#that’s a tough pill to swallow isn’t it?

[thelivingdiary]

Put things into perspective for Neurotypical‘s

Walking up to a autistic mom and saying " I am so sorry, it must've been so hard raising an autistic child" and agreeing to it in front of their child is exact same thing as some random ass stranger walking up to your mother and saying " I feel so sorry for you, it must been so hard, raising that hell spawn/demon of a child" and then your own MOTHER agreeing with them and saying they wish you were never born and should have died inside the womb and never had to raise a demon like you. All the the while them CLEARLY KNOWING that you're right behind them. Is THAT an example you want to set for a child?

No? Just me?

[wolvndmouth]

Guys. I think about this shot a lot. Seven (7) times a day, minimum.

This is the exact moment Wade realizes that Logan looks at him, like really looks at him. Logan’s eyes have always been reading Wade in every way they can. Annoyed and scowling aside, he tries in earnest to understand who Wade is through his cracked humor and self-depreciation. No matter how angry he is, no matter how confused he is, he has eyes on Wade. When they’re staring at each other from opposite sides of a gun, when they’re sitting across each other in the diner, when they first fight in the Void, when they argue in the Odyssey; each one of these scenes have a moment where Wade is showing his cards and Logan, even through his rage and thirst to hurt, stills himself to listen and learn for as long as he can.

The man has no choice in the matter. Charles left him with the burden of knowing what it is to be loved, even at his most difficult. He’s felt the healing that comes from someone being able to look past his defenses and aggression and have the patience to plant compassion in the spaces of him that need it the most. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to unbury all the good he had before the bad, but it doesn’t stop him from having the guts to be gentle and kind when someone least deserves it. One of his gentlest moments is when he takes Juggernaut’s helmet off Cassandra to save her, and his wish to be the man that Charles thinks he is is what strengthens his ability to comfort the displaced and love-starved child that Nova really is. It is that same hope that allows him to take a chance on Wade. All Logan can do is hear him out and do his best to see the merc for who he truly is. It takes him some time, but from the moment they met in the bar, to joining Wade’s world, Logan’s gaze never wavers; it only changes as he grows to understand Wade more. He is able to look past Deadpool, and see Wade Wilson.

‘Never take your eyes off an enemy’ evolves into looking at a mirror to his own soul. Wade is everything Logan is, and everything Logan isn’t. They are yin and yang down to the very cores of their being, and for Logan, it’s a tough pill to swallow when he realizes just how easy it is for Wade to love. It’s not only consistently thrown in his face with Wade’s repeated reminders of what’s at stake, but Wade showing him the picture of everything he has left forces him to reflect on the walls he’s built around himself and why. He has made so many mistakes, and he can do nothing but examine his own failures as an X-Man and as Logan himself. He is astounded by Wade’s ability to survive with his heart so crudely stapled to his sleeve, and when he looks at that photo, there’s a piece of him that almost wouldn’t mind being a part of the portrait. He thinks of a world where Scott doesn’t have to beg him to put on the suit. Where Jean, Storm, and Beast aren’t dead. Where Charles is still there to remind him everyday that he matters. Maybe a world where Charles could meet Wade and remind him that he matters too. But “when they fix your world” becomes “if they fix your world”, I imagine in the bitterness of that, Logan starts off repulsed by Wade’s openness to overfill his cup and share what overflows. It’s a slow eventuality, but inevitable nonetheless; Logan learns how to let Wade pour into him. His eyes soften and steady towards Wade as their relationship progresses. When being introduced to Althea, it’s obvious that something inside him has calmed, and the soft nod he gives is the only way Logan knows how to say that actually wants to be there. He’s answered Wade’s call and didn’t walk away. Logan can finally look at Wade with a sureness that he’s not going anywhere.

[GIF by bettercallcohen]

And I think Wade can feel that. Wade is so open because his universe is so small compared to everyone else’s. 9 people. 9 people who make him feel seen, make his heart full, and that make him feel like he belongs somewhere. So when he’s presented with the chance to add #10 to the Polaroid, when someone can actually see him through his vulgarities, through the violence, through his cancerous mutation, it’s more than just surprising when it’s someone like Logan. It’s been a long time since someone’s looked at him like he’s home. No one has looked at him that way since Vanessa. And he probably felt like no one would ever look at him that way ever again. But then here comes Logan, all eyes on him, shredding him to pieces and picking him apart. Wade is the only person he knows in this world, and Wade is the only person in this world that knows him. Logan is forced to confront the idea of being seen and being needed by someone again. Wade comes to him in a crazy, desperate attempt to save the people he loves, and instead he finds one more person to violently stitch into the fabric of his existence.

It’s intense, probably for the both of them, but Wade only knows intensity. Maximum effort. Nothing is off the table, nothing is left behind. Wade’s eyes are as loud as his mouth and bear a burden of their own; a burden of honesty when it comes to conveying his feelings as being one of the only things the Weapon-X experimentation left true and untouched. He sees the truth and they speak the truth. He could see right through Logan from the moment they met. Where Logan could only see a traitor, the Worst Wolverine, Wade saw someone that could teach him how to be a hero. Where Logan could only see himself as the wrong guy for the job, Wade knew this man was the only one capable of saving everyone and everything he loved in this world. He just wasn’t expecting Logan to become part of that world.

Wade is a tractor beam for both the jaded and the gentle, and there is a softness in his eyes that is warm and inviting and penetrating all at the same time. For Wade, it’s not hard to look at Logan and see the tired parts of himself in him. He sees in him the familiar longing for death. He sees a world where he doesn’t have Cable’s time machine to make things right, where Vanessa and Peter are still dead, and he’s blowing out birthday candles alone. Logan is a mirror in his own right; a reflection of not only his failures, but his fears as well. The fear that there may be a day where his luck runs out, and being crazy isn’t enough to save his world.

Crazy is what Wade does best, and the two of them have more than enough instances where “your crazy matches my crazy”. But it’s not hard to see that the way Logan looks at Wade during those moments morphs from a sharpened hostility to a warm familiarity. Though the context of this last scene is Logan fulfilling his duty as a wingman, it is the very second Wade realizes that the other man’s gaze has lost its vitriol and conviction has taken its place. It’s the moment Wade figures out that Logan is serious about wanting to stay, serious about learning how to live in his universe, and serious about his change of heart towards him. It’s a Logan that has accepted his twin flame, and is comforted by the thought that he has someone now that can not only take everything he can give and more, but can bite back just as hard. It’s no secret that Wade holds a space for Logan, but he’s never been concerned with whether or not Logan has done the same. So the moment he’s met with a gaze that is as sure and true as Logan’s is, Wade knows there’s not only room for him to bare all, but now there’s someone that won’t shield their eyes and look away when he does.

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter VI

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: sorry for the major delay on this chapter everyone, I've been juggling a lot privately and professionally but I'll be back to regular updates over the course of the next week <3 also, just broke 20k with this update, woo!! summary for this chapter is: the art of self-sabotage. or, old habits die hard.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving/receiving), loss of virginity, dirty talk, shower sex, falling in love

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark @sadslasher13 (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 2.8k

Masterlist Next Chapter

How could you let this happen? Be this stupid?

This is exactly what you didn't want, trying your absolute damnedest to bury your feelings for Bjorn deep, deep under the weight of denial and downplay but—you can't, no matter how hard you try.

You're fighting an increasingly losing battle, falling further every time Bjorn comes around, every time he fucks you and holds you in his arms after. Every time he apologizes for whatever mean things he said in front of the others just so he can keep up the appearances you so desperately wanted to uphold. Every time he tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers that everything's going to be alright when nothing about this remotely is.

And you cry every time he leaves, finding it harder and harder to hold it in each time he does, like he's taking another piece of your heart with him every time he goes, crying salt into your pillow as you hug it close to your naked chest in the hours after, until your sobs taper off into pathetic wet sniffles, dehydrated and drained like you’re grieving a loss that hasn’t yet come to fruition.

But it will—and that’s the crux of it isn’t it, because you know in your bones, in your soul that you’ll lose this just like you’ve lost everything else before, because you’ve learned early on that everyone, no matter how much you need them, will always, always, leave in the end.

It’s a tough pill to swallow but then again, the truth always is, so you do what you can to prepare for it, choosing to shatter the illusion of happiness yourself instead of waiting for it all to inevitably come crashing down around you, desperately hoping it won’t hurt as bad when you do.

A decision you come to after another night spent drinking in the quarry, most nights spent together spent drinking, alcohol the only thing that really takes the edge off after an incredibly long and difficult shift.

Slumped back into the camping chair you’re sitting in, the one that you’ve unofficially claimed as yours, you quietly watch the familiar dance of flames everyone was sitting around, finishing off the last of your beer while the others talked and laughed.

You’d been pretty quiet all night, barely contributing anything to the conversations happening around you, too busy in your own head contemplating how to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve found yourself in as you tossed the now empty glass bottle into some nearby bushes.

Usually you'd stop after three, never one to catch anything more than a buzz but tonight, tonight you wanted to get absolutely shit-faced, wanted to shut out all the white noise inside your head, if only for a little while.

So you go to get up, intent on grabbing another drink from the worn down cooler Navarro’s feet were propped up on when Bjorn’s voice made you freeze, asking, “needa refill luv?” from the other side of the pit, head whipping up so hard you almost threw it out.

He must’ve been watching you, had to have been for him to have immediately noticed you were out, your stomach fluttering wildly at the assumption, doing your absolute damnedest not to show it on your face, no matter how badly you want to hiss at Bjorn, “what the fuck are you doing—sit back down!!!” but, you don't. Can't. The words dying in your throat every time you went to say it.

With your eyes glued to him, you watched as he walked around the burning steel drum towards his sister, his shoulders slouched and his chin down, the confident swagger he usually carries himself with gone and been replaced with a level of uncertainty you're not used to, one that helplessly flashes you back to shy blue eyes unable to meet yours just before he sucked on your breasts or stretched you open on his thick fingers.

You squeezed your thighs together, feeling wetness starting to seep between them. Not the time.

Bjorn nudged Navarro’s feet off the cooler lid, totally ignoring the scowl his sister threw at him while her hand was cupped around the dying cherry of her cigarette she was trying to keep from going out, fishing another bottle of aspen beer from the half melted ice in the process.

He came to a stop in front of you, holding the drink out by the glass neck to take, giving a smile meant just for you, so warm it had you burning hotter than the kindling wood behind him as everything briefly dissolved around you, like the entire universe was made up of just you, him, and the space in between, the warmth he was wearing radiating throughout your chest.

It was incredibly tender and brief and all wrong, the moment interrupted when Rain cleared her throat beside you, bringing you crashing back down to reality.

More than enough to make you recoil—hard. The bottle you'd been mid hand off slipping from your grip and shattering onto the pebbled stones between his and your feet, splashing chilled lager across both of your pant legs.

Bjorn had sworn under his breath then, asking you things like, “fuck, ah’ ya alright?” and, “ya’ ain't hurt ah’ ya,’ darlin?’” but you’d barely heard, had tuned it all out as your gaze swung wildly around the lopsided circle your friends were huddled in, all eyes on you.

Whether from the beer or from Bjorn you didn't know—didn't want to know, feeling severely scrutinized under the weight of their collective stare, like they could see right through you, like they knew what you were hiding, causing you to shrink down low into your seat, line of sight trained on the freshly wet gravel as you snapped at Bjorn that you didn't want his fucking handouts.

You could see the lower half of Bjorn’s body go rigid from within your periphery, refusing to look up and meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find, of possibly seeing some of that blossoming affection you’d been feeling mirrored in his icy blues, waiting to let out the shaky exhale you’d been holding until he walked back to his seat.

No one commented on your bizarre little exchange, probably because they knew you were a flight risk, that you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of conflict—like you always did, which is why you forced yourself to stay, not wanting to raise any more questions.

After the bonfire had ended Bjorn, like most nights, found his way back to your apartment, a bit cautious to approach you in your bedroom, probably sensing the sour mood he'd inadvertently put you in, asking for permission to touch while he crawled into your bed to join you.

And now here you are, Bjorn grunting as he thrusts into you once, twice, three more times before he finishes inside the condom buried eight inches deep between your legs, hairline damp from exertion with his bangs sticking to his forehead in sweaty little peninsulas.

He leans down, the cool metal of his dog tags brushing up your bare chest while he does, to plant an incredibly tender kiss to your lips, smiling into it when he feels you reciprocate, going in for a slew of quick pecks the same time he lets go of the leg he’s still holding up, fingers dimpling the back of your thigh.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he grins a little wider, still a bit winded as he tries catching his breath, rolling off of you to lie flat on his back instead, covered in a fresh set of scratches trailing down from his shoulders to the base of his spine.

There's a beat of silence, only punctuated by the mingling of your heavy breathing slowly returning to normal and the systematic tick of your alarm clock on the bedside table next to your head, feeling Bjorn's hand find its way into yours down between your bodies.

Tears start to crease along your waterlines, rapidly fluttering your lashes to try and blink them away, to not draw Bjorn’s attention to how absolutely vulnerable you feel. This was a mistake. A big one. And not just tonight—all of it. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered filthy praise shared between you, closing your eyes for a moment, just long enough for you to work up the nerve and say, “we have to talk,” voice thick with thinly-veiled emotion.

Bjorn perks up at that, rolling onto his side as he sat up on his elbow, cheek resting on a loosely curled fist, the shitty stick and poke of the losing dice frowny face he has tatted on the back of his right hand, one of the many Navarro gave him when he was fifteen and they were both high as a kite while giggling quietly on the floor of his bedroom as to not wake their dad, upside down from this angle.

“Glad ya’ said sumthin’ princess,” he smiles a shy, tiny thing you aren’t used to, fighting the overwhelming urge to back out now, “cuz m’ pretty sure I feel tha’ same.”

You seriously doubt that, your suspicion sadly confirmed when he confesses, “I think m’ fallin’ fo’ ya,’” the same time you say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

More silence, except—this one says a hell of a lot more.

Your throat goes tight and painful, like you just swallowed shards of glass and poured salt into the resulting wounds, watching the smile on his face quickly dissolve, replaced by a pinched frown and the confused furrow of his eyebrows, sitting all the way up to stare down at you.

“Wha’?” He asks, so small and fragmented it feels like a knife stab to the chest having to hear it. Fuck, you knew it was going to sting,that you were in too deep by the time you realized you were falling for him, but you didn't expect it to hurt this bad, like you want to take it all back but you don't—you can’t, for your sake and his.

“I said,” you push through the acute ache, disguising your tone with something harsher, something hurtful, “we should stop seeing each other. It's just—not working out anymore.”

“M’ sorry but where in tha’ bloody fuck is this all comin’ from? I thought things wuz’ good between us,” he argues, using his hand to gesture between your body and his as you sit up against the headboard, pulling your blanket up over your chest so you aren't so exposed.

“Well, you were wrong. We just—we aren't meant for each other. We're only hooking up out of convenience and you know it,” you reinforce, unable to meet his eyes head on, just like the quarry, gaze trained on the worn comforter by his naked thigh.

Still, you're able to catch a glimpse of the confusion on Bjorn's face morph into utter annoyance, snapping at you to, “cut tha’ shit already.”

“Excuse me?” You bristle immediately, letting your anger temporarily eclipse your pain so you don't break down in front of him, “fuck you if you think I'm lying.”

“Oh, m’ sorry if m’ havin’ a hard time believin’ ya, but ya’ can't jus’ fake tha’ kinda chemistry. I'm willin’ ta’ bet it all on black ya’ felt it jus’ as much as I did.”

You can see desperation bleed into his eyes, hear it seep into his words, wavering like he's not so sure anymore but still trying to convince himself that he's right—and he is, you know in your bones that he is but he doesn't need to know that, muttering back, “what the fuck do you even know.”

His nostrils flare as a result, clearly offended by your statement, leaning in on his palm, fingers spread over your sweaty, wrinkled bed sheets, his gaze firmly transfixing itself on you, “‘scuze me? Ah’ ya’ tryna be daft on purpose?” not giving you any room to respond before he continues on.

“Listen—I can't speak fo’ ya,’ but I know wha’ I fuckin’ feel. D’ya really fuckin’ think I wanna feel like this?! Tha’ I wanted this ta’ happen? Course fuckin’ not. I don't get close ta’ people tha’ ain't mah’ family but then you. Ya’ came along an’—I neva’ intended ta’ get ta’ know ya’ at all. Yeah I thought ya’ wuz a total smokeshow when I first laid mah’ eyes on ya’ but I figured ya’ wouldn't stick around long with how bloody standoffish ya’ were, always lookin’ like ya' didn't wanna be there

“But then ya’ did. Ya’ did an’ we almost fuckin’ died so I opened up ta’ ya’ figurin’ we wuz both gonnas’ then ya’ let me touch ya.’ Let me inside ya,’ an’ I couldn't stop fuckin’ replayin’ it in mah' head tha’ night I slept ova’ at Kay an’ Tyler's. Had ta’ rub one out in tha’ bathroom an’ bite down on mah’ fuckin' fist like a hormonal tweener. I woulda been embarrassed if I wuzn't so fuckin' turned on.

“So I had ta’ go back fo’ a round two, see if it wuz jus’ a fluke but once I was fuckin’ ya again I couldn't stop, I wanted more every time, like a fuckin’ junkie lookin’ fo’ tha’ next fix, no matta’ how hard I tried resistin.’ But then I started ta’ notice otha’ things ‘sides tha’ face ya’ make when I make ya’ pussy weep around mah’ cock an’ ya' sing so pretty fo’ me,” he says, face neutral and tone even despite how hot your cheeks are hearing that.

“Like how carin’ ya' ah’ fo’ tha’ othas’ despite actin’ like ya’ don't. Tha’ ya' had ta’ grow up fas’ as fuck an’ took it out on yaself’ instead o’ lashin’ out like an’ insecure prick. Like me. Tha' I thought I'd neva’ seen someone so fuckin' beautiful in all mah’ life when ya’d fall asleep befo’ me, even when ya’ wuz droolin’ on mah’ chest and snorin’ like one o’ them fuckin' minin’ drills. Tha’ I thought I could listen ta’ ya' horrendous singin’ in tha’ showa’ all day when ya’ woke up befo’ me. Tha’ I wanted ta’ call ya’ mine fo’ a fuckin’ while now.

An’ I know I wuzn't jus’ imaginin’ shit. I might be shit at expressin’ mah’ feelins’ but so ah’ you. Ya’ can’t convince me none o’ it wuz real.”

You consider trying to take it all back, while he’s still giving you an out, feeling like your heart���s been violently ripped out of your chest but you refrain from doing so, choosing to stand your ground, no matter how shaky the earth beneath you feels. You can’t afford to lose someone again, it’ll be better in the long run to ruin it now than to let life steal someone else away when you least expect it, when you can’t possibly handle any more heartbreak.

Finally meeting his eyes you force yourself not to flinch at the intensity of his gaze as they scrutinize you, like he can see right through you, feeling more exposed now than you did when he first got you naked.

“It wasn’t,” you insist, somewhat petulantly.

It’s his turn to roughly swallow at what you say, his confidence visibly waning in the slouch of his shoulders and the way he pulls back a little, the uncertainty of his words when you first confessed making a comeback—much stronger this time but still underscored by a level of defiance like he’s clinging on to some modicum of hope.

“So allat—allat really meant absolutely nuthin’ ta’ ya?’”

You know you have to inflict maximum damage, to crush any chance of making the same mistake twice, finding yourself leaning in like he did earlier to emphasize your point, not deviating away from devastated blue as you hiss, “nothing. Nothing at all.”

And that was all it took, watching how quickly Bjorn turned his back to you while he quietly yanked on his clothes, shoulders shaking in anger, in rejection—in defeat. He's hurting, it's more than obvious by the way his voice shakes, sounding like wet gravel as he croaks at you to, “have a nice fuckin’ life,” before storming out of your apartment, leaving you alone, the silence you once found comfort in when you were on your own bordering on unbearable now.

It's for the best, you reason, it's what needs to happen, you don't need to make this any harder than it already fucking is, finally allowing yourself to break down, as pained sobs rack your body, crying so hard you grab at your chest like you’re trying to open another airway, gasping between each tearful moan.

So, if this is really for the best—then why does it feel like the worst decision you’ve ever made?

[marvelavengerspovs1]

Comfort

Pairing: Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: Light mention of politics, fluff

Length: 494

Summary: Bucky comforts you during your time in need.

A/N: Normally I’m not one to be overly vocal about my beliefs, but after the shit show that was the election, I can’t not be. If you know me, I believe that everyone deserves rights, no matter who they are, how they identify, who they love, etc. The type of hate that we see now is only going to increase and I cannot stand by and not say anything. My page will always be a safe space for everyone, no matter what. I wrote this partially to comfort myself, but now I am posting it for everyone else who also needs this. To my friends who are going to be affected by this, I am so sorry that this country has failed you. I am sorry that your rights will be affected by this. I am sorry that people carry this immense amount of hate and don’t know how to mind their own business. Know this; My page will be a safe space for you to be yourself, even in this horrible time. You have someone in your corner who will not judge you and cares for your overall well being. We may not know each other, but I support you.

This is not proofread, I just wanted to put this out.

I do not consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

You lay in your bed, thinking about life. It’s a tough pill to swallow. There are no words to describe the devastation you feel for your friends and family. You continue to stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how much you wished Bucky was home.

Bucky had left a few days prior on a mission. While it shouldn’t be much longer, you still wished he was home. You wished that you could lay in his arms and cry while he held you, telling you that he would do everything in his power to try to help you.

You are so lost in thought, you don’t hear the front door to your apartment open. 

Bucky quietly opens the door, hoping to not disturb you. He gently locks the door and takes off his boots, leaving them by the front door. Alpine is the first to greet him, rubbing against his leg. 

Bucky picks her up to pet her, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Hey girl, is she still in bed?”

Alpine purrs to say yes and rubs herself on Bucky’s chest. Bucky frowns slightly but he knew you would be like this. He walks to your shared bedroom, knocking on the door.

“Doll?” He asks tentatively.

Your heart jumps before you turn your head. “Hey, Buck.” You whisper with a small smile and tears in your eyes.

Bucky gently puts Alpine on the bed and cuddles up right next to you. “I’m so sorry, Doll.”

You only nod your head and turn your body to be engulfed by him, wrapping your leg around his waist. “You just being here is helping.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, only rubbing your back and kissing your temple as you cry in his arms. If there was anything he could do, he would do it. But that’s not possible and he wants to destroy everything because of it.

“I got you, Doll. You can cry, scream, punch, do whatever you need to do.”

You shake your head. “I just need to be with you.”

Bucky nods. “Then we can lay here and waste the day away. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head once more. “No.”

Bucky frowns slightly. “Doll, you need to eat. It’s almost 3 pm.” Alpine meows in agreement.

“I know, I just couldn’t pull myself out of bed.” You reach for Alpine and she lays between you and Bucky, purring at her favorite humans.

“Ok, well do you want to order food?”

You shake your head and scrunch your face. “I feel like if I eat, I’m going to throw up.”

Bucky looks you in the eyes. “Baby, I know. But you have to eat. How about I make you some toast? It’ll fuel you and isn’t super heavy.”

You nod. “Yeah, ok.”

Bucky kisses your forehead. “I know Doll, but we’ll get through this. I will do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll be ok.”

[fear-is-truth]

This could be written as anything (your thoughts, drabble, hc, etc) but how do you think kai would react to reader asking to try his adderall? Could be for any particular reason u want. I feel like depending on the typa day you ask him he could either tell u no cs he doesn’t want to share something as precious to him as his pills/him silently worrying abt not wanting u to become like him where he basically needs them to function.

ORRR he could say yes but be an asshole abt it nd make u chew and swallow them like he does instead of downing it with water LIKE A SANEE PERSON

tw: mentions of substānce abūse

a/n: *adjusts my fake nerd glasses that i don’t actually need* omg i LOVE yapping about kai.

scenario 01. “no” bc he doesn’t wanna share with you

this is also highly possible, as it taps into kai’s obsession with control and focus. he’s not gonna risk losing his edge or sharing something that he sees as critical to his ability to function. his whole persona revolves around being one step ahead, and the adderall is part of that. he needs it to stay sharp, and he’s not going to waste it on anyone else.

kai doesn’t even look up when you ask this time. his fingers stop tapping the prescription bottle for a second before his grip tightens around it. “no,” he says, firm and final. you wait for an explanation, but he doesn’t offer one. he just leans back in the couch, cracking his neck like he’s already tired of the conversation.

“i need these,” he adds, quieter but with no hint of softness. “you don’t.” it’s clear this isn’t a conversation. he’s not going to explain further or let you question it. in his mind, the pills are his fuel. they keep him wired, focused, able to plot and manipulate. sharing them isn’t an option. the bottle vanishes into his pocket, and with it, the conversation.

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scenario 02. “no” bc he lowkey doesn’t want you to end up as a paranoid drug addict like him

on the surface, he’s giving you a condescending, sexist excuse about why you “won’t be able to handle it,” but beneath that, there’s a sliver of genuine concern for your well-being. it’s just that kai, being kai, would never admit to caring outright. vulnerability isn’t something he handles well, and showing concern would go against the power dynamic he thrives on.

kai looks up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over his stomach, the other playing with the orange prescription bottle between his fingers. when you ask to try one, he raises an eyebrow, giving you a look that’s both incredulous and dismissive.

“you won’t be able to handle it,” he says flatly, as if speaking to a petulant child. at this, you frown, leaning forward. “i’ve handled other stuff. what makes you think—”

he cuts you off with a smirk, eyes gleaming with condescension. “this isn’t like some college party drug, little girl. these are what keep me sharp. vigilant.” his tone drops, and he shakes the bottle slightly. “you? you’d probably just get jittery and start freaking out.”

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scenario 03. “okay” bc he wants to mess with you

this is classic kai anderson—mean, condescending, and wanting to assert his dominance. making you chew the pill is not only gross, but it’s a ploy to make you regret ever asking. he’ll get a kick out of watching you suffer through the taste, and he’ll turn it into a comparison of how “tough” he is for doing it all the time. for him, it’s a way to show you that he’s built different, superior. it’s his way of saying, “you don’t deserve my adderall, and if you want to try it, you’re going to suffer for it.”

kai’s eyes light up as soon as you ask. “oh, you wanna try my adderall?” he drawls, pushing himself up from his slouched position. shaking one pill onto his palm, he holds it between his fingers and smirks, mockingly.

“be my guest. but you’re gonna take it the right way. the effective way.” before you can ask, he snaps the pill in half, shoving the broken pieces into your palm.

“now chew,” he orders coldly. you hesitate, before tilting your head and popping the pieces into your mouth. the bitter taste hits immediately, making you gag as you chew it down, dry and chalky.

“don’t like that, huh?” he sneers, leaning in closer. “good. that’s what i deal with every day. it’s not some game for you to mess with.”

───────── ⋆⋅౨ৎ⋅⋆ ─────────

jackie lore: i dry-swallow my pills (even the big-ass ones) but for completely different reasons. simply because i’m too lazy to go get a glass of water 😭

[softspeirs]

These Heartbeats Clear (1): Rosie Rosenthal x OC

A/N: Rosie/OC… literally couldn’t resist. I was torn between this OC and a Red Cross OC from the flak house, but I think I wanted someone who would see him during all the hard parts, not just for a week when he’s Suffering. Spoilers for eps 5 and 6 of MoTA. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

one - adjustment period.

Grace watches warily as the crew approaches on the jeep - she’s not sure what she expected… for them to be jubilant and laughing, looking refreshed and ready for action? Nervous, scared, resigned… some combination of the two?

Her eyes land on Rosie, as they’re prone to do. He seems calm. That’s not a surprise, but the glimpse of something — fear? hesitation? — in his eyes is.

Helen, standing on her left, shifts her weight, her posture the picture of worry and sadness.

“Try to pull yourself upright,” Grace says quietly.

"I'm trying--" Helen says, her voice dull. To her credit, she flashes a smile as the guys get closer, her frown softening.

"Ladies," Rosie says, fingers on the brim of his hat. "What's the welcome wagon for?"

"Coffee." Helen says, "Just brewed."

He smiles thankfully at her, but his eyes go back to Grace's. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, Lieutenant Fleming--"

"Bearer of semi-bad news, I'm afraid." Grace says, ignoring the way her heart picks up a little at his half smile. She rushes to finish before she can see his face transform - he can't afford any more bad news. "Doc wants to see everyone, just a quick chat. After that there's food in the mess."

He nods. "What's one more doctor?" He mutters. She suspects she wasn't supposed to hear that. Then, louder, "You heard her, gents. Doctor's orders."

They grumble a little, but head into the infirmary behind Grace and Helen, taking a cup of coffee each as they go. Helen follows behind, empty tray tucked under her arm. She looks back at Grace, but Rosie is lingering behind, twisting the brim of his cap in his hands, and Grace can't bring herself to leave him out here alone.

She waves Helen on, telling her she'll catch up in a minute.

“Captain?”

He starts, like he forgot she was there. He also looks like he’s forgotten about his promotion. And that’s the thing with flying — a promotion isn’t always wanted. Deserved, certainly. But it often comes at the expense of other pilots, and it’s always a tough pill to swallow. “How’s it been? How’s— everyone?” He asks her. His face is so earnest. It makes her throat tight.

“As well as we can be, Captain. Most of the replacements are here.” She hesitates before continuing. She’s been here right along, with the Red Cross girls and the doctor and the other nurses. But just because she’s been here as long as everyone else doesn’t mean she understands what the flight crews have gone through. “How was your week off?”

“Too long.” He says, no hesitation. His smile is small, wry, a barely-there upturn of his lips. “I wanted to get back.”

“And you’re alright?” The question comes out almost without her permission. They don’t even know each other that well - she’s patched up a few of his scrapes and bruises and they’ve made idle conversation as he checked on some of his crew that ended up in the infirmary, but this is bordering on too casual.

But she’d argued with him, the day before he went on leave. She’d been too casual then, too, and so had he, both of them lost in the emotions of the Munster mission.

It feels a little awkward now, but she does her best to press on.

She can’t help but worry about him. She admires him, at the heart of it. The way he kept his men together through it all, the way he always has a kind word and a joke for anyone who needs it.

She just hopes he’d say so if he’s the one who needs it, this time.

“I’m as good as I can be, Lieutenant.” He replies.

“Grace.” She reminds him softly. “It’s— you don’t have to call me Lieutenant.”

“Grace, then.” He echos. “I’m okay. Have to be. For them.”

“I hope—“ she pauses, looking down at her shoes. “Forgive me sir, but I hope you know that we’re all here for you. What you went through—“

“I know.” He interrupts her, not unkindly. “You think we haven’t seen the way you’ve been there for us? Even when you thought we didn’t notice?” He shakes his head. “You write our letters when our hands shake, and get us extra blankets, and tell us it’s going to be okay when it’s—“ He stops himself, shaking his head.

When his eyes meet hers, they’re so soft she can barely stand it. This is dangerous, what this conversation is turning into, but she’s also relieved to hear that what she’s been doing besides being a nurse and keeping them alive has made a difference.

“I appreciate it more than I can put into words, Grace.” His voice is rough.

There’s a long moment of prolonged eye contact. Her senses are screaming, danger, danger! But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t look away.

“You just keep yourself and those boys alive, Captain.” She says, her voice thick. “For the rest of us.”

He salutes, a jaunty thing that lightens the mood. “Yes ma’am.”

She laughs, and he grins at her in response. “Go on, you have to meet with the Doctor too. Just standard procedure.”

He hums. “Heard a lot of that the last week.” He takes a few steps away and then stops, “Grace?” His face is suddenly boyish, shy. “You’d better call me Rosie. Or at least by my first name.”

It feels right — she’s given up calling anyone else by their rank anymore. They’ve been through too much for that. The new guys will be an adjustment - she’s not sure she can manage getting attached to any of them. Because it’s inevitable, what happens after.

But the line has already been crossed with this man, looking at her in the fading sunlight.

“You got it, Rosie.”

His answering smile stays with her until the next day, long after the roar of B-17s fades into the distance.

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (IX) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Professor Slughorn extends his invitations to the friend group. Harry and Y/N have an enlightening conversation that leads to unanticipated trouble.

Part VIII / Part X / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Oh boy, it's been a long time coming for this plot point. Blaise's characterization and role in the chapter was purely unplanned, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity.

You could barely keep your head screwed on straight. As you sat in front of your parchment, quill motionlessly clasped in your frozen hand, you felt your head wobble a bit. Harry is sat next to your inert figure, lips parting then closing as he tries to grapple for the right words. 

“Well, say something.” His words have you snapping your head over to stare at him, your hand shaking from the motion, droplets of ink descending from your quill to rain on your notes. 

Cursing quietly, you quickly spell away the mess and sigh, “Harry, isn’t it just a little strange? I mean for a good chunk of our last year, Dumbledore acted like you were a ghost, and now he’s giving you private lessons on what? Voldemort’s childhood?” 

Nodding at your (extremely justifiable) response, he runs a hand through his hair, turning to face the window in front of your table. 

“And you’re saying bloody Voldemort was an orphan– one that Dumbledore tried to intimidate? Bloody hell, the welcoming committee for Hogwarts back then was rubbish, I mean, setting an orphan’s meager possessions on fire?” Your words are tinged with amusement and Harry’s lips curl up ever so slightly. 

Shaking his head lightly, he drops his chin into his palm, “Magical fire,” he corrected, “but yes. It was strange to see the Dark Lord look so baby-faced and innocent. But Dumbledore thinks that I’ll somehow figure out Voldemort’s weaknesses and secrets from these lessons.” 

Sobering up at his words, your voice turns grave as you take in how exhausted your friend looks, “It’s all really happening then. The war,–” you pause to glance at your surroundings, “it’s near, and everybody’s putting you at the center of it all.”

Your words are even, but Harry is able to pick up on the bitter undertone, sending you a strained smile in appreciation. Of course, Harry couldn’t help but be in the middle of it all. Wretched prophecy. 

“I wish we could run away.” The boy next to you makes no move to echo your sentiments, “Once this is all over, I want to go to the beach.”  At your last statement, he smiles and his eyes glaze over, muttering his own silent wish. 

Your wishes fall on silent ears, both of you knowing that the likelihood of making it out of the war was slim. For now, you could enjoy this moment of solace with your burdened friend. 

But it seemed that peace would not befall Hogwarts for a long while. 

It was finally the day of the Hogsmeade trip, a time of year that usually had students bustling about in excitement. This year however, the energy fell flat as many shuffled in hushed whispers, either mulling over school work or worrying about the increase in death eater attacks. 

Hannah Abbott’s mother had been murdered less than a month before, and the girl’s continued absence at school had set the tone for the following months. Lady Abbott’s demise marked a new era of the war, and becoming accustomed to death would be a tough pill to swallow for everyone. 

The thought weighed heavy on your mind even as you sat with the trio inside the warmth of The Three Broomsticks, four glasses soon being placed down in front of your hunched figures. As your eyes dart around the tavern, you accidentally snort as you look into the corner of the room. 

‘Something amusing, little bird?’

Your surprised flinch goes unnoticed by the table’s occupants as the rest of your friends take notice of the source of your amusement. You had forgotten that you brought Regulus with you, his portrait lost in one of the many pockets of your jacket. 

‘Nothing much, crowface, it just so happens that Ron’s sister and an old dorm mate of his are snogging right in front of us.’

‘Merlin, will you ever let that nickname go?’ 

Smiling into your butterbeer, you’re quick to shoot him a teasing response, ‘Never. What’s so wrong with it? You’re my crow after all.’

Regulus doesn’t respond to your comment, and you were unsure if he was annoyed or too tired to engage in banter with you, but you barely have time to dwell on it as you see Professor Slughorn approaching your table with a twitchy grin. 

“Harry, my boy!” Harry is quick to spring from his seat, enthusiastically shaking the man’s hand in an exaggerated show of excitement. You were amused by Harry’s efforts, unsure if he was trying to impress the man for networking purposes or if he was trying to siphon information from him. You suspected it was likely the latter.

Harry barely respected authority. You were sure he only actually liked Professor McGonagall, and he surely never beamed like the sun in her presence. 

His conversation with Slughorn continues and you only snap your gaze up to look at the pair when you hear Slughorn say your surname, followed by Hermione’s name. 

“You’re both welcomed as well! Ah–Nice to see you, Wallenby.” You snicker at his remark, watching Ron sour at the man’s words. As Harry sits down, you can’t help but cluelessly ask what your Potions professor was talking about, having been preoccupied by your own thoughts. 

You nearly drop your butterbeer into your lap when he tells you that you’ve been invited to a friendly supper with him and ‘Mione. It seems that the man was already collecting trophy students for his Slug Club, and you were a little flattered to be on par with your two friends in his eyes. 

The Slug Club would be an opportune time to start networking, Merlin knows the connections you’ll need once you graduate from Hogwarts.

The high from the invitation seems to swell and soar higher, the embers of delight crackling wildly in your chest as you trek in the snow with your friends. Hills of unsullied snow stretched for miles and seemed to brighten up the grounds, consequently lifting away the veil of tension that clawed at the student body. 

Your high is obliterated almost instantaneously when a high-pitched scream hits you like a bludger. A chill cuts through your core at the sound and you find yourself racing towards the distressed noise, recognizing the shouting girl to be Leanne Trembley. The Hufflepuff was furiously gesturing to a crumpled figure in front of her that you failed to notice until that moment. 

Before you can even register her words, the motionless body in front of your feet begins to shove from side to side, before being dragged into the air. As the girl is suspended above you all, you curse silently and begin to look around for help. 

She was another student above your year, and quite a well-known one at that. 

Before you can run off to find help, you jump back as she suddenly comes crashing down, the snow crunching under her in protest. Nearly tripping over yourself, you peer down and see a tangled necklace glittering on the ground near her unconscious figure, a sudden pull of magic making your fingers twitch. 

Slowly releasing your magic, you flinch back harshly as it makes contact with the magic emanating from the gaudy jewelry piece, realizing it was likely a cursed item–dark magic. The magic surrounding it was like an inky void, its vicious nature barely contained by some haphazard spellwork. 

What the hell?

Katie Bell had been tossed around like a ventriloquist’s puppet in broad daylight. But who would want to hurt her? And who the hell was passing around cursed objects? 

You don’t get any answers from the adults. As expected. Instead, you all simply get brushed off with uneasy looks.  

‘It just doesn’t make sense, Reggie. I mean you should have seen it, she was being flung around like a ragdoll, and now she’s being shipped off to St. Mungo’s for who knows how long.’ 

After you were all dismissed from the necklace incident, you decided to head to the library for some quiet time, needing time away from your friends to think. 

‘A cursed necklace making rounds in the student body? Be careful, birdie. This is likely a ploy from a junior death eater trying to impress their parents. The Dark Lord would never be that sloppy, and he certainly would never allow the victim to live.’ Regulus’ words do little to soothe your worries, but you know you also have no lead to investigate even if you wanted to. 

Plucking a book from off the shelf in front of you, your eyes widen as something flashes quickly across the other side of the gap. Waiting with bated breath, you continue to watch as it flashes back and forth. 

It was only after a few more moments that you realized someone was aggressively pacing back and forth in the next row over. 

‘Reggie.’

‘Hm?’

‘Yes or No?’

‘No.’

‘Okay.’ Yes it is.

Padding around the bookshelf, you peer into the aisle to see a disheveled Draco, mumbling to himself like a mad man. His composure was nowhere to be found and you’d never seen him look so pale. 

“Malfoy, everything okay?” Your words are filled with genuine concern and have the boy snapping his frenzied eyes to you, a sudden shock coloring his expression before it’s twisting into a sneer. 

“None of your concern, L/N. Shouldn’t you be off with Weaslebee or Potter?” His words are fueled with malice and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. So much for being nice. 

Despite your sudden eagerness to stick your nose in the Slytherin’s business (clearly Harry’s been rubbing off on you), you knew when to stop prodding. 

“Friendly lad you are. Do head to Madam Pomfrey, you look sickly. And as always, it's been a joy.” Shaking your head, you breathe out a small dismissal before you’re cutting past him and leaving the library behind you, head spinning from the wild trajectory of events. 

You should have dropped out of this damn school the moment that troll tried to splatter your brain across the bathroom sinks. 

You have little time to simmer over your thoughts about Malfoy and his distress, spending the following days chatting with Hermione and Harry about what to expect at the first Slug Club meeting. Harry had enlightened you both on the fact that he was chumming up to the older man on Dumbledore’s request. Of course, this news had you twisting your mouth peevishly, not liking the fact that Dumbledore was plotting something and using your best friend to achieve his goal. 

You found yourself becoming increasingly off-put by the headmaster with each passing day, but you’d remain complacent as long as he didn’t push it too far. 

As the evening of the Slug Club meeting emerges, you’re left to fret over your appearance and worries with a bemused Regulus. 

“Your circling is making me dizzy. Merlin, don’t stress yourself out, little bird. It’s just going to be a small get-together, and he’ll ask you questions about your career goals and studies.” 

Reasonable enough. 

Nodding in exasperation, you fling yourself onto your bed, careful to not lay on Regulus’ frame. Your head felt heavy with stress, and you couldn’t shake off the chilling feeling that’s been bothering you since the beginning of the year.

“Reg, can I take you with me?” Your words come out a little small, and you feel almost awkward by making the request, feeling like an anxious child. 

The boy responds almost immediately, “Of course, birdie. You don’t have to ask, I’ll be wherever you want me to be.” His words are light, but genuine, clearly not affected by your almost odd request. 

Feeling immensely reassured by his conviction, you can only release a small sigh of relief, feeling your nerves settle down. 

“Thanks Reg. I suppose I’ve just been out of it since there’s so much going on nowadays.” 

Regulus hums in understanding, and you’re almost tempted to just roll over and go to sleep with his portrait clutched to your body. The feeling of wanting to stay in your blankets forever has been a persistent one for the past few months. 

Just as you feel your eyes growing heavy, Regulus’ soft voice cuts through the haze that threatens to drag your consciousness away, “You should get going, Y/N. Unless you’re feeling unwell, if so then you should change into more comfortable attire.”

“Mm, no, you’re right, I should go now.” Your mumble is entirely unconvincing, but you knew you’d regret it if you decided to abandon your plans, besides, you had other matters to attend to aside from the Slug Club meeting. 

Getting up from your spot, you quickly slip Regulus’ portrait into your pocket and make way to grab your wand. You promised Harry that you would meet up with him earlier in order to discuss something. 

Harry’s words had been vague, but the look in his eyes when he asked you had you agreeing almost immediately. You weren’t sure if Harry was struggling with a life-threatening issue or if it involved Draco’s erratic behavior, but you were curious nonetheless. 

The questions flooding your head go flying out of the window when Harry hits you with a statement that has you floored from shock. 

“I think I have feelings for Ginny.” 

You feel your eyebrows drag together in bafflement, mouth creasing down into a slight frown. Across from you, Harry seems beside himself, looking even more lost than he’d ever look in his entire school career.

Snapping out of your shock, you place your hands on Harry’s shoulders before giving him a hard shake, “When the hell did this happen?!”

The boy allows you to manhandle his body, glasses bouncing around with the movement. Perhaps if you shook him harder, the bouncing of his head would be enough to wake up his brain.

“I don’t know! It’s just that lately with the whole Dean situation, I’ve just been…well, you know.” Finally stopping your movements, you’re unable to help the laugh that escapes you. 

“You’ve been jealous then?” To his dismay, your teasing words are paired along with a shit-eating grin that has him reconsidering all of his life choices thus far. 

Shaking his head and readjusting his glasses, Harry releases a heavy sigh before going to say something again. Before he’s able to though, his eyes go wide as he reaches for your arm, attempting to tug it to the side in a hurry. 

You’re confused for a split second, but before you can question your friend, a heavy body goes slamming into your back, sending you stumbling forward. A yelp pushes past your lips and you see Regulus’ portrait go flying into the air, before tumbling to the ground and sliding a few feet away. 

Shit. You forgot that this jacket didn’t have a pocket zipper.

Swinging your head around in irritation, you’re met with a shocked Cormac McLaggen standing behind you. The imbecile had been too distracted with fixing his sweater, which was still clutched in his hands, to notice that he was rapidly stalking towards your unknowing figure. 

“Woah, sorry, my bad.” You feel your eye twitch at the apology and you barely grunt out a response before he’s stepping around you and making his way further down the hall. 

Harry goes to put a hand on your shoulder to steady you, but becomes distracted by the item on the ground, making his way over to it before you can stop him. 

“No, wait, Harry, I got it!” As you rush forward, you only make it in time to see Harry flip the frame over, his body going rigid at the sight of an unimpressed Regulus. Your hand only pauses in the air for a split second before it’s snatching the item away from Harry’s hands at the speed of light. 

The mantra of curse words that go flying through your head would be enough to send McGonagall flying off the handle.

Clutching the frame to your chest, you hold your breath as Harry continues to stare at his empty hands, eyes alight with confusion. 

Slowly turning towards you, his voice is surprisingly even for the amount of shock you could see in his face, “Why do you have a picture of Regulus Black in your pocket?” 

Gripping the frame tightly in your hands, your words come out breathless as an intense wave of unease washes over you, “How do you know it’s him?” 

Harry sighs harshly, pinching his thumb and middle finger on the bridge of his nose as he answers, “This summer, Dumbledore took me from the Dursleys to go find Slughorn at his home. When I was looking around the place, I saw old photos of him and a quidditch team. He pointed out Regulus to me.” 

Regulus’ voice echoes in your mind link at the boy’s words, ‘Slughorn has a photo of me in his home?’

Stepping back in confusion, you almost want to look at Regulus to see what expression he was donning at the revelation. 

Before the conversation can continue, a bright voice erupts from behind you, “There you both are! It’s nearly time for the meeting to begin.” 

You spin on your heel and see a smiling Hermione making her way towards you, hands tucked in her brown dress jacket. Returning her smile, you quickly slip away the portrait before she can see it, trying your best to hide how shaken up you were. 

You trusted Harry, of course. But you weren’t sure how the added information of Regulus’ existence would bode with the burden-overloaded boy. As you begin to make your way down the hall with your friends, only partially engaged with Hermione’s ramble, you see Harry shoot you a pointed look. 

Clearly, the conversation was far from over.  

The Slug Club meeting seemed less daunting now that your secret had been unearthed and, quite literally, tossed into the air. As you sit eating your dessert, vaguely aware of the way Marcus Belby was scraping his spoon furiously against his glass, you look around to survey the table. 

It was quite the random bunch, and you were surprised to see that Draco wasn’t in attendance seeing as Potions was his pride and joy. Although, you aren’t upset that it was Blaise Zabini sitting across from you instead, quite enjoying the boy’s humor despite who he chooses to associate with. Merlin knows Draco’s sardonic demeanor was overwhelming enough, you guessed it was only fair that there was Blaise to balance it all out. 

Continuing to look around the table, you feel yourself do a double take before narrowing your eyes. 

Wait–is that McLaggen? Why the hell was he here?

“So, Y/N, I hear quite the praises about you. Yes. Yes, Professor Babbling and Professor Flitwick are chuffed to have you in their classes. Is there a particular area of study you are interested in?” Slughorn’s words have you snapping your gaze away from the source of your stress, eyes growing imperceptibly wider at the attention. 

Clearing your throat, you shoot a quick glance at your friends before smiling lightly at the older man, “Oh, well I’m quite interested in runes and I’m also partial to researching ancient charms. I spent most of my summer reading old tomes and heirloom books.” About the Dark Arts, not that you would say it aloud. 

Slughorn nods quickly, pleased by your words. Observing the other occupants at the table, you see Blaise meet your gaze with intrigued eyes, while Neville shoots you a warm smile. You supposed it was better than them looking at you like you grew a third head, and you suspected that Blaise somehow could read between the lines and knew exactly what type of research you were doing.

“Why, that sounds like quite the interest! I happen to know a few researchers in Norway and Scotland who are versed in archaic charms. I’ll be sure to reach out to them, perhaps you will be able to meet them at the Christmas party.” Slughorn’s words send a beat of shock through your spine and you find yourself beaming at the man, not expecting such an opportune offer. 

As soon as you nod at his words, the man turns towards Hermione, asking her about her parents and what they do for a living. You try to ignore the awkward silence that spears through the atmosphere once Slughorn realizes he knows very little about the muggle world, choosing to instead send glares at McLaggen when you notice how much your back hurts. 

You had heard he was trying out for a position in Quidditch this year, so maybe you could ask Ron to barrel dive into him as payback. 

