue that their earlier interactions are kinda sweet and tender and not romantic at all, but from what i see, they share the kind of intimacy that most tv couples wish they could convey without even touching. their chemistry is undeniable 

on top of that, as their relationship progresses, kimiko begins to return the affection. she goes from this killing machine that can’t stand to be touched to initiate contact with (and only) frenchie, because he’s her source of comfort and reassuring. at mesmer’s, kimiko looks at him because he’s the only person that she can trust and the first one to show her kindness in who knows how long

the rest of the group is understandably wary of kimiko, as she has proved to brutal and ruthless. frenchie is the only one who understands her, and that’s why he frees her that first time: to give her a choice 

in exchange, when they are at mesmer’s,he asks her to show them what he sees, and she complies. because she doesn’t trust the rest yet, but she trusts frenchie. and even with that first vision he doesn’t doubt for a second that she can’t be just a terrorist. so kimiko shares with them and relives her trauma: the murder of her parents, being removed from her home and sent to a camp with her brother, being forced to become a soldier, being injected with compound v and becoming a supe with a talent for mass murder just to be locked in a cage like an animal... 

the look they share after that revelation is anything but platonic and/or paternal:

LOOK AT MM AND BUTCHER. BUTCHER IS LIKE WTF AND M.M SHRUGGED LIKE “NOTHING TO BE DONE HE’S IN LOVE YOUR HONOR”

sorry about the excitement this scene makes me wanna squeal with delight

shortly after, kimiko is watching shark week again and frenchie comes up to her to talk about vought and how they’re hurting people like they hurt her, how she could help them stop it. at first kimiko keeps staring at the TV and looks defensive, but the moment he says: “it’s your choice, if you wanna go back and look for your brother i’ll take you to the airport” she looks at him, surprised. 

because he keeps giving her a choice, which is the core of their relatiionship

and, as another user pointed out in a post a while ago, if you watched the show with the captions on (as i did bc english is not my native language) as she holds his hand, you can hear and read that shark week talks about mating and how if a female shark returns the male’s feelings will make some sort of move. one could think that this was accidental but c’mon, this show doesn’t leave anything a coincidence 

it’s clear from the beginning that frenchie is completely smitten with her. in fact, we see small glimpses of him literally OBSESSING over her from the beginning: he meets with cherie to get the gas to sedate kimiko and we learn he hasn’t been with her in a while. i’m sure he was plenty busy with the whole vought + kimiko situation, but at that point they were all living separately and they returned to their places even if it was less frequently than usual (and cherie seemed to spend a lot of time in his place, if not even living there)

he cooks for her when she’s chained and then later on he teaches her HOW TO BAKE my heart 

I could keep listing every moment when Frenchie looks at Kimiko (because his eyes inevitably follow her at any scene) or how the rest of The Boys is so aware of what they are (”you’re dating a terrorist”/”your crazy ass girlfriend”), and (SPOILERS SEASON 2 STOP READING FOR A SECOND) in the s2 we see how Frenchie is dog tired, probably angry and frustrated, and his face automatically changes when Kimiko goes to show him the origami piece. He smiles sweetly because she makes him happy, and amidst all the chaos they are going through one of his main worries is still Kimiko and how to understand and communicate with her.

END OF SPOILRS SEASON 2 

One of the last moments is in the finale, when Kimiko is finally pulling herself back together after years of abuse and mistreatment by brushing her hair, wearing pretty clothes or painting her nails. Simple acts that make her feel like she’s a person. When she comes out of the bathroom, he looks at her with pure AWE. He even says “look at you, mon coeur”, because it’s like she’s the prettiest thing he’s seen. When the gas comes into the room he pushes her into the bathroom first thing. 

M.M’s face at the end when they’re surrounded and he sees Frenchie hitting his head against the wall because even though he’s been shot he only wants to go get Kimiko, I think it says everything. His face when he talks about Kimiko and how she made him a better person. The way he pulled the hair out of her face. 

I really love how everything is coming together this new season, so now I’d like to address the main issue of this post: the nature of their relationship and how it’s nothing like the comics. 

There’s a very basic reason to why I believe their relationship is romantic, and not only by the actors’ interactions in Instagram, or the way Amazon promotes their relationship, but because the comics are so different from the tv show. 

Every character’s background story is changed, and so are their motivations, personalities and, as far as we’ve seen, their storylines. In the show they’ve made it pretty clear that Kimiko and Frenchie share a connection that resembles that of a soulmate. 

And even in the comics, (spoiler) when they’re about to die, Frenchie turns around and tells her that he’s loved her since the beginning. I don’t think that’s very father-like. 

In conclusion, it’s likely that they’ll make us wait for a long time before we get more romantic interaction (especially since Kimiko is growing as a character and that might mean she might need to grow on her own, which I think is great), but it’s been clear since the beginning that they are meant to be. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL