#the best part of this conspiracy is that it's DEFINITELY going to happen now

[yonpote]

when dan and phil kiss live on stage at the terrible influence tour (not clickbait) who do you think initiates it. or do they just rush towards each other like a head-on collision.

do you think it'll happen at the beginning or end of the show? end of the show sounds more realistic, beginning would cause 1000x more psychic damage. or maybe somewhere in the middle, what if it happens just before intermission ends so like only 50% of the audience are back in their seats to witness it. so even among people who went to tit, there's mass confusion on if it happened or not.

[sturnsmadl]

mute 1.

contains- no use of y/n, cursing, trauma mentions, mentions of drug dealing, light agnst.

pairing- grumpy!chris x mute!reader

you've been completely mute for a while after something happened at a party. you used to the popular social butterfly but now? nothing. a new student walk into your art class and you look up, you immediately notice he's quite attractive and grumpy looking, with your observation skills from being so quiet you can already assume he's going to be popular in no time.

the teacher sat him right next to you obviously hoping he'll 'rub off on you' he drops his backpack inbetween your stools and sits down with a grunt. you look at him and see him already staring straight at you but you cant read his expression at all. he glares before he finally says.

"name?" he speaks with almost no emotion whatsoever

you point to the name on ur book and he looks at it before looking back at you

"you gonna speak or what?" he looks you up and down. he has the respect to not point it out but he noticed the baggy clothes and old backpack and the way you were completely alone in the corner while everyone sat with their friends.

you shrug and look back to the teacher as they talk. you notice chris doesnt drop his stare on you so you look back at him to see hes specifically looking at the sleeves on your shirt, he notices you caught him and looks you up and down once again before turning away and scribbling on his book.

the bell for lunch rings and all students rush out as usual trying to avoid the long queues, you pack your backpack up and chris stays sat which causes you to look at him curiously. hes on his phone and you obviously dont support snooping but this time your curiousity got the best of you and you look at his phone, the most you can make out is the contact name. slim? you've definitely heard the name before when your brother was dealing which only confuses you more on why the hell chris was texting him. so much you dont even realise your staring, but chris did.

"the fuck you staring at?" he stares right back at you, u quickly snap out of it before throwing your bag over your shoulder and leaving chris alone in the classroom. he watches you leave but by the time he gets to the hallway you're already out of sight.

taglist!! @bellaonthelow @muchloveforhacker @sturnclouds @ellizzyy @christophersgf @fratbrochrisgf @moonk1ss3d @phoenix062 @conspiracy-ash @pixxiies @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @imtheprett

a/n: i know this is very boring but i swear itll be more interesting this is just to lay down part 1 :)

[sassydefendorflower]

FmaB from Roy's perspective really starts of wild.

Imagine you are a politically savvy Colonel within a corrupt military. You're pretty sure you know what the rules of the game are and you plan on winning by rising through the ranks until you're eligible for the office of Führer. Along the way you build up a handpicked team of specialists that support your goals, always followed by your right-hand-man, Riza Hawkeye, who has promised to keep an eye on you should you fuck up along the way.

Then, one day a few years after the war (the same war that's behind you wanting to reach the top of the military and change it from within) you recruit a genius teenage alchemist into your ranks. You are doing this because it will gain you political favor - the second youngest State Alchemist recruiting a real child prodigy? That has to mean you can be trusted with grooming the next generation of human weapons in the eyes of the brass! - and because you want to make sure that this child isn't killed for breaking the law.

Over the years the two of you create a frenemies kind of relationship that profits you greatly - while the boy is destructive and loud, he garners public favor like no other, and you can easily point him at problems you're too subtle and involved to take care off. You don't actually believe the magic stone the kid is searching for exists, so you don't even have to worry about him up and leaving you one day and for a few years all of this works great.

Only the kid gets in more and more trouble and just as you're about to finally return to Central and get that promotion you've been looking forward to, your best friend dies. Suddenly and gruesome.

And as you go to investigate, you find out that somehow the Elric brothers are involved - you know, the kid you let wander around your district without any oversight for three and a half years.

There's definitely some sort of conspiracy going on and maybe it has something to do with that magic stone you're not quite sure actually exists. It definitely has something to do with the higher ups in the military.

(you are still playing by the rules - it's just a few bad apples you have to take care off before you can turn the military around and make it into something great)

Oh, and there's a serial killer on the lose who exclusively kills people like you, people involved in the war.

Anyway, you get transferred to Central City, you even get to take your team with you, and as you try to play your political game things just get stranger and stranger.

The Führer was in Dublith for a routine inspection and you have no idea why or what happened but Major Armstrong returns with one of his eyes bandaged. The kid alchemist is back and he's surprised to see you - you know they are involved in something, but again, you have no idea what. Still, you warn him to be careful.

You, on the other hand, fail to be.

Little sleep, thoughts of revenge, the move to Central... all of that makes you sloppy. You gather the attention of the wrong people. Suddenly one of Hughes' team members gets arrested for killing your best friend.

You've suspected a conspiracy for some time now, and it seems as if at least parts of the Military Police and Internal Affairs are involved in this sleeping beast hidden in the underbelly of the military.

(maybe, slowly, you suspect that playing by the rules is not actually going to help you win)

You conceive a ploy to help the murder suspect escape, gather information about some of the illegal happenings within the military, and maybe figure out just how deep the conspiracy runs.

It is at this point - after your right-hand-man almost dies and you save her at the last moment - that Alphonse Elric FINALLY tells you that "oh, btw, Philosopher's Stones are real and Homunculi aka unkillable monsters do exist and the military is definitely involved in both".

You and your team are in fact the last people who figure this out.

Two weeks later a foreign prince tells you your Führer is actually a homunculus.

Again, somehow, you are the last person to be told.

You weren't even aware these two teenagers in your employ were actually investigating something until a month after your best friend died.

A week later you walk into a trap because you still think you can play the game - you still think there are good apples somewhere in this rotten tree.

You pay for it with your team.

After that, you make sure to never again be the last person to figure something out.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Jake Jensen

Summary: Jake knows he's the luckiest man in the world and it's all because of you.

Warnings: None at this time. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 2

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You and Jake are both brimming with excitement. It's such a big day for the twins: choosing their starter Pokemon! Your cameras were ready and you had done everything you could to make sure the twins wouldn't be overwhelmed and stressed. A lot of planning went into how to make sure the twins actually chose on their own and that Luke didn't just mimic Leah's choice.

Jake had picked up two sets of plushies for each twin to choose from. In true Pokemon fashion, he had placed them in order of Charmander, Squirtle, Bulbasaur. To keep the decision from becoming too pressured you agreed to set them up on the opposite side of the living room while playing with the toddlers. You'd let them approach as they saw fit and have the cameras going to record the precious moment.

Watching your babies alternate between crawling and walking is bittersweet. It seems like just yesterday they were tiny little beans you could hold in one arm (Jake still can, but that's his muscles at work). They're already getting good at walking and talking. Pretty soon they'll be going to school! You love that your babies are doing so well, that they're growing up to be such happy people, but you also kinda wish they'd stay small and clingy.

Jake sees your eyes tearing up and his smile drops, "you okay, Sunshine? What's wrong?"

"I'll be fine, Jakey," you assure. "It's just, they've been hitting so many milestones so quickly!"

"I know," Jake hugs you. "Pretty soon they'll be beating their old man at video games, too."

You laugh at that. "It'll probably be quite some time before that happens."

"You say that now, but I'm pretty sure Luke's got some good dexterity skills. And Leah's definitely gonna have a competitive streak. She was born a full seven minutes before her brother!"

"I know, Jake. I remember that painfully well."

He kisses the top of your head. "Thank you, again, for all of this."

The two of you had been so caught up in talking you hadn't realized that the twins had toddled over to the plushies until they started laughing. You and Jake gasp as Leah picks up the Charmander, laughing and hugging it before picking up the other two. Meanwhile Luke grabs and takes a big bite of the Bulbasaur plushie.

You and Jake rush over and playfully pick up the twins. "Leah Mabel," you playfully yell, "you're a Charmander girl!"

Jake gently tosses Luke, still holding the Bulbasaur, "And Luke Mason, showing off those brains and picking the statistically best starter!"

You give Jake a fake glare, "you know you can make up for not having a Bulbasaur by picking up other Pokemon along the way, right?"

"I stand by my statement," Jake ribs. Looking at Leah, "and you clearly already knew about that because you picked up all the plushies after choosing Charmander, didn't you?" Leah laughs at him as he gently tickles her.

The four of you spend the rest of the night celebrating by playing with all the plushies until the twins needed to get to bed. As you watch the two of them sleep you whisper to Jake, "should we have another baby?"

Jake freezes a little, "it's definitely been on my mind. But I didn't want to say anything because it's going to be a lot for you."

"So, if I tell you I want another, you'll support me in that?"

"Always."

You smile, "thank you for that, Jake. I'm definitely going to think about it. In the meantime, how about we get in some practice?"

Part 2

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[thecircularsystem]

Well, now I understand why people syscourse. There’s just so much wrong with this that I don’t want to leave it stand.

If you’re interested in a conversation, dissociative-misinfo, I’d be happy to have one. I don’t feel like you really listened the first time, however, so… know that this post is really for everyone else to understand the flaws of your argument.

A huge misconception I saw was people comparing their claimed plurality to DID/OSDD "plurality." People with DID/OSDD are not plural. People with DID/OSDD are 1 person with severe dissociation that causes them to subjectively believe they are multiple identities/people, but the fact is that they are 1 person and 1 identity.

While this may be the physical representation of CDDs, plurality is an umbrella label. The best definition I’ve seen is “the experience of having multiple autonomous agents in one body.” Would you deny that parts, in DID, work apart from one another and have their own goals, desires, and beliefs?

I’m an individual who uses and benefits from parts language over people-based language, but that does not deny the personhood of my parts. They are no less real and significant. To say they don’t count as plurality simply because they’re parts of a whole is to deny that personhood.

There is no harm in identifying as plural, even as a system of parts. I don’t personally identify as plural, but that’s because plural is an opt-in label, and is one that I do not associate with for personal reasons. One can identify as plural and still recover from DID.

Umbrella labels such as plural contain a large population. I agree with you that most endogenic systems don’t have similar presentations of systemhood as DID systems do! But they can all be considered plural if they would like. There is no harm.

I’ll start with the argument that there's so many endos claiming the same thing, and therefore they can't all be lying. Historically speaking there are many instances of millions of people claiming an experience that is scientifically impossible or blatantly false.

How wonderful, then, that endogenic systems have not been proven scientifically impossible or blatantly false.

Take flat earthers, for example. All known science about anything relating to the earth states and proves that it is round, and yet around 10% of the US believes it is flat, among other conspiracies such as the moon landing being fake. Hell, COVID showed us just how many vaccine and illness deniers there are, almost everyone has at least 1 family member they can think of who denied it.

The roundness of the earth is a scientific fact that can be proven. We can see it from space, and have before; we can study the shadows of obelisks and see the curvature through the angles used.

Covid is a scientific fact that can be proven; it exists, we can see it under a microscope and have, and we can prove the quality of vaccines.

Endogenic plurality is not a scientific fact that can be proven, or at least, has not been proven as of yet. It is a completely subjective experience inside one person’s own head. The sheer amount of people who share that experience indicate that something is happening. They indicate that people are experiencing something.

It would be foolish to suggest that all endogenic systems are DID systems, as the majority do not display the symptoms of DID.

It would be foolish to suggest all endogenic systems are faking, for many reasons (harassment, sheer volume of individuals, length of time claimed to be endogenic, etc).

It would be foolish to suggest endogenic systems are experiencing some other disorder, as many are not dysfunctional or distressed by their plurality.

Simply put, sometimes the easiest answer is the best one. Why not just accept, “That group of people over there say they’re experiencing that, and it does me no harm to accept that”?

As for, "I'm not going to deny someone's experiences." You may not, but science does. Would you "not deny someone's experiences" if their experience was beating cancer with essential oils? Maybe you wouldn't outright, but we can both acknowledge what an outlandish and impossible claim that is. Being an 'endogenic system' when a system is a clinical term for people with DID (an inherently trauma-caused condition) is an impossible claim.

Science does not deny endogenic systemhood.

There are no studies, no articles, not even opinion essays from psychologists, which dictate that endogenic systems cannot exist. Trust me, I had been looking for years (up until I realized that I really, really, could not give less of a shit).

An endogenic system claiming to exist is not the same thing as someone beating cancer with essential oils. One is a personal experience, and one is scientifically not happening. Moreover, scientifically “outlandish” does not make something scientifically impossible; I would make sure you use the clearest language possible.

As for “clinical term…”

System is not a clinical term. At least, it hasn’t been for decades now. It’s a community term to discuss the individual parts collectively… collected. The term was taken in the early 2000s from the natural multiplicity movement — but as that happened, the usage of system took less and less prominence in CDD circles. System had grown in all circles to be an identity, rather than a medical term, and not as many people “identified” as systems.

To discount the communal nature of the term System is to discount countless of endogenic plurals from the 2000s and 2010s who had no other terminology to use. They were told they were systems with DID who did not know their trauma, because what other options were there?

Regardless. The term system hasn’t been a strictly medical term for strictly CDD systems for quite some time (or, even, ever; to see more history, I would suggest this post, along with the sources and links in the post).

(If you're going to claim plurality, that is a spiritual and personal claim, and should not involve you calling yourself a system with alters, because those are clinical terms for pwDID/OSDD, people who are not plural)

Unintentionally — or at least, I hope it was unintentional — you’ve said here that pwCDDs cannot be spiritual or have personal claims to plurality.

Again; “system” is not a medical term. “Alters” is not solely medical either. And this is coming from someone who agrees with you that it would be far better if endogenic plurals used “plural” and “headmate” preferably, to delineate experiences. But that’s not a demand I can make of thousands of people. Nor should I; to delineate that would be to out systems who have trauma based on the words they use.

What harm does it cause? If it is known that endogenic systems exist, that they are different from CDDs, and CDD symptoms are actually discussed, then what harm does it cause to identify as plural? Your entire basis here boils down to, “I don’t like that there’s no science behind it.” To which I respond, you must feel great about xenogenders, contradicting labels, and neurodivergent labels.

Another common argument I saw was comparing endogenic plurality to being transgender, a comparison that will always be offensive and upsetting to me as a trans man. Particularly the terms "sysmed" and "traumascum" I find horrifically offensive.

I have discussed at length my thoughts about sysmed and trauamscum. Thankfully the latter of those two terms has seen a sharp fall in popularity as individuals have absolutely realized how ableist it is.

I am a queer individual myself, with a multitude of gender identities, and consider myself to be under the trans umbrella. I also am frustrated when people compare plurality to gender, particularly as someone who chooses their gender.

However. It must be acknowledged that a comparison is not the same as saying, “these two things are exactly the same.” It’s saying, “there are similarities between these two things.” For instance, the similarities in that plurality and gender are both identity-based labels, meaning both are something someone chooses to identify with. Another would be that those who experience plurality openly are prejudiced against, same as those who display their genders openly.

I’m not saying that gender and plurality are the same, or even the most similar. But comparing bigotry, labeling, and community styles of behavior is not a bad thing inherently. People who are trans are allowed to feel their plurality is similar to their gender identity, and you're allowed to feel uncomfortable about that. Both can be true.

As I understand it, endogenics don't claim to have DID/OSDD. So then, why do they claim to be systems? Systems with alters, who split? A multiple system is a clinical term used for people with DID. "Sysmed" implying that being a system is a clinically defined experience is true, because being a system is exclusive to DID/OSDD. Being a system is not being plural.

This is just a repetition of your earlier point, so do we really need to rehash this?

I will say, again, sysmed is a stupid term and I think it should leave the vocabulary of all those in syscourse. Fuck sysmed as a term. All my homies hate sysmed.

As I keep reiterating, people with DID/OSDD are not plural. They are 1 person experiencing a dissociated identity that may feel like being multiple people, but is objectively not. So with 'system' being a DID/OSDD term, endogenics using it are claiming a non-plural DID/OSDD experience, and thus countering their claim to "not be a part of the DID community" or "be a separate community."

Something being objectively true does not erase what feels true. And sometimes, what feels true is better.

For me, for instance, back to the gender examples: I am, objectively, female. But what feels true sometimes is that I am male. Does that mean I am objectively not male? Does that mean I cannot claim to be male when I feel male?

If we put this in context of CDDs, then obviously, the comparison falls apart. After all, DID isn't something I "feel" like I am. It's something I have; an affliction. But plurality is not that way. Plurality is a feeling; a belief system. To say that CDD systems cannot have a belief system... Well now, you're starting to fall into some serious ableism there.

Endogenics are not claiming a plural CDD experience. They're just claiming a plural one, and they (occasionally, with rapidly decreasing popularity) use the term "system," a term which has been community based over medically based for over a decade now, closer to over two.

As far as "traumascum," I genuinely hate anyone who uses that word. Trauma scum? What has to be wrong with you to come up with a slur for people who have experienced childhood trauma and believe in the disorder caused by childhood trauma? Once again it boils down to plurality not relating to trauma or DID/OSDD, because systems are not plural. They are singular people experiencing severe dissociation.

Agreed with you on traumascum, but again, almost everyone agrees on this, regardless of their stance on endogenic systems. If you really want to rally about it, go to ActingNG and complain. They're who you're actually upset about.

Regardless, once again, plurality is something systems can identify with, and you've never identified any harm in identifying as plural.

It's currently well-known that a LOT of autistic people meet the criteria for, or are diagnosed with, (C)PTSD, and it is uncommon for autistic people to survive childhood without trauma. There's rudimentary theories that autistic people may be more likely to develop DID because of their likelihood to experience childhood trauma either due to low tolerance of negative events, and/or the normalized abuse and neglect of special needs children.

Side note, my therapist fully agrees with this, and the way my systemhood interacts with my autism is... HOO. I could go on for years.

I think with that in mind, it makes sense that being autistic might make you more prone to developing DID, but it doesn't make you mixed origin. Even if your autism is what caused you to experience trauma, the trauma is still what caused you to form dissociated parts/a system.

Cool! That does not mean people are not plural. What harm is there in an individual identifying as mixed-origin? For instance, I identify as mixed origin from time to time, when it pleases me to share that. I have a part who split during a nightmare and resurfaced when he was needed. I have two parts who split due to intentional creation. All of them are traumagenic, but knowing why they split and how has been vital to our steps towards FM. Why is it then wrong to acknowledge those origins, if it's helping me heal?

Saying your system is 'neurogenic' because your autism made you vulnerable to trauma would be like me saying my system is 'moralgenic' because my strong morals are often why my mom abused me. It doesn't make sense, and the trauma from the abuse is what actually caused the symptoms, not whatever about me caused me to be abused.

Again, very interested in your thoughts on xenogenders.

Shoutout to anyone who chooses to identify as a xenoorigin to help them better define their system. If it's helpful to you, more power to you.

And lastly a common argument I saw was people saying the endogenic community is simply nicer to them, which doesn't prove their validity, but is really sad. I personally had this experience when I was pro-endo as a kid, because anti-endos seemed so gung ho about their opinion and pro-endos had an 'accepting everyone' vibe that a child me found comforting.

Nothing is going to "prove" endogenic validity, especially not in a way that most anti-endo systems will accept. I think this should be far more of a red flag to you; the fact that so many said that the pro-endo community accepted them, that so many are pushed away from the anti-endo community due to the sheer horrendous quality of that group.

I say this as someone who was hurt immeasurably by pro-endo systems, and found more solace than elsewhere with anti-endo systems.

But then I got older and I realized why anti-endos are so adamant about endogenic systems not being a possible concept. It's because pro-endos will tell young people struggling with dissociation that their trauma wasn't enough and they must be endo, with a smile on their face. It's because endos will use our DID/OSDD terms like system, alter, split, and insert themselves into our healing spaces, with a smile on their face. It's because endos will conflate DID/OSDD experiences with dissociated parts, to the subjective and unproven experience of plurality, with a smile on their face.

Sigh.

As I got older, I realized why anti-endos are so adamant about endogenic systems not being possible. It's because anti-endos look at endogenic systems existing and rally against them. They look at adults and call them horrible, disgusting, spit in their faces, simply for daring to call themselves a system -- a term which has been community based for longer than the term "endogenic" meant "formed without trauma." It's because anti-endos are traumatized, and many of them refuse to realize they are projecting their fears and abuse onto endogenic systems, never knowing how to stop, how to heal, how to grow.

Because endogenic systems do not hurt people.

Can abusive endogenic systems hurt people? Yes! Obviously. But that does not mean every endogenic system is inherently doing the things you listed (just like how not every anti-endo does the things I listed above). And, again, I cannot express enough how I had those same exact experiences.

I just managed to not project them onto every single endogenic system.

To me, it's very reminiscent of how conspiracy theorists will tell you all about their insane beliefs but because they're kind and welcoming many people fall for it. A community being open and welcoming doesn't say anything to the validity of their beliefs. Anti-endos are more assertive because we have so much to lose in the meaning of our disorder and the danger levels of the online community (the danger being endos grooming people into their beliefs and delaying their healing, such as what happened to me), similar to how people hate COVID deniers because many of them have lost people to COVID or have the potential to lose people as a result of anti-masking and "COVID parties."

I wasn't "groomed" by endogenic systems, but I was told I was endogenic repeatedly. This led to me sticking by my abusers for far longer. This does not negate the possibility of endogenic existence. I crashed by car due to endogenic systems feeding me misinformation. This does not negate the possibility of endogenic existence. I was kicked out of the endogenic communities for not being Plural Enough, Pro-Endo Enough, Kind Enough, etc, and so forth, and so on.

And none of that negates what people are experiencing. That's just people being hurt, and newsflash, traumatized people will get hurt, regardless of what origins the person has, if any, who hurts them.

Is there value in discussing the problems with the online community of endogenic systems on tumblr? Absofuckinglutely, and I do so often. But that doesn't negate what people are experiencing, and doesn't somehow prove that endogenic systems don't exist. It honestly just speaks to me how horrible syscourse is, and how everyone needs educated on CDDs -- something you consistently fail to do on your blog left and right, as you refuse to acknowledge the autonomy of CDD systems repeatedly, even just within this post.

LET PEOPLE FUCKING LIVE THEIR LIVES. I beg this of you.

It genuinely is not hurting us, anymore so than a normal ass person could hurt us.

I see you mention therians. You don't mind them cause they aren't medical. Neither are endogenics. Please just.... stop. Go focus on recovery -- not on endogenic systems and telling DID systems they're not allowed to be plural.

[hellosweetart]

Oh! Regarding that one scenario you came up with for the serial killer Francis being Francis' reaction to Nacha's killing, I have an idea on a continuation to that ending:

After hiding the corpse into her car trunk, Nacha, now overwhelmed with guilt and fear, called Francis and confessed everything to him. Francis, even if he just got home from a shift and it was quite late outside, would waste no time coming over with some tools too.

Francis would then do what he does best: manipulate the crime scene so that the murder looked like a doppelganger's work and changed to a clean outfit with no blood. He then proceed to dispose of his bloody uniforms and his weapon, and then took Nacha back into the car, and drove both of them back home.

For anyone else witnessing what Francis had done, they would definitely feel that Francis was a... questionable figure, like why did it feel like disposing body and framing doppelganger for murder were old news to Francis, and why did he look so... unfazed during his work? Normally, Nacha would also have noticed all this and feel alarmed, but with her mental distress, all she could felt and think of were guilt and fear and even gratitude for Francis as he covered for her.

But there was one more person aside from Nacha and Francis who knew about the disastrous night (minus the dead guy): Ana. Ana was staying way pass her bed time reading whatever she liked when she heard the door open. She swiftly turned off the only source of light in the room being the the dim lamp on the bedside table and pretend to be asleep (Since her door was closed, no matter how quick was Francis, he would not have caught the light being switched off). However, upon hearing sobs from her mother, Ana decided to sneak as close as possible to the door.

On Francis and Nacha's side, the milkman decided to sit Nacha down onto the couch to comfort her. Ana, still hiding behind the door, knew all about what happened after her mother's shift. At first, Ana sympathized with her mom and felt the bastard somewhat deserved his fate for his harrasment and gross comment regarding a child. But then, while still sobbing and emotionally uncomposed, Nacha asked:

"W-what if the police saw through the crime scene and knew it all? What if they know I was the murderer?"

To which Francis just replied with a small laugh:

"Don't worry, dear. They'll never know. The corpse was torn to shreds with some parts missing. It looked too much like a doppelganger's work. I think my work is flawless in this one. We even got rid of all the evidence!"

Nacha was still too out of it to realize how wrong some of the thing Francis said, but Ana did. She questioned: why did he sound rather... proud of his work, and not shaken at all? Why did he sound like that was not his first time?

At that time, the authorities just decided to blame the murder onto the doppels to avoid any other unneccessary work for them. However, there was still a popular conspiracy theory going around that there was a human murderer among those kills. While Ana was not one to subscribe to these theory, and sometimes she even saw them as ridiculous statements, after hearing her father words, she feared for the worst.

Ana returned to bed way too late at night when her mother's sobbing ceased, but she was unable to sleep.

On another note, even if Nacha was composed enough to see that Francis looked like a professional in the disposing corpse field and decided to confront him about that, he already knew her to-be biggest secret that she would take to her grave: she killed a man. This means that he can use this information to his advantage and blackmail her as he please and may even have her help him in his future murders as an accomplice. Nacha would have no choice but to agree to his terms, as if she hadn't, high chances thay she would have gone to jail, meaning that Francis would be in charge of Ana, leaving Nacha worried to no end.

(oops this got too long)

This is what I would have imagined

I love it when anon send me this type of asks. I love reading long ones lol

[livwritesstuff]

Ooohhh ok I just read this and now I need to know the car convo please and thank you 👀

<3

For Steve, telling his oldest daughter what happened in Hawkins is…well, it’s weird. It’s definitely not easy either, but Steve had known going into it that it wouldn’t be. It’s ends up being weird because it’s not a story he tells very often (or ever, if he’s being honest), and he sort of has to decide in the moment which details to share and which not to because, ultimately, his trauma is not his daughter’s problem.

Moe doesn’t need to know that he was tortured just like she doesn’t need to know the specifics of how Eddie nearly died, so he mostly just tries to talk around those parts.

Also – Steve is a firm believer in not telling other people’s stories, but how intertwined or whatever it all is makes it real damn hard to stick to that, so he settles on the next best thing, which is being as objective as he possibly can be, and that’s weird in its own right.

He starts with the lab, with Brenner and MKUltra and he pulls in a little of El’s involvement (without bringing up the whole superpower thing, obviously) and how Will got taken into the Upside Down. He describes the Upside Down and demogorgons and how he’d gotten pulled into it all.

In retrospect, some of it is kind of funny, and Moe has an uncanny way of seeing an odd kind of humor in things, so she’s actually a pretty decent audience.

Moe: So you’re telling me that you spent the entire time thinking Nancy was cheating on you?

Moe: And you only found out what was actually happening when she pointed a revolver at your head?

Moe: Pop, that’s fucking hilarious.

(And it actually kind of is).

He tells her about Dustin’s ridiculous attachment to a demodog that ended up almost eating them. He tells her about the Mind Flayer and hive minds and Max driving his car and all kinds of close calls.

He talks about Starcourt Mall, about meeting Robin, about the elevator falling halfway to Hell. He talks about what was happening on the surface while he was stuck underground, about Nancy’s detective work and Joyce’s magnets, and he tells her about what happened after they all came together again.

Moe: So, like, nobody thought it was weird that mall security was Russian?

Moe: Even during the Cold War?

Moe: And nobody noticed them escaping after the mall blew up?

Moe: Are people okay?

By the time they’re pulling into their driveway, Steve has covered Vecna's role in everything. He leaves out Chrissy Cunningham, because that part of the story is for Eddie to tell if he’s willing, but he tells her about Lover’s Lake and the stolen RV and finally bringing it all crashing down once and for all.

Moe: Damn.

Moe: Those conspiracy theorists are way off.

Steve: Good.

[maraudereestauderelb]

What are the Chances I (Troy Otto)

Some more writing I found somewhere in the depths of my drafts and figured, I might as well put it out there...

Let me know if you like it and if you want to be tagged in future parts!

Masterlist

"I'm so hungry, Y/N!", Leona whined on the passenger seat and added: "And thristy! What did you say? How many days can a human live without water?" 

They had run out of water supplies the day before and currently they were running very low on gas as well. "You still got enough power to complain so you're good." 

They had only started their drive towards the Mexican border four days ago. It had been a week since society had collapsed completely. Back in the area close to Los Angeles they had tried to collect as many supplies as they could and had stuffed all of them into Leona's old Jeep. Besides supplies they had been on the hunt for weapons. Neither of them had any experience with them but so far, they had somehow managed to protect themselves against the undead.  

They were careful. Very careful. The living being more of a potential threat than the dead.  

"Maybe you can check the map again? I think we should be close", Y/N asked her friend and pointed at the glovebox. Back at an abandoned rest stop they had found a map of the area they were heading for. 

When things had turned bad in Los Angeles they quickly had decided that trying to get back to their hometowns across the US was a stupid idea. They had no idea how things were over there, neither did they believe they'd get this far on their own. They actually were quite surprised they had gotten this far in the first place.  

Luckily the younger one of them had a thing for crazy conspiracy theories and just happened to stumble across a commercial of an elderly man advertising some sort of survival buckets and his ranch where they were preparing for the fall of society, when she had been watching one of these rather questionable tv channels in the middle of the night. And also, she was lucky enough to remember at least vaguely remember where said ranch was. And that was exactly where they were heading. 

When Leona was trying to locate them on their map Y/N suddenly saw a truck standing on the side of the street they were driving on. Really, she didn't want to stop right here in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in New Mexico, but a gaze at the fuel gage told her she had to at least try and find out if the Militia truck had some gas left, they could use for themselves.  

"What are you doing?", Leona asked surprised when her friend slowed the car down. "Might get us some gas", she answered.  

"You think this is a good idea? I don't think this truck's going to help you? Either someone left it here because it ran out of gas or I bet the person who drove it is still close." "I know", she sighed: "But I think we'll have to risk it or we'll soon have to walk." 

Y/N slowed down the Jeep and checked if anyone was sitting in the Truck before she got out of the car, carrying a hose and a small revolver, which she stuffed in her back pocket. 

It was silent and nobody seemed to be close. Neither living nor dead. Now all there was left to hope for was that the Truck had some gas.  

She had just inserted the hose all the way in the Truck when she suddenly heard steps behind her on the dry ground and Leona's high-pitched voice from the Jeep by her side: "Watch out!" 

With her heartbeat immediately pumping fast she turned around and pulled out the revolver. The young woman pointed her gun right at the two men, who were both wearing military uniforms. Her hands were shaking. 

"One step closer and I'll shoot!" 

They definitely were armed but instead of raising their rifles at her or trying to subdue her, they both raised their hands. 

"We're not doing anything, okay? Just put that gun down."  

But instead of that Leona now slipped out of the car, carrying a gun as well.  

"What do you want?", Y/N asked and tried her best not to shit her pants. 

"I'm Troy and this is Mike and we simply don't want you to steal all of our gas." 

"Well, but we'll take it anyway." "No, you won't", Troy said again seriously. "And how are you going to prevent that?", Y/N wanted to know and pointed her gun straight at him.  

"You've never used one of these things have you?", Troy laughed amused but although the two girls must have seemed like they had no clue what they were doing, Mike obviously wasn't as relaxed as his friend. "Man, I think we shouldn't test them." 

"We'll...uh we won't take all of it. So you can still get away from here", Leona offered stuttering. 

"I have a better idea", Mike said calmly: "You two take these things down and we'll take you with us." "With you?! Hell no!", Y/N took a step forward which didn't seem to scare Troy at all.  

"Nonono!", Mike said quickly: "Not what you think! I promise! We're living on a ranch. We're building something there. You'd be save. Let us help you." 

It wasn't hard to see that Troy wasn't too keen on that but really caught Y/N's attention. 

"Broke Jaw Ranch?", Leona asked with big eyes and hope in her voice and lowered her gun. "Why are you asking", Troy wanted to know curiously so Y/N answered lowering her gun as well: "Because that's exactly where we're heading." 

Part II

[0w0tsuki]

I think it's important to note Death of the Author and Authorial Intent when discussing the transness of Chihiro from daganronpa. I've talked about it in reblogs but I wanted my own post. A lot of people confuse the two and in the case of old school Chihiro transmisoginists purposely create a new definition.

People seem to be under the impression that death of the impression a lot of the time that Death of The Author means "If I don't like what the author has to say I can just ignore it and say it didn't happen or Miku wrote it or something" which is a true statement but it's not the definition. And people who still comment "him*" on any fan post that uses she/her for Chihiro in 2024 define Authorial Intent as "The creator of every work writes with a specific intent and if you disagree with anything the author says you are WRONG and NOT a TRUE fan!" which not only isn't true but doesn't account for if the author's vision is even worth defending.

This is why there was such a nuclear meltdown over Bridget's trans confirmation and why it took them so long to get out of the translation conspiracy retcon bad ending phase before they moved on to trying to co-opt leftist language to make it about "femboy representation". Because it was the first time the author of one of their darling femboys didn't agree with them and they couldn't use "facts don't care about your feelings" to harass trans positive people.

But actually Authorial Intent is just a term to refer to "what did the author mean when they wrote this?" and is actually a part of Death of the Author which means "No matter what the Author says they approach every work with their own biases and that affects the work. So in order to understand the work you must understand the author so you can understand how their worldview bleeds into the work."

When people talk about Death of the Author in reference to H.P. Lovecrafts racism they don't mean "Well HP was a racist so you can just ignore him and write Cuthulu however you want." they mean "HP's racism is very prevalent in his works and viewing how he describes the monsters in his world gives insight to the times prejudices.". HP's works are actually a very effective tool in learning how bigotry affects horror.

Now to see where I'm going here is that Kodaka is a massive transmisogynist. Not only is there everything that is going on in DR1 chapter 2, but there's also his newest work which depicts a male character who dresses up as a girl for the explicit purpose of tricking girls to and sexually take advantage of them, there's Sakura who's in the same game as Chihiro whose character design the Spikechunsoft team initially didn't approve of but Kodaka got through under the guise of "body positivity" only to turn around and make her the butt of "woman who is ugly because she looks like a man" jokes for the entirety of her screentime, hell the only character who ever displays any positivity for trans women (which is transmed at best) is Tenko Cabashira who herself is a standin for Kodaka's misogynistic/lesbiphobic idea of "Man Hating feminazi Dyke".

Chihiro is a trans woman not because the work literally says she is which is what the criteria is for transmisogynists. She's a trans woman because she represents what trans women are to Kodaka. To Kodaka they are at best confused boys who just don't know that they are "allowed to be feminine", at neutral they are good jokes to get a quick laugh, at worst they are predators who prey on young girls, and anyone who supports them is a raging feminazi who probably grew up in a cave.

It's why after we had the incredible uncomfortable corpse investigation every student automatically switched to he/him without so much as a discussion to how Chihiro would want to be referred is because to the author there is no discussion. To the author your genitals are your gender (See also the "transmed at best" Tenko final FTE where will be cool with Suichi as long as he becomes a girl which of course involves getting The Surgery™) and Chihiro's genital reveal is instead this harsh truth of reality that the characters are supposed to feel exposed and lied to about, even the character who is the target of Kodaka's transmisogynistic humor.

This is why it requires a real stretch of the imagination to pull Transmasc Chihiro out of this story because Chihiro is not barred from masculinity in any way, shape, or form. Masculinity is actually expected of her and she is punished with bullying for not performing it. Chihiro does not feel pressure to present feminine, Chihiro is pressured to perform masculinity and her feminine presentation is written as an easy escape from that expectation. Because to Kodaka, Chihiro represents the trans women he views as failed men whose motivation for transitioning is a convenient escape from having to meet the rigorous standards of toxic masculinity. When the secrets are threatened to be revealed, Chihiro does not pursue masculine presentation out of some desire to finally be seen as a man, but out of desperation to not be seen as weak and exploitable when her secret is exposed.

I don't know how to segway from that into this so I'm just going to say. The next time some femboy fascist tries to butt their heads in to "Um Akctually" about a trans woman's existence do not attempt to argue "well actually she IS a trans woman in canon" because unless the character in question is specifically Bridget Guilty Gear, chances are the author is going to be on their side. And even in the case of Bridget, the ones that are still arguing for "canon femboy" Bridget are the ones who never moved on from the mistranslation conspiracy stage of denialism. No amount of pointed official interviews, dialogue, or official wikis is going to convince them because in their mind Daiuske is a turbocuck who is either capitulating or has been brainwashed by the woke West and has forcefully taken the reins to retcon the true author's authentic vision.

If you're going to engage with them which by the way I don't recommend you doing. But let's just pretend you have to. Let's just pretend you're a popular YouTuber which never presented that you have progressive views who unknowingly drew in these people into your fanbase who had a very vocal transmisogynistic reaction to a transfem headcannon. So in this completely imaginary scenario you need to challenge them on their transmisogyny. Ask them why the "correct" interpretation of the work is worth defending and harassing people over.

As the Bridget denialism has shown, these people are VERY dependent on the work agreeing with them because it allows for them to argue correctness without having to deal with such silly little complications as "morals" or "values". They are completely unequipped to defend their transmisogyny because they are so used to using their idea of "Authorial Intent" as a rhetorical crutch and most of the time DO NOT WANT their transmisogyny to be called out as such. It's why when left with no convincing way to deny Bridget's trams existence the ones that DID pivot decided to pivot to taking leftist arguments and swapping some of the words out to make their arguments SOUND progressive. Because they felt that if they couched themselves in leftist sounding language then that would be enough to convince people that they weren't violent reactionaries but were instead GNC men who were expressing loss over valuable representation. Which is just bullshit considering it's just the transfem version of "we're losing our tomboys!" transphobic arguments that people are pretty quick to pick up on but since targets of these arguments were trans women we had genuine queers who were sympathizers and parroting talking points of "While you can't be mad over new Transfem representation you can't fault them for expressing sadness over losing a positive role model for GNC cis men"

Just don't play the "well actually" game with fascists if you can avoid it

[didhewinkback]

Something Old: Part Five

word count: 20k (omfg); story page

warnings: smut smut smut

---

“No - mum - you’ve gotta tilt the - I can’t see - can you get Archie to help you?”

“Oi, I’m not a bloody senior citizen, I can handle a bit of tech.”

“Okay, but the way you’ve got the camera angled, I’m looking up your nostrils right now.” you say, watching as she tries to angle the camera differently, only making your view worse. 

“Oh bugger it all…” she mutters before shouting: “Archie!!!” almost right into the microphone, making you cringe. 

“Right in my ear, mum.”

“Sorry, love.” she says, before bringing the phone closer to her face, bringing you impossibly closer to her nose hairs. “You alright, bug? Looking a bit peaky.”

“Yeah, you look like shit.” Archie says as he snatches your mum’s phone out of her hand, making a face at you on the screen. 

“Hello to you too, dickhead.” you shoot back.

“Language!!” your mum clucks.

“Mum, he literally started it.” you say as Archie snickers on the other end, flipping you off, before passing the phone back to your mum with a “it’s this button here”, and then suddenly you’re staring at her new garden, fresh azaleas that she and Anne planted fully in bloom.

“Oh, it looks great!”

“Changing the subject, I see,” she muses, before stage whispering, “Don’t worry, I won’t mention the H word.”

“Mummmm,” you groan, Archie’s laugh echoing as he heads back into the house. “I’m fine, honestly. Just haven’t been sleeping well, been a weird few days.” 

“Yeah, gotta be a tough month, huh?” she says, quickly speaking over you when she sees you open your mouth. “I know, I know, we’re not talking about it. Let’s check out these pansies…”

Right. That. It had been one month since you last saw Harry. One month since you last spoke to him, since he last held your hand, since he last kissed you, since he last pressed you into the mattress…okay, best not think about that when you’re on the phone with your mum.

It’s been an adjustment, to say the least. Once you touched back down in London, you realized you had no plan for what you were going to tell the people in your life about what went down. The ones who knew you and Harry, the ones who were at the wedding, the ones who would have about 18 billion questions for you. Like your mum who was about to have your head if you didn’t give her some sort of update. Or your schoolmates from home, who were blowing up the group chat with their 8th conspiracy theory about what really went down by now.  Or your roommate Roxy, who knew you like the back of her hand, and was the first to steer you towards the bar the first night you met Erin and was the one who held you while you cried when they announced their engagement. You trusted her with your life, but could you trust her with Harry’s?

To even question that made you ill. You had been so caught up in your Italian lovenest that you hadn’t taken any time to think about the reality you were coming back to. A wedding was supposed to happen but didn’t because of you. No matter how many times Harry tried to take the blame, you know your confession was the catalyst, the impetus for him calling it off. And now you had to face the consequences alone. Did you pretend you knew just about as much as everyone else, which you’re hoping is not much? Lie to the people you’re closest to? For two months?! That sounded insane but you also knew you couldn’t go around telling everyone the whole truth. Jesus Christ. 

You hid in your room for a day or two, slowly digging your way out of the hole you found yourself in, taking it one step at a time, wishing you could talk this over with him, but knowing you couldn’t. You decided to operate on a strict need to know basis, which means your mates from out were out. You left the group chat alone, there were enough messages in there that maybe they won’t realize you never responded and it’d be far too suspicious to join the conversation now. Johnny definitely knew something was up, he had sent you a separate but simple “hope he went and got you x” that made your head spin a bit, as you realized he’s probably known something was up for years but you could deal with that later. 

You called your mum to assure her you were alright, back safe in your flat, that you would come home to visit soon and explain everything when you could.  She was not satisfied with that answer, you could practically feel her rolling her eyes at you through the phone, but she let you off the hook, this time. And, now that you think about it, you couldn’t go home because that would mean seeing Anne and who knows what she knows and what you could tell her and what Harry doesn’t want her to know quite yet - 

Okay. No. You couldn’t live like this. 

You had still been ruminating on what to do about Roxy as you snuck out to grab a glass of water, wondering how to approach this. You needed someone to talk to, you couldn’t just keep this all bottled up on your own and this was one of your best friends, and your newer, closer proximity to Harry wasn’t going to change that. 

“Okay I let you have one day to mope but you had about two hours before I was going to stage an intervention.”

The sound of her voice made you jump in the air, so caught in your head you didn’t even hear her approach. 

“Jesus Christ, Rox. Scared the shit out of me.” you said, turning to face her.

“I’m serious, babe. You’ve been like a little recluse.” she said, propping herself up to sit on the counter. “How bad was it? Didn’t hear from you all weekend and you haven’t left your room…so I’m assuming, pretty bad.”

Moment of truth. You could lie and pretend for the next two months or you could tell the truth. Have someone to confide in. She had been on this journey with you for years and she would absolutely kill you if she learned you were hiding this from her.

“Um. Actually. He didn’t get married.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m serious.”

“Is it because…” her eyes searched your face, widening when she realized. “Holy shit. Did you? Oh my god - I’m actually going to cry. Did you tell him?”

You nod. 

“That’s my girl!!” she screamed before tackling you to the ground, the two of you cracking up the whole way as she demanded details.

After you swore her to secrecy, to which she scoffed “Mildly insulted you even had to ask, babe.” you told her everything. From the confession in the courtyard, to him asking you to leave with him, to a first date in Italy, to where you are now, on pause. It feels insane to say it all out loud, in disbelief that this is your life, that that whirlwind 72 hours actually happened.

“You’re going to make me believe in love again.” Roxy said, still laying on the kitchen floor with you.

“Shut up.” you said, rolling your eyes, unable to stop the blush on your cheeks.

“I’m serious. So happy for you. And proud of you. ” she said, reaching out her hand for you to hold on to. “I know this next bit is gonna be rough, but you got through all that shit to get here. And you got me. Yeah?”

So you thought, yeah, okay, maybe you could do this. You threw yourself into work and catching up with friends, doing anything you could to distract yourself, ignoring headlines and social media at all cost. Some weeks were easier than others, with Roxy always there to drag you out with your friends when you were getting too overwhelmed by it all. 

You went home, which was awkward at first, until you assured your family that everything was good but complicated, that you were figuring things out and it would be easier not to talk about it. To which your parents reluctantly agreed, both looking chuffed and a bit red around the eyes as they squeezed you a little tighter. Archie tried his luck later at the pub when it was just the two of you, only dropping it after being sure you knew “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him” in a way only younger brothers can.

You could do this. As long as you were distracted with work, family, friends. As long as you didn’t let your mind wander, as long as you kept busy, as long as you didn’t think about Harry or Erin or the wedding you ruined or the relationship you were maybe in that was on pause. It was then you began to falter. Late nights where you found yourself seconds away from googling him, wanting to be sure that both teams held up their end of the bargain, before shutting off your phone, knowing if something changed, he would tell you. 

You could drive yourself crazy wondering what he was up to, if he was happy, if he’d want this break to go on for longer, if the time away made him change his mind. As the weeks went on, you began missing him more than ever, his absence weighing more heavily on you than it ever had in years before. It felt different, this time.  

You had never felt like this before, in a relationship. Like you needed the other person. Not even in any sort of way, just needed to hear their voice or see their face. You missed him so viscerally it was shocking to you, and made you question everything. Why were you missing him so much? Was it just because you loved him or was it because you were so insecure you couldn’t believe the relationship would work unless you had eyes on him? What type of person does that make you? Erin would be able to handle a two month pause. Doubts crept into your mind, as you tossed and turned on your bed in the late hours, unable to quiet your racing mind. Insecurity wove its way into your brain, feeling pathetic in a way you hadn’t in years. 

So yeah, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. 

“Is Roxy there, love? Would love to say hi.” your mum said, pulling you out of your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. 

“Do a wellness check on me, you mean?” you ask ruefully as you get up to head to Roxy’s room, knocking softly before entering as she leaps up to take the phone from your hands, almost immediately closing the door on you, to have the conversation away from your prying ears. 

“Mama Ang!!” you heard her crow before her voice dropped down to a whisper. “You know, babe, I know just about as much as you do. The girl won’t tell me anything…”

You rolled your eyes, though it was hardly annoying to be this looked after. You had a great support system to get you through this. You were fine. You could handle sleepless nights and moments of doubt, you had great people in your life there to support you and fill the gaping hole you were beginning to feel in his absence. 

It was about a week and a half later when it all fell apart. 

The distractions were becoming less effective, the questions and doubts rattling around in your brain more often than not. And then…it was just one of those days. You slept past your alarm, the line at the cafe down the street was too long to stop at before work and you were almost positive you were about to get your period, if the way you teared up watching a girl and her grandma reading together on the tube was any indication. 

Then, you hadn’t been paying close attention at work and had missed an entire section on a grant proposal that had been sent in earlier that day. Your boss called you into her office and reamed you out, making you feel like a proper idiot.  You never make mistakes like this but that didn’t seem to matter. You spent several hours on the phone before the board agreed to accept the edited proposal, which you stayed after hours to write up and send in. It was late when you arrived home, exhausted and wrung out, just looking forward to taking a hot shower and getting into bed when you saw a note from Roxy on the coffee table saying the hot water was off and the landlord couldn’t come until tomorrow to fix it. 

And that was it. 

You collapsed on the couch, tears immediately pouring out of your eyes in frustration, stress, exhaustion, all the emotions you had been trying to keep at bay the past month rushing forward. You were dialing your phone before you realized what you were doing, eyes flying open when you heard the first few rings and immediately hanging up. You couldn’t do that, not yet. There were still a few weeks until the end date and this hardly constituted an emergency, just a bad day you could get over by yourself despite how badly you wanted to hear his voice. Feeling so sorry for yourself another fresh round of tears sprung to your eyes. 

He probably wouldn’t even notice the missed call but maybe you should text him just in case? Like a “please ignore, that was an accident”? You didn’t want to double down when you weren’t supposed to be in communication at all. You hated this feeling of overwhelming doubt, questioning yourself at every turn, resistant to even slightly overstep the boundaries he had asked for. You hadn’t been thinking. Why did you dial his number?! 

Your phone started to vibrate in your hands. 

Shit. 

It was him. 

You wiped your face, clearing your throat in an attempt to sound like you hadn’t in fact been having a mental breakdown, adjusting your airpods before you answered.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly, as if he ran to pick up the phone. “Just saw you called - wouldn’t have missed it if I saw.” 

“Oh you could have missed it. It’s not important.” Your words were flying out of your mouth, tripping over your tongue in embarrassment.  “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean -” 

“Whoa, hey. ‘S alright.” he says gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” you say, your voice coming out choked, a bit strained, completely unconvincing. You clear your throat. “Just a shit day and wasn’t thinking and called your number on instinct. Wasn’t trying - I didn’t mean to break the pause.”

“Fuck the pause. We started it, we can break it.”

“It’s really not important –”

“Sounds like y’ crying, that sounds important to me –”

“But H, you asked for space –”

“Yeah space to sort my life out, not to leave you alone when you’re upset.” he says adamantly. “Know what I asked for but y’called me crying and I don’t care if it was an accident or not, ‘m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” 

“But I’m not gonna just barrel all over the boundaries we set and the space you needed because I had a bad day.”

“I appreciate that and I promise I’d tell you if I thought this was crossing a line that I didn’t want to. But ‘s not. Want you to talk to me.”

“If you’re sure - ”

“Dead sure. Quite flattered that I’m your go-to call.”

“Okay,” you say, snorting a laugh as you roll your eyes. “Now I’m gonna hang up.”

“Heeey. Talk to me. Please?” 

And you do. You catch him up on your day, your boss being an asshole but also you feeling so stupid because you did in fact mess up and it wasn't like you were getting yelled at for nothing. He responds in all the right places, each hum, gasp or “fuck them” he utters making your heart warm, the feeling of talking to him for the first time in weeks settling something in you, tears long forgotten. 

“Shit day,” he says emphatically once you finish as you hum in response. “Know I don’t know much about that world but I do know that you’re brilliant at that job. And there are very few people who would own up to a mistake and stay late to make it even better than before. They’re lucky to have you and they better bloody know it.” 

You snort out a laugh. 

“‘M serious.” 