The meeting seems to wrap up in the blink of an eye, and you’re soon trailing through the dark corridors behind the rest of the club members. Hermione quickly parts from your side and says she needs to go check out a book before curfew, but you’re less concerned about that and more concerned about Harry’s noticeable absence. 

He was probably still with Slughorn, no doubt already enacting his plan to get information. You only hoped that Dumbledore would leave the man alone soon, or at least until the Christmas party. Opportunist you may be, but the biting nature of the real world demands that you never turn away from such a golden ticket. 

You are dragged away from your thoughts as you feel someone fall into pace with you, looking up to meet a familiar set of eyes. 

“Zabini, what can I do for you?” 

The boy’s lips twitch at your forthright words, hands tucking away into his pant pockets, “Heirloom books. I wasn’t aware you had such…proclivities.” 

Nodding your head, you manage a small smirk at the Italian, “It’s been a strange summer.” 

“It would seem so.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence and you see a few people begin to break away, leaving for their respective destinations. As you reach the grand staircase, Blaise steps away from you, turning his head to give you one last assessing glance. 

You take the initiative to wave at him, still surprised by his cordiality, “Later, Zabini.” 

“It’s been fun. See you around, L/N.” With a small smile, he nods before strutting down the stairs.

As you continue through the darkness you reach into your pocket and pull out Regulus’ frame. You aren’t able to make out his expression, but his presence is comforting nonetheless. 

‘I think I just made a new friend, Reg.’ At least, you hoped you had. 

‘Just be careful.’ 

‘I will be. But I’m sorry about earlier, I should have pinned my pocket or something. Now Harry knows.’ 

‘It was bound to happen eventually.’ 

Huffing through your nose, you set your mouth into a firm line, ‘He won’t tell anyone, promise.’ 

‘I trust you. I know you’re good at picking friends, little bird.’ 

You send a brief pulse of amusement through the mind link, making no comment about the obvious self-praise in his words. 

The next day would be an interesting one, and you were already planning out what to say to Harry, but you weren’t sure how he’d feel about you keeping such a big secret for so long. 

It was truly unfortunate that you couldn’t stay buried in your bed forever. 

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @wilmasvensson @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke

[yuyusuyu]

yuyusuyu's 100 followers milestone event! — 02. mingi, i can't be your love

req by @4ssun : can i ask for mingi with #5 for a fem reader? preferably angst with little comfort at the end? no set scenario! ^^ congratulations on 100 followers!! <3

pairing. best friend! song mingi x fem! reader ft. choi san

genres/aus. angst with little comfort, non idol au, right person wrong time au

warnings. none but it is... quite a bit angsty (kind of? idk but if i were to describe it it's like an aching feeling)

rating. sfw

wc. 0.9 k

a/n. i am so so sorry for the lateness! uni is such a terrible thing >:( and i also rewrote this like... way too many times for me to count since i got this request hhhhh but this version is the one and i hope you like it! ps. i think my attempt at that little comfort part is... lowkey not little comfort help

NO matter what, without fail, you are always reminded how you will always be mingi’s best friend—nothing more and nothing less. but to you? mingi will always be someone that you can never have, someone that will never be yours no matter how hard you try to get him to love you just as you love him.

you hate how everyone fed your delusions, fed you lies for years and years that you and mingi would just… end up together; that it was inevitable. you two, to many, are soulmates. two people destined to be together no matter what. but at the end of the day, with each lovesick gaze he directs at his partners, you’re reminded that you can’t be his love.

or rather… you will never be his love. and every spring, without fail, you’re reminded of this because every spring, his love blossoms beautifully for a lucky person.

it’s a tough pill to swallow. the fact leaves you feeling remorseful on days where you’re overflowing with the love you have for your best friend. why can’t he see you as something more? why can’t he just look at you?

why can’t he just love you?

well, the answer is as clear as day to you. mingi already loves someone. he loves someone that isn’t you.

he always loves someone that isn’t you.

loving song mingi is horrible.

loving song mingi is like loving the sun, and loving the sun entails being in its warmth and never feeling cold. (only except you do. you feel cold once his warmth leaves you and is directed at someone else.)

and loving song mingi is like loving summer, and loving summer means there will be endless nights of laughter and smiles, endless promises declared under the beating sunlight and endless hours spent driving down the streets with the windows rolled down while singing terribly at the top of your lungs.

loving song mingi truly is horrible because loving song mingi means you have to see him love someone else in front of your aching heart.

and you can only hope that your longing slowly ebbs away like the tides of a beach on a summer night. maybe then… maybe then you can love someone who loves you back.

there was never a time where you weren’t with him and he wasn’t with you. mingi truly can’t recall a time where you weren’t together. even when summer sun begins to go down and is replaced by cold breezes, as summer transitions to autumn, you are always together.

it’s hard for him to even imagine such a thing—not being with you.

that’s a hard thing to imagine.

living it is… even harder, he realizes.

yeah, living without you is harder.

as he walks down the street, red and yellow leaves falling and crunching underneath the soles of his shoes, he wonders if that’s how your friendship was.

if that’s how it fell and ended.

it’s a thought he doesn't continue to entertain as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and sings along to the song that plays in his earbuds, his voice barely audible.

mingi continues to walk down the street, eventually making it to your his favorite coffee place. before entering, he stops and stares at the sight in front of him, his gaze following after you as you keep walking away.

you didn’t even look back at him.

and yet he continues to look at you.

winter is by far the coldest season he’s experienced thus far. he has himself to blame for this. if he had been a little quicker, a little faster in realizing things, maybe you’d be keeping him warm like always.

after all, you were like the sun to him. or rather, you are the sun to him—so bright and warm. you make him feel warm, but he hasn’t felt that way in a while. it’s been so long since you both last talked to each other.

in fact, it’s been so long that it feels surreal to see you standing in front of him. you still look so pretty, and he notes that there are no longer dark bags underneath your eyes. you’re radiant; though, he supposes it’s because of the man next to you with a cat-like appearance. you’ve looked so much happier ever since he started seeing the two of you next to one another, seemingly glued to each other’s hips.

just like how you two used to be.

mingi knows that you see him, he can tell by the way your eyes widened slightly before softening. you smile at him and he smiles back just as you walk away, your laughter echoing loudly in your eyes at something the man says to you.

and at that moment, if someone were to ask him how it feels to love you, mingi would say that loving you is beautifully warm.

yeah, loving you feels like the warmth that hugs you when you walk in the snow. loving you feels like the warming pads that he carries around in his pockets, the ones he grips with all his might to not feel cold. loving you is like craving heat and warmth in the cold.

it wasn’t always like that.

at one point, loving you felt like blooming flowers.

but not it isn’t because mingi realized he loves you a little too late.

mingi loves you and you love someone else, and mingi will always love you while you used to love him once upon a time.

PERMA TAGLIST — @asjkdk @kodzukein @hrt4jeno @jeonride @lissiesykes @satsuri3su @atinytownclown @ad0rechuu @szakias @sanhwaism

[dxddykenn]

WHERE I WANNA BE

McKinley Freeman as Lewis

Reader and Lewis are going through a temporary separation.

Reminder: I’m fairly new to writing and am open to feedback 🤍

Word count: 1.7k

divider by @firefly-graphics

Here you were sitting on the shower floor, knees pulled to your chest and arms hugged tight around them. The tears that fell blended in with the water that rained down from the shower head above. All you felt was pain. It was as your my heart had been pulled out and left in traffic, being run over again and again and again. This has been your routine for a few weeks now. ‘Sleep’, get up, shower, cry, get the kids ready and try to go on with the day. A few months ago your husband Lewis presented an ultimatum, your family or your career. He couldn’t be serious. After years of hard work, long nights and endless caseloads you were finally at the point in your career that you’ve always dreamed of and finally receiving the recognition that you deserved. It was a decision that you couldn’t and absolutely did not want to make.

Two months ago…

“It’s always me me me everything’s always about you! Do you ever stop and think to ask me how my day was or how work is going?! No it’s always you and the cases and how you’re always too busy. When you come home, you focus on work. When we go out you’re answering phone calls and emails. You’re never fully here! It’s either work or your family, because clearly you can’t separate the two on your own”.

“Lewis you can’t be fucking serious I’m just reaching the point in my career that I want to be and you’re trying to make me choose? How can I provide for our family if you’re trying to limit me?”. Shaking his head he looks away “See you clearly don’t get it, I’m not trying to limit you. I want you to understand that you have a family, we need you just as much as your clients need you. Your children need you, I need you. It’s like my wife isn’t here anymore”. Sighing he grabs his keys “I think we need some time apart”. Walking away he left me standing speechless in the kitchen as he slammed the front door.

Since then you’ve been temporarily separated, him moving out and deciding to rent an apartment in the city, leaving you to co-parent between two homes. It was a tough pill to swallow and an adjustment that you just couldn’t get used to. The only time you saw each other were the days you alternated having the kids.

Standing up you cleanse yourself again before rinsing off and turning off the shower. Grabbing a towel off the rack securing it around your body as you stood in the mirror. Staring at the reflection, the light your eyes once held was gone. Tired of putting on a front that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Barely being able to focus at work resulted in you finally using your PTO, and taking a few weeks off to get yourself together. Groaning, you started to get ready before making sure the kids were ready. Yesterday you received a text from your mom asking if they could stay for the weekend. Making sure that they had everything before leaving out to head to your mom’s house.

Pulling up in front of her house the kids start to squeal when they see her coming out of the front door. “GRANDMA!” Smiling, you watch as they jump out of the car running into her arms giving her tons of kisses, as you grab their bags. Your mom looks up at you noticing the sadden look in your eyes that you were doing a bad job of hiding.

“Babies why don’t you go play while me and your mom talk” the kids run off while the two of you sit on the porch. “Y/n how are you really and don’t lie, I can tell that something's bothering you”. Staring straight ahead you feel your eyes start to water “Lewis and I aren’t doing well right now, we basically aren’t even on speaking terms. When it isn’t about the kids we barely talk or if we do it’s awkward”. A tear runs down your face and you quickly wipe it away.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I love Lewis with all my heart. I just wish that there was a compromise. I don’t want him to feel like I am choosing work over him, but I’m just finally getting to where I want to be” you sobbed. Pulling you into a hug she rubs your back “Sweetheart you’re going to get through this. Yes it may be a hard conversation to have but avoiding each other and thinking everything will sort itself out won’t do anything but cause more damage than good. All it takes is communication. Explain how you feel without yelling at each other, that won’t get you anywhere. But you also have to take his feelings into account baby. When’s the last time that you two had a date night without the kids? A getaway? Something as small as a walk in the park? You have to remember that he’s a person and has feelings too”. Sighing I hug her tighter “Mommy thank you, I really appreciate you for listening and helping me see it from his perspective”. “Anytime baby, let me know how it goes. Maybe you two can release some of that tension” she winks. “Oh my it’s time for me to go” you laugh, wiping your tears. Getting up you hug and kiss her and the kids goodbye before making your way to the car.

Picking up your phone you send a text to Lewis.

Lewis, I’m tired of fighting. Can we please talk?

read 5:52 pm

You watch as the three grey dots appear before they disappear, him leaving you on read. Tossing your phone on the seat you drive back home.

As you pull into the driveway you notice Lewis's car is there. Instantly you start to feel anxious, worried if he would want to hear you out or fearing the worst, him leaving for good. Taking a deep breath you grab your purse and phone locking the car behind you. Climbing the stairs to the front door your mother's words replayed in your head Unlocking the front door open you step inside looking for him, eventually finding him sitting on the balcony. Sliding open the door you step outside, as he glanced up at you.

Sitting across from him you lift your legs up onto the chair tucking them under you. For a few minutes the two of you sat in complete silence, allowing you to collect your thoughts. "Ready to talk?" you ask looking over at him.

Letting out a dry laugh he continued to look ahead.

“Lewis I miss you, I miss us”.

"What made you realize that?"

"You not being here honestly” you say fidgeting with your hands. "Why now?" he asked, finally looking at you. "Why wait until now to decide you want to have a conversation?"

"Lewis you left! Why wouldn’t I want to conversation about you leaving!"

He looked at you with tears threatening to fall "Do you think I really wanted to move out?! I left because I was angry! Every time I would try to talk to you I got shut down! I was tired of you not listening, it felt like you didn't need me or want me around so I left". Standing up he walked over to the rail leaning against it.

“Do you even love me?”

“Of course I love you! How dare you ask me something like that?”

“It doesn’t feel like you do” he says softly, his tears finally falling. “I get that you want to provide for our family Y/n but I can too. Everyone else gets to have your undivided attention but I don’t even get a fraction of that. I adore you and how strong you are but you don't have to be strong all the time. I am here for a reason and you can depend on me. Just let me in instead of trying to fight me all the time. I just want to feel needed”.

Tears steadily rolled down your face as you felt your heart break, you hated that he felt that way. Upset with yourself you walk over to him grabbing his hands “I'm truly sorry for not listening and making you feel like I don't need you. Lewis I will always need you, you are the air I breathe! You push me to be a better me. You lift me up on the days I'm down, I wouldn't be here without YOU. I love you with everything in me”.

Pulling you into him he hugged you tightly as you both cried. You both missed each other desperately and no longer wanted to fight. The time away only helped show that you needed each other.

Pulling away from the hug his hand grasps your chin “ I shouldn't have left and I shouldn't have made you choose between us and your career. I admit that was wrong and I deeply apologize. I don't want to be anywhere that you aren't. I live for the times that I am able to wake up next to you, watch you sleep, be able to touch your skin, kiss your lips, just to hold you. Y/n I love you more than anything in this world, I'm just tired of fighting. I want to work on us".

“I love you too. I want us to get back to how we were, I’m ready to work on us”

Cupping your face he places his lips on yours as he kissed you deeply. It felt like the first kiss all over again. The kiss was slow and passionate like you both were apologizing for everything.

Pulling away he pulled you against his chest, his arm resting protectively around your waist.

On the inside you were jumping for joy, happy that you got your man back and ready to make the commitment of getting the two of you back on track. Looking up at him you stare at him with a look of admiration. Turning his head he smiles, kissing you as you rest your head on his chest.

This is exactly where you wanted to be.

Tags 🤍

@teeresaresa



[wawamouse]

56 and 60 with Chico and Miguel for the asks?

Here we go~

56 & 60 under the cut! Language warning for 60. I am a little 🍷🤗 rn (and in writing these) so extra apologies for any typos!

56) Miguel/Chico, Out of Habit

He loves Miguel, and that’s a tough pill to swallow. Not because it’s fucking gay—nah, he’s taken it up the ass enough times and liked it to be over that particular hill. Problem is he’s going to be in Oz for a while, and Miguel isn’t. Every year he’s up for parole is a year that might be their last together. 

He loves Miguel, and there’s a fucking expiration date on their relationship. Can’t be ignored, especially not these days when they’re waiting to hear back from the parole board, Chico as much as Miguel.

“I get out, I’ll still come visit you,” Miguel murmurs, nuzzling against Chico’s side. He’s sweet. Sweet when he’s like this, sated and curled around Chico, arms heavy against his body, an anchoring weight.

“You come back here, I’ll kill you,” Chico replies, which gets Miguel’s head lifting, a frown thrown his way. “I’m serious. If you get out, don’t visit me, Miguel. Get yourself some pussy or—or dick, you know? Forget about me.”    

There’s a moment where Miguel just stares at him, brown eyes big and unconvinced. “Don’t bullshit me,” he says.

“I’m not—”

And Miguel’s lips touch his, bringing him to silence. He can’t not kiss Miguel back. It’s automatic, instinctive as breathing at this point. They can go days without having a chance to sneak away sometimes, so when the opportunity’s there, Chico always takes it.

He feels Miguel smiling against his mouth.

“Don’t want some other dick. Want yours. Want you,” he says against Chico’s lips.

The words buzz over Chico’s skin—lights a bittersweet warmth in his belly. He sits up and looks down at Miguel, who just gives him a cocky grin and folds one arm behind his head, his other hand attached to Chico’s body, stroking a lazy path up and down his side.

“What? Don’t act like you don’t like hearing that, baby,” Miguel says. “I know you do.”

Of course he does. Chico licks his lips—avoids a direct response by instead pointing out they’d better get all their shit back on and get going soon.

“Hey.” Miguel catches him at the door a minute later, his hand shooting out to block it opening.

There’s a finger hooking under Chico’s chin then, Miguel drawing him in a final time before they both have to shove all that shit down. His mouth is soft and closed, pressing an angelic little kiss to Chico’s mouth that doesn’t mesh much with the earlier slam of his hips. None of it’s new to Chico, who accepts that chaste press of Miguel’s lips without a thought—kisses him back because he fucking loves him—fuck—and then opens the door, that lingering thought following him back out into the prison:

How many kisses until their last?

--

--

#60 Miguel/Chico, Out of Hate

He’s fucking dirt these days, leadership unceremoniously plucked from his grasp, taken away without much consideration to what he thinks. Hadn’t been no announcement or anything. El Cid had arrived, and one word—white—and suddenly Miguel’s chopped liver, trailing the group, no seat saved, no ears open to what he has to say. 

Guerra’s not white, though, neither on the outside nor on the inside.

He’s a bastard through and through, is what he is. His betrayal sticks the deepest; Miguel had made him his fucking lieutenant, yet it’s Chico who jumps ship first, sidling up to El Cid, and proceeding to throw taunts Miguel’s way just to ingratiate himself to his new boss.

Fucking pathetic, really.

But it’s Miguel who’s got the boot against his neck, not Chico, whose willingness to use him as the butt of whatever dumb joke he thinks up seems appreciated by Hernandez. Doesn’t matter much that Miguel finds he could fucking kill Chico every time he so much as smirks his way.

Traitorous fucking cockeyed freak. 

Shut the fuck up only makes Chico grin—makes him lick his chops in obvious pleasure—so Miguel keeps his cool for the most part, taking his own quiet solace in the way it pisses Chico off. He can feel the narrowed eyes follow him around the unit, a sharp, baleful focus there, demanding his attention where everyone can see.

Miguel doesn’t give it. Doesn’t want to. He doesn’t like how Guerra kisses the ring—how he mocks and goads like the rest, loud and buffoonish. 

“You gonna do your job, man…  or are you a fag?” Chico says, pushing it, even when Miguel’s been doing the gracious thing of not grabbing him by his stupid long hair and slamming his head into the table until he’s a bloody fucking mess.

He finally snaps, turning viciously amidst the motherfucker’s ridiculous bak bak baks. He’s no fucking chicken; “You shut the fuck up,” Miguel spits. “I’ll take your fuckin’ eyes.”

Chico’s expression lights up, his head tilting as he chomps his gum, Big Red all blowing in Miguel’s face—cinnamon, the heat filling his head.

That haze doesn’t go anywhere—just festers, turning into a static in Miguel’s head that spreads like a virus. Makes his body shake, makes him think, Forget El Cid, forget Rivera.

“Come and try,” Chico taunts, and Miguel can read the writing on the wall, thank you very much, but the end of the day comes and goes and Rivera still has his eyes.

Miguel slams Chico against the concrete wall of their little meeting spot instead. Hears Chico give a hiccup of a laugh, air punched out of his lungs before he can start acting like that’s exactly where he wants to be, pressed between rock and the hardness of Miguel’s body.

“He says he’s gonna kill you,” Chico huffs, a little tune to his words, delivered derisively as Miguel forces his pants down.

“Maybe,” Miguel mutters, that unhurried grunt belying his impatience. The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears drowns out a lot of the rustle of their clothes, that angry tension he’s been holding in his body winding tighter and tighter in preparation for release.

He wants to beat Chico black and blue, till he can’t laugh out another breath—but he wants to use him first—see if he can’t have his own little victory.

Guerra’s cocky, in his own way. Thinks he can have his cake and eat it, too. Spit in Miguel’s face and still ride his dick or whatever.

Miguel whips him around and pulls him close, solid weight against him—used to be a good thing, a respite, before it wall went to shit. Used to take the edge off; now he just makes sure Chico’s mouth is on his when the door opens like he planned. If there’s one thing El Cid hates more than Miguel, it’s the maricóns sashaying around Em City. He’s said so more than once—how the likes of Hanlon and Fiona deserve to die; what he wouldn’t give for the chance to whack ‘em—get them out of his sight.

That’s why it has to be a kiss; why Miguel wants Chico’s arms around him, hands down his boxers and tongue in his mouth when light spills into the room.

Gay.

He hears Chico’s stuttering gasp through the triumphant roar in his ears and his body feels hot, spite making that lingering cinnamon taste of Chico in his mouth extra sweet, doubly so as he sees the flash of Chico’s panic, head turning too-late to the already empty doorway.

It’s what he gets. What he deserves, the fucking cocksucker.

Miguel leans back and grins, satisfaction trickling through him, rotting him from the inside out. And when Chico turns back to look at him, betrayed, he’s got that same doom in his eyes, and Miguel just laughs in his stupid face.

He’s a dead man walking, yeah, and now when he goes down, Guerra’s soon to follow.

[marias-assumption]

This is such a sad song for me… it just has curiousest lyrics but w the profoundest meaning. —> Have i found you flightless bird? like… is it you? the one that won’t run away? have i found you already? or isn’t you after all?…

but at the same time is actualy a plaid for her to actually be the end-game for him.

and it says some weird stuff ab fat house cats, pissing on magazines 🐈 which i’ll explain 😝

first starts with “i was a quick wet boy diving too deep for coins all of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys” which means i was a poor little boy who spend way too much time outside the house, even playing with my toys in the street, knowing all the people are there to stare… with surprised or horror. very driven and moved to “Do stuff” to find meaning of live but at the same time not believing much in miracles (skepticism- not valuing the coins of the miracle’s fountain) with more of a materialistic ambition, and also with “quick wet boy” makes an allusion to “quick witted” which means smart… so i was a very driven and smart kid hoping for too much, not putting too much faith into heaven but driven to find myself in the world.

Then concludes that w “Then when the cops closed the fair I cut my long baby hair, stole me a dog-eared map And called for you everywhere” meaning, then time got me and i was growing up, and realized i need to “cut my long baby hair” long time being an immature person and realized i need to find this other bigger than myself stuff, and realized i really wanted someone, not keep on playing w my toys on the street… also the disapproval of peoples got a hold on time and was tired anyways.

(yeah. deep)

then the chorus suggesting he has been in the field, searching for its partner. bc it says “Or lost you? American Mouth” which alludes to just another lips i kissed. fast-lived. pointing out that the American culture can be so detached and filled w ill-used relationships, but he does lives this as a loss bc he also says “or lost you- “ is a loss for him. and ends with “Big pill looming” the fear of loss, or the threatening “another failed experience thrown into the trash” and he can sees the pills prescriptions coming. like is just another paperwork. But also, alludes at the saying “that’s a big pill to swallow” which could also refer to as the threatening unpleasant truth that appears its coming, a hard truth which he is not ready to accept yet

Last verse “Now I'm a fat house cat Nursing my sore blunt tongue, Watching the warm poison rats, Curl through the wide fence cracks, Pissing on magazine photos Those fishing lures” meaning that now he’s comfortable with her, kind of playing too comfortable, so comfortable that kind of forgot to take care of the relationship or himself. If you are blunt, you say exactly what you think without trying to be polite, so he was nursing his blunt tongue, words were a little too sharp. a house fat cat is a tamed animal, so he’s watching the rats run (the toxic things) just “happening” without doing much.. again. a little too comfortable. getting comfortable on the big creeks the house fences has, the door was open, it wasn’t a secured future yet, bc they were getting through tough times. is now or never- get through this. but he was “sleeping” on the cracks. Being passive-aggressive (like cats when they piss on places where they shouldn’t lol), but not trying to get into conflict, so he’s not fighting for her. He “caught” all those fishing lures the devil was throwing at him, they looked like food but it hurt, he engaged into all the vices being tricked, falling on the trap of laziness and gluttony.

but then he got kicked out sleeping outside: “Thrown in the cold and clean, Blood of Christ mountain stream”, and then he even went to ask for the forgiveness of his sins, hitting rock bottom, realizing his bad habits and looking up to God. Took him to believe in religion to really repent, and realizing what he was ab to loose (bc the cat slept outside, is not fully over)- He had matured, was not a skeptic little kid anymore. he’s now respectful of the fountain of miracles and he takes life seriously, he was sleeping on it.

Last chorus slight change “Have I found you? Flightless bird - Grounded, bleeding - Or lost you? American mouth Big pill, -stuck going down-“ Meaning now that he repents he’s asking if even after all this war, all this bad times, could she stay with him forever and be the flightless bird? he feels sorry for her bc now that he truly sees her he can see the damage done, and he knows asking her to stay forever after all this is like a flightless bird wounded, bleeding. Now believing in repentance, mentioning “blood christ mountain stream” he swallows the blood of christ and maybe even ready to get married (thing he was being so lazy for before- thinking she was asking too much), so he asks again “can you stay? i know you’re wounded but i promise to solve this” (have i found you flightless bird .grounded. bleeding), he doesn’t feel good offering her this not-so tempting future w him, also alluding the guilt and regret he feels. Bc he repented he is ready to fully be what she needs, he will do it with the right way (alluding religion, sins, forgiveness, church, marriage maybe as well)… but he also gives her the the option to leave, because she’s free to decide, but if she does, this will be the big pill that’s gonna get stuck going down. like “have i lost you…? no. i’m not ready to believe it. it’s too hurtful to imagine now. you’re not gonna be just any hard pill to swallow, you’re gonna be the pill that’ll get stuck in my throat…” meaning, he will never be able to get over her.

So it’s like a realistic love song, after the hard times has passed… you can see he really loves her, putting the other person above your needs, or your selfishness, is really love… this song is a whole journey, talks ab his learning on learning how to love and how to live

**finishing writing this actually tearing up a little*** 🥲

[eliteseven]

26. Give us one of your Tav’s secrets!

Serena is kind of an open book 😅

Nevertheless, here are like 2 secrets that may be worthwhile to know:

1. Serena still seeks her father’s approval.

This one is heavy. He’s deceased, and that’s after being a monster to her and her mother pretty much as soon as Serena turned 10 or so. It’s hard bc she remembers bits and pieces of the kinder and more loving father he was, in her childhood. She looked up to him, then. Wanted to be like him. Part of his derision was aimed squarely at her- for not being enough, doing enough. She blames herself for his spiraling, to this day. And I think as much as she blames him, there is some pathetic part of her that seeks his approval. As much as she grows, changes, moves on from his presence in her life…that inner child in her seeks her father’s guidance, his acceptance, his love. And it will probably never go away.

2. Serena has already made arrangements for her will when she passes, and she greatly fears being forgotten.

I don’t think Shadowheart is aware of what Serena’s been up to, but Serena is intimately aware of the fact that her lifespan does not match Shadowheart’s. What fortune she’s made off being a hero of Baldur’s gate is all Shadowheart’s. Everything she owns will be Shadowheart’s. She’s taken to writing secret letters and tucking them away somewhere hidden and safe, all for Shadowheart. I think some part of her just…burns, knowing she’s spent half her life fighting and has maybe 20-30 good years until she’s weak and slower. It sounds like a lot, until she gazes upon the ageless entity that is her life partner and realizes she will miss….everything.

She never got to have that loving nuclear family dynamic, and she gets to have it with Shadowheart. And she spends half that time worrying about how she won’t be there for the rest.

She doesn’t ever show this concern to Shadowheart, of course. She doesn’t want to worry her. She knows Shadowheart will move on- she’s remarkable. Anyone would adore her, want to spend their lives with her. Someone will inevitably take Serena’s place in her heart…but It’s more that…one day, Serena might just be a fond memory for Shadowheart. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but Serena wishes to ensure her lover never wants for anything again, even if she isn’t there to give it to her 🥺

Shadowheart has no idea Serena’s been doing this in secret and will for years while they’re enjoying bliss together.

[harmonytheme]

more positives guys, we know the writers like them together. this isn’t a case of them being a random pairing that gets put together out of convenience — all roads lead to them getting back together again. they need tension and drama and angst to remain relevant on screen and while this is a tough pill to swallow, it’ll add so much to their on-screen relationship in the long run.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Friday all. Posting a day early. I'll be gone this weekend wanted to post this before left. I pre-wrote 3x05 as well. I return Monday night So all I'll have to do next day is edit and add gifs to stay on schedule for Tues :) We are onto the next ep of Tim’s growth. I love writing about this man and the psychology behind him. To watch him develop and grow is one of my favorites things to write about and watch really. Lucy being his good influence for that growth is perfection. This is a damn good ep. Let’s keep it rolling.

3x04 Sabotage

Grey has assigned Tim and Lucy to be Jackson’s backup with Stanton. Love this btw and it's a smart play. If Stanton gives him grief they’ll be there as witnesses. Grey has them assigned to the same sector as Jackson/Doug. They hear a pedestrian stop come over the radio by Stanton. Lucy tells Tim let’s go. Her anxiety rising up. Tim calmly replies not yet. If they do Doug will realize they’re following him. I love them getting to do this together. Tim with new clarity and focus on Stanton.

Beautiful thing is he can help keep Lucy even keel. Something he is very good at. He needs to be the level head for them both. Lucy’s emotions are going to get best of her. Because her base need is to protect Jackson first. Doug be damned. Tim wants to protect them both so he’s going to be the calmer more rational one during this. I love it. Exactly what both Lucy and Jackson need. Tim’s calm leadership and cool head on their side during all this.

(I can't believe this scene isn't gif'd btw it's so good. I did my quick ones with my phone/website.)Luckily it’s a clean stop and Jackson calls it in as Code 4 all clear. We pan back to them in their shop. Lucy telling Tim it isn’t fair Jackson has to deal with this. Tim agrees and says he can’t imagine what it’s like for him. To have to ride next to a guy who’s on the edge constantly. Ready to cross the line. Lucy makes a little joke and says she can...

I mean early Tim was exactly that. Not Doug obviously but on the edge of crossing the line a lot. A time bomb ready to explode at the smallest provocation. Very early in her career she had to rein in an emotionally damaged Tim. He was in the midst of his Isabel trauma and radioactive. I know he isn’t proud of those days especially now. That he knows how lucky he was Lucy was there to stand up to him. Right his ship. Knock some sense back into him. So he didn’t end up self destructing and taking her with him.

It’s why they’re so damn solid though. Those early episodes built what they have now. As rough as they were for them both. It bonded them in a way no one can touch or understand other than them really. Lucy proving she had the backbone. Not only that but to stand up to him and make the right call when he wasn’t able to. To be that positive light and good influence that has changed him into the man he is now. What I think really sets Tim off in this scene isn’t that as much. It's part of it but not the main factor. It’s her calling him her potential Doug.

It's triggering something deep down for him. Making him face what he did on day one. I think with the clarity he has now its a tough pill to swallow. The POV and ways he’s changed himself since then he’s embarrassed to think about that now. Ashamed of that moment. That he did that bad stop, used those men in a negative light and said his non PC words. I think looking back on that he is remorseful and feels shame that he did that. He hasn't really had to face that till now.

The feelings are flooding him and he doesn't know how to handle it. When you've changed like Tim has to look back on your darker moments isn't easy. He is having a visceral reaction to it and I don't blame him. Its normal to have that reaction. What's important is what he does after this scene. After the initial shock of having to re-face it.

Lucy telling him her honest thoughts about how she felt during it only makes that worse. As much as it hurts he needed to hear this to complete his growth. I think Lucy telling him it wasn’t a good stop, wasn’t a good experience for her or those men is hitting him hard. He feels exposed and that he’s let her down. Because he has grown so much it pains him to think about how he acted. To think in that moment he disappointed her. That didn't matter back then but it sure as hell does now and that absolutely kills him.

It goes back to his insecurity about how Lucy views him. No matter what this man says her opinion of him matters a great deal to him. So to bring up one of his most shameful moments feels like an attack on that insecurity. So what does he do? Lashes out. Become defensive. Tries to defend it because if he can find a modicum of logic in what he did it’ll lessen the damage. It'll minimize her thinking less of him during that stop. He is grasping as straws during that defense. Defaults a bit back to how he used to be. When he couldn't handle his emotions. When he was a live wire flailing about with no one around to ground him.

It's a deep rooted thing he innately goes back to. Like I said before they are deep groves in his brain. He can't handle the emotions coming at him right now so he shuts down. Lucy can see she has upset him deeply by bringing this up. The way he cuts off the convo, The pre frustrated tears in his eyes, and how stiff his body language has become. Tells her he won’t talk about this further. She has hit a nerve inside him and he needs time to recoup. I think Lucy regrets bringing it up a little. She never likes to be the source of upsetting him. It produces a lovely scene later but she knows she’s hurt him.

We catch our beautiful duo walking up to a call afterwards. Lucy wants to test out the waters with him. Asking if he’s still mad at her? Tim the master of deflection says ‘I’m not mad.’ Ok honey.....Lucy doesn’t buy that for a second. I mean look at his posture he’s as stiff as a board. Tells him as such cause she can’t stand him being mad. Especially if she’s the one who caused it.

Before they can talk any further they reach the woman who made the call. Talking about a porch pirate. Tim says they’re going to do some foot patrol. See if any of the neighbors have a camera they can tap into. As they walk away Lucy looks up at him willing him to talk to her. He breaks pretty easily. Tells her he’s not mad but he is upset. Lucy with a knowing wifey smile says ‘I knew it.’ He continues on with a reply she wasn't expecting. Telling her he's not upset with her but himself. *heart clutch*

Then we see the fruit of his arc the last couple episodes in the gif above. Letting her know she was right. That he had carelessly used those gardeners without thinking of his impact on them. He owns what he did and says he can’t undo what was done. But he can make sure it never happens again. Ugh this man. I’m so proud of him. I could cry. Not only seeing he was wrong but accepting it. Saying he’ll work towards never letting it happen again.

My damn heart. The growth in this man. S1 Tim would've held onto his anger all day. Would've been short with Lucy for most of their shift. Until she forced him to confront his anger. So much progress these two. It makes me so happy. I also need to commend the hell out of Lucy. Always having the backbone to say what needs to be said to him. No one could ever have the impact she has had on him. The positive influence she’s injected into his veins and life. Damn I love them.

Lucy is beaming when he is done speaking. You can see how proud she is of him. Telling him what progress he’s made. Let’s not forget the way she touches his arm. Says she’s proud of him when she does this. You don’t have to touch him Lucy hehe but seriously touch him more LOL Her little taps of love and affection for him. I adore them so much. He tries to down play how much relief this gives him. Sarcastic in his reply. ‘I’m thrilled....’ Lying Liar who Lies.

That man is biting back a smile when he says this. Can’t even keep eye contact with her for long. Because if he does he’ll break. She will see how much it actually means to him. That her opinion of him means so much more to him than she realizes. Lucy closes out the scene with heart eye city. Girl you are working put those away baha Lucy is practically levitating off the ground with how she is looking at him in that last gif. She truly could not be prouder of him and it shows. His moral compass leveling up and she is here for it.

Their moment is broken up by them seeing a dog steal food delivery off a porch. It looks like they have found their porch pirate and he is furry haha This is such a cute and comical moment in the middle of an intense episode. Lucy is baffled by what they’re witnessing. She cracks me up with her reaction. The way they watch the dog take off in-sync is adorable. They decide to follow the dog to see where it leads them. Naturally right back to its owner. He’s all excited and happy till Tim and Lucy show up. LMAO

Tim has a funny opening line when they reach the owner. Their reactions are so funny after the guy says 'Bad dog' HA. It was some much needed levity after their tense morning. The way they look at each other at the end. Be still my heart. They always say so much with just a look. I can not with them haha Seriously look at them could they be any cuter? Mirroring body posture and the precious looks. God I love them. Getting cute aggression over here.

They head to lunch after dealing with their doggy criminal heh. Stanton comes up to Tim while he waits in line. I LOVE Tim in this scene. Getting protective over Jackson and wanting to clock Doug. Mmm gimme. Tim tries to take a pot shot and see if it gets through. Tim thinks it does at first then Doug takes it the wrong way. Blaming Angela and not himself for Jackson's behavior. Classic narcissistic douche. Tim's body language says it all. Looks like he wants wipe the floor with Stanton's face so much. Me too love me too...

After lunch they’re having a little pow wow together. I love this scene. Both of them in alignment talking about Stanton. A united front against him as it should be. Lucy is venting to Tim about how unfair this is. How Stanton is getting away with murder. Just like earlier Tim is the steady eddy one for her. Trying to keep her calm with logic and what they’re faced with.

Lucy desperately wants a Tim Bradford sideways thinking solution to this. To have an out of the box thought from him to save Jackson from Doug. Seeing how flawed the system is driving her nuts. She is desperate to get Jackson out of this situation. Sadly there is no sideways solution to this one as Tim states above. Just like with Nolan in 3x01 they have to play the game. Even when the game feels rigged af.

He’s solid in his reasoning as to why they need to. The same system that protected Nolan in 3x01 sadly also protects people like Stanton. It’s maddening and infuriating to think it could represent both. Tim is right is they don’t play this exactly right he gets away with murder. Becomes even worse than before because he beat the system. A cancer like that spreads and spreads quickly. Lucy is seeing what he is saying even if it annoys the crap out of her.

I just adore him coming to her side of thinking. He is viewing this in a whole light cause of her. Tim is able to keep her steady while they play the long game with Stanton. I love the way he listens to her towards the end of the scene. She has completely changed his outlook towards this and it shows. How intently he’s paying attention to her words and emotions. I love it sfm. Lucy is so defeated and you can tell Tim wants to do so much more than they currently are.

Tim decides they need to be doing more than they are. He grant's Lucy her wish for a sideways solution. He’s decided to take Lucy to meet Doug’s old rookie Owens. His previous rookie was a black man as mentioned by Doug earlier. Tim is hoping he has dirt on Doug. Something actionable they can use to strengthen their case. Tim warns Lucy to play this by the book. Not to tip their hand and get too protective of Jackson. Playing the game to get something solid. No accusations and no demands. Just info.

Tim has it handled at first....Doing code of silence. Having all three of them turning off their body cams. They do it Tim’s way for about two seconds LOL They’re able to get out of him that Doug is a hater. Lucy gets impatient though with the double speak. Says let’s just say what we mean. Do you thing Doug is a racist? Tim’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. haha His ballsy wife just going for it. He tries to do damage control after that with this guy. Seeing if they can salvage anymore info.

Lucy has spooked him a bit and he’s starting to retract. So she comes at him hard since the politeness is gone. Asking if he’s ever seen him doing anything unlawful against minorities? If he’s ever seen him treat them unfairly. Owens gets defensive and says if he had he would’ve been breaking the rules by not reporting it. Tim says they’re not here for that they just want him to be real with them. He has been creating grief on their end.

Owens spooks more says Doug could make or break his career. He’s weeks away from Metro. Can’t throw it all away now. Lucy tries one more time and ask about all the people he’s hurting? He hesitates then says they’re good people but he doesn’t know them. That he can’t help them and takes off.

Lucy is bummed and says that was a bust… Tim actually sees something positive. Says he saw how conflicted he was. To give it time for him to come around. So proud of him for not jumping all over her for not following his play. That her aggressive tactic led to a result of some kind for them. How far we’ve come ❤️

Sadly their interaction with Owens backfires horribly. He warns Doug about what they’re doing. So he tests Jackson acts like he lost his body cam and is gonna beat the crap of of their suspect. Tells Jackson to watch the drugs and he doesn’t.... Tim and Lucy pull up and that’s when they find out Owens stabbed them in the back. The suspect is fine and Doug leads on he knows what they're doing.. It sucks. The look between Tim and Lucy is everything. He's got them beat at the moment.*sigh*

The final scene for Tim is SO good. I couldn't be prouder. I know Lucy would be as well. Also I'm a little hot under the collar watching him action. The way he goes to the mat for Jackson. It’s sexy af. How he comes at this guy. Get ‘em Tim! The turn around in him is unreal. Went from 'It is what it is. '' The system will never change.' To backing Jackson and standing up for what’s right. This scene reminds me of the story about the starfish on the beach and the little kid trying to save them all.

This little kid sees a beach full of dying starfish washed up on miles of beach. He keeps tossing as many as he can back into the ocean. A grumpy old man comes up tells him there are hundreds of starfish and miles of beach. That he can’t make a difference. He picks another one up chucks it into the ocean and says ‘I made a difference to that one.’

Jackson is Tim’s starfish. He’s going to make a difference for him. Take down Stanton cause it’s the right thing to do. Save future rookies and suspects from his skewed POV of the world. Owens is the old man saying they can't make a difference. So why even bother? He tells them they’re fighting a rigged system. They’ll never win and Doug won’t go down without a fight...How true those words will be in the next ep.

~~~~

Side notes non-chenford

Nice to see Nyla get a little flirting action. I don’t like her with this guy but still good for her to have someone post-Donovan to get the ball rolling.

John’s SL with his mom is rough. But I have to commend him (I know I rarely do that lol) to cut his toxic mother off. His line ‘ I love you I’ll always love you. I just don’t want to see you anymore.’ Damn that’s rough and yet I get it. I wish I could do that with mine. She’s just as narcissistic and manipulative as John’s is so props for doing that for his mental Well being. I actually envy him in this moment.

Wopez’s baby SL was stressful I did love Nyla being there for her through it though. Also watching Lopez destroy her boss about being pregnant then have to walk it back LOL gotta love Angela.

Thank you as always to those who continue to support these reviews. The likes/comments/reblogs are everything to me. So thank you all. See you all in 3x05 :)

[louisisalarrie]

Look. I wasn’t here during bbg. I don’t really think I have sufficient information to have an informed opinion on it, having not lived through it in real time. But Jesus Christ if it’s real then Louis Tomlinson really gave new meaning to the phrase “men are trash” in 2015/16. And that’s a tough pill to swallow if you’re just trying to support him and like his music. But there is no escaping this conversation in his fandom and yeah. It’s a lot.

if you have a squiz through this, and also check out skepticalarrie’s tags about bbg here, they’re full of info about the exact timeline and how we lived it, if you would like to!!!!

but yeah. that’s the thing, right? it destroyed louis’ image. Larries weren’t just unlarrying bc they believed bbg was real, they were leaving the fandom entirely or focusing on the other boys only because they couldn’t believe Louis could be like this to his kid, or act this way in general. It was so damn messy. Fans of Louis, antis, neutral 1d fans… so many people left the fandom. Louis got an incredible amount of hate. party boy louis and bbg was an absolute mess. But it did the job it needed to: solidifying harry hating Louis in the media, and making Louis out to be an absolute heterosexual mess. it tarnished his image, and made it extremely hard for him to get a good grasp on his solo career.

so, at this point, you’re either:

1. not believing in bbg and defending louis’ character (with a hell of a lot of proof as to why bbg isn’t real)

2. believing in bbg and defending louis’ actions as a father (mainly for not wanting to be lied to by ur fave and this industry so there is usually no swaying their mind, because of course it’s hurtful to accept)

3. not attached to bbg and just enjoying the music and staying out of fandom drama

it’s kind of a pick ur battle topic. but everyone I know on here that’s been unsure, after digging into it, has seen the chaos and agreed it’s shady as fuck. hell, there are antis/neutrals/solo louies who believe bbg is a stunt, but don’t believe in larrie. so, you’re correct lovely anon, it ultimately comes down to who you believe Louis is as a person.

[mountingpulisic]

REMEDY

a/n : i literally broke my own heart when writing this.

warnings : mention of death of a parent

i remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be

so desperate to find a way out of my world and finally breathe

right before my eyes, I saw that my heart, it came to life

this ain't easy, it's not meant to be

every story has its scars

you had a contrasting outlook on life growing up.

you had been asked a million times what you wanted to be and you had always responded the same, you just wanted to be happy. 

if your nine year old self could see you now, she'd be disappointed nonetheless. 

she’d ask you exactly when did you lose your sparkle?

she’d ask you why you are desperate for a way out of your world?

you’d tell her how you just wanted to breathe, to wake up and not feel as if the entire weight of the world was on your shoulders. 

you had recently relocated, moving back home to take care of your dad who had fallen ill after a stroke. with your mother no longer in the picture, having died a week before your fourteenth birthday with no siblings, it left you next of kin to look after him. 

you just wish things would’ve been different. 

taking care of your dad meant leaving everything you knew behind. 

your job, your friends, your independence. 

you didn’t mean to sound selfish, he sacrificed everything for you while growing up. so why couldn’t you do the same? 

tucked away in a booth at the back of an old diner you used to come often as a teenager, knees to your chest as you stared out of the window, you didn’t feel the soft gaze of the stranger with the chocolate brown eyes.

having stopped by to grab a quick bite to eat with mason, christian was infatuated with you upon first glance. he didn’t know what exactly had drawn him to you, had it been how small you looked wrapped up in your jumper? or how your shoulders slumped forward as if you had everything weighing down on you? 

christian didn’t know your story but he was sure you had your own scars, brushing off mason’s question of if he wanted to split a serving of the fish and chips, christian made his way towards you.

But when the pain cuts you deep

And when the night keeps you from sleeping

Just look and you will see

That I will be your remedy

When the world seems so cruel

And your heart makes you feel like a fool

I promise you will see

That I will be, I will be your remedy

you had found him on the bathroom floor, hanging on by a thread, suffering yet another stroke. 

your dad’s health wasn’t getting any better, it was declining rapidly and you were having a hard time swallowing the pill that you were about to lose him, the only remaining relative you had left. 

to say it cut deep when the doctor came in asking you if you wanted to keep him on life support, would be a lie. It has cut to a surface you didn’t even know existed in your body. 

christian had come running when he had gotten your call about your dad. he had only met him briefly, answering the door when christian came to collect you for your first date. you had stood behind him pleading with him not to embarrass you by playing the role of the tough dad. 

when he arrived in the hospital room, his heart sank at the sight of you. you had your hand tightly wrapped around your father’s, stroking the back of his, softly singing a song your dad had dedicated to you when growing up. 

“promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.” christian could hear the pain in your voice as you sang, voice cracking as a few tears fell from your eyes and down onto your father’s hand. 

feeling paralyzed in the moment, christian didn’t know the right way to comfort you. he had never been put in this situation before, never having to console a loved one during a tough moment like the one unfolding infront of him. 

“ben told me that the hospital’s ice cream isn’t bad, we could go get a cup if you want?” christian shyly asked you, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shot you apologetic eyes.  

looking up from where your father laid, you couldn’t help but to admire the boy before you. you could tell he was trying his absolute best to comfort you, even though it was in a weird way of asking if you wanted to go try the hospital’s ice cream. 

“ you think they have strawberry?” 

No river is too wide or too deep for me to swim to you

Come whenever, I'll be the shelter that won't let the rain come through

Your love, it is my truth

And I will always love you

Love you, oh

your friend had always stated how sitting in the first row at a funeral felt different, and at the moment you didn’t understand what she meant by that. 

however, now you did. 

all the guests in attendance had expressed their condolences about the loss of your father, telling you how good of man he was. 

you already knew what a great guy your dad was, you didn’t need to be told multiple times by people you hadn’t seen since your mother’s own funeral. nonetheless, you still gave them an appreciated smile and thanked them for attending. 

when the service ended, you found yourself stuck to your seat, staring at the lifeless figure in the coffin. a slight breeze was felt as someone had taken a seat next you, engulfing their hand in yours. 

christian had been by your side through this whole process, speaking to the doctors when you couldn’t find the words, calling everyone to thank them for the flowers, holding your hand as you said your last goodbyes to your childhood hero, he was there through it all. 

“I wish i could’ve at least made him proud before he left.” you whispered, admiring your father’s features as you sat grounded in your seat. you always walked around with a sense of guilt in your heart, feeling as if you didn’t live up to your father’s expectations. you had gone away for uni when he had begged you to stay close, you had broken up with the guy he had begged you to marry, it was as if everything your dad loved, you found a way to rebel against it. 

“he was proud of you, y/n.” christian whispered back just as softly. “he was so proud to call you his daughter.”

“yeah?” you asked, looking at him teary eyed, a noticeable shakiness to your voice.

christian nodded his head as he pulled you closer to him. he knew there was no amount of words or gestures that could fill the empty hole in your heart caused by the passing of your dad. 

“thank you christian, for being here." before he could respond you placed a delicate kiss to his cheek, "you know i love you?"

your lips ghosted over his neck as you whispered your confession, christian had already spoken the words to you before, telling you not to obligated to say it back, wanting you to say it when you truly meant it as well.

you had felt as if the universe sent you the remedy in the form of christian as an apology for the hurt it has and continued to put you through, and you mentally thanked it.

When the pain cuts you deep

And when the night keeps you from sleeping

Just look and you will see

That I will be your remedy

When the world seems so cruel

And your heart makes you feel like a fool

I promise you will see

That I will be, I will be your remedy, oh