“I know you are.” you say softly, playing with the pillow on your lap, fingers scratching over the patterns. “Thank you for listening.” 

“Course.” he says, just as soft. “I miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he says, scoffing a laugh. ‘Why do y’sound surprised?”

“I’m not, I just was getting so in my head the last few weeks, it’s been nice to hear your voice.”

“Getting in your head about what?”

“Oh, no, it’s going to sound so stupid -” 

“Try me.”

You heave a sigh, feeling your cheeks warm. He says your name gently, pleadingly. 

“I’m not sure I even know how to articulate it.”

“Take your time, love. ‘S just me. Not going anywhere.” 

You pause, listening to the sounds of him breathing on the other end, the silence helping you focus. 

“I just think I…” you pause, taking a breath. “I’ve been surprised by how different this feels? Like I’ve gone this long without seeing you or talking to you before and it’s been fine but the last two weeks I’ve felt like, needy for you in a way I’ve not felt before.”

He hums in surprise, you can practically see the way his eyebrows shoot up, can hear the smile growing on his face.

“Okay, you arse, not like that.” you say, laughing when he does. “Okay - not entirely like that. I just think… I didn’t expect to miss you this much. Like I miss you more than I ever have. And the stakes are different this time, I just –”

You pause, every thought you’ve had these past few days rattling around in your brain as you try to sort them out. He stays silent on the other end, patient. Not pushing you into speaking before you’re ready. 

“I think I didn’t realize how much I was affected by what happened the last time we saw each other. To go from not having you to having you to suddenly not having you again...it scares me that something like that could happen again.”

You hear him inhale sharply on the other end, every self conscious fiber of your being telling you to be quiet, to tell him you’re fine, it’s all good and you’ll see him in a month. It’s what you’ve always done with him, it’s what you did all those years ago, scrubbing at dishes in the sink at Christmas when he looked so confused and lost, wanting to scream all your emotions at the top of your lungs but instead swallowing them down and hiding yourself away. It’s not like that anymore, things are different and you’re different. You have to plow through.  

“And I know that’s why we’re doing what we’re doing, why we’re on pause, to sort everything out which was necessary and I don’t regret it at all. And I know this pause isn’t how our relationship will feel, like a pause is different, in the future we’ll be talking more often and seeing each other. I just think I wasn’t expecting to feel all this much.”

“It’s never felt like this before, for me. A relationship, I mean. I got so self conscious about why I was missing you so much that I started to doubt things and feel insecure but talking to you now I think I just…”

“You just what?” he asks gently.  

“Just…really love you?” You say with an embarrassed laugh, hearing the almost startled sound he makes, like his emotions got caught in his throat. “I've not felt like this before about anyone. Not even you. Which is amazing and scary and… I’m so used to closing parts of myself off to you in order to hide my true feelings for you which aren’t a secret anymore. So it's an adjustment, to fight against the instinct to keep things to myself, not to show all my cards. Because I want you to know all of me, all the cards, I'm just not used to knowing that can happen.” 

“Makes sense. I think there’s definitely going to be adjustments as we’re entering new territory. But I’m here for all of it. I don’t want you keeping your feelings from me.”

“I know, I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

“Yeah, I get that. But I love when you need me.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware –”

“Oiii you didn’t let me finish,” he all but whines. “Just mean you can be kind of a closed book–”

“Hmm, sound familiar?”

“Y’keep interrupting me and ‘m gonna hang up.”

“No, you won’t.”

He pauses. 

“No, I won’t. You’re lucky you’re hot.” 

That startles a laugh out of you, his chuckles on the other end warming you down to your toes.

“If you would let me finish - my sentence you numpty -” he says quickly the second he hears your intake of breath, effectively cutting off the sexual innuendo he somehow knew you were gearing up to say. “Y’ always encourage me to tell you what’s on my mind, but so rarely do the same for yourself. And I…I want all of it, with you. All of the mess and the ugly feelings. Think we got ourselves into this mess by keeping too much to ourselves and that’s the last thing I want. When it comes to you, I want it all.”

“And it goes both ways, ‘ve gotta be letting you in too. Like..” he takes a deep breath, letting out a sheepish laugh at himself. “I almost called you about 8 times that first week, convinced y’ were going to realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“What?”

“We were in so many meetings about when I would first be photographed again, how long I should stay away from the public for ‘nd I was just like why would anyone sign up for a lifetime of this if they didn’t have to?”

“Harry - “

“I know it’s crazy and we can talk about it more when we see each other again - just wanted you to know that the doubts are happening to me, too. And then I talk to you and it’s exactly as you said.” he says and you can practically hear the smile in his voice. God, you miss him. “‘S never felt like this for me, either.  And it’s nice to know that all the bullshit and fears don’t come close to how I feel about you. Really love you too, you know.”

You can’t explain the noise you make at that, gripping your phone a bit tighter, feeling butterflies erupt in your stomach. This was real. All the anxiety fueled doubts couldn’t come close to the reality. He was yours. You were his. 

“I miss you.” you say, the words barely scratching the surface of all you want to say to him.

“Ah, now she says it -”

“Oh my god -”

“Couldn’t be bothered earlier but she hears three little words and suddenly –”

“I’m actually going to kill you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.” you agree. “Turns out I’m not so keen on doing life without you.”

“Me either,” he says softly. 

You sit there in silence, a small grin on your face, as your fingers scratch the pillow on your lap. 

“Can I ask how things are going over there? Or would you rather wait?”

“No y’ can, it’s –” There’s a loud crashing sound on his end, followed by laughter.  “Shit - hang on.”

“Are you with people right now? You didn’t have to -”

“Wanted to.” he says, not even entertaining your argument for a second. “‘S just Tom and Tyler. Came out a few days ago to write with me. Was writing a bit like mad on my own. Turns out I had quite the inspirational weekend a month ago.”

“I mean you did experience about every emotion on the spectrum.”

“Nah, think it was just being with you.” 

“Oh yeah? Writing songs about me?”

“Mmm, wouldn’t be the first time.” he says, your mouth dropping open in shock. “Got lots of lines written about those eyes of yours…the way you get a little dimple when you’re smiling really hard, the look on your face when you tell me you love me…”

He pauses, inhaling deeply, his voice coming out like gravel when he says the next bit: 

“How you feel wrapped around me.”

Your mouth goes completely dry, hands tightening on the pillow, heart racing. 

“How you look when you’re about to –”

“Gonna cut you off before we get in trouble.” you say shakily. 

“Don’t mind a bit of trouble, me.” 

“Yeah, I’m familiar. But feel like that would absolutely fracture the rules of the pause.”

“Fuck the pause. Throw the pause in the bin –”

“I should let you go back to your friends.”

“I’ll get new friends.”

“Harry!” you say with a laugh, hearing him chuckle on the other end. “I’ll see slash talk to you in like 3 weeks yeah? 

“Okay,” he grumbles. “But y’ can call me any time before then, if you need.”

“Appreciate that. You can too. Going to try to get through these next few weeks on my own, though.” He hums in response. “Aaaand pause resumed.” 

“You’re so stupid.” he says laughing. “Talk to you in three weeks, baby.”

“Didn’t mean to cut you off I just … I’ve dreamt about our reunion sex so much the last place I want to have it is over the phone.” you say, hearing him splutter on the other end. “See you in three weeks love you bye.” 

He practically squawks in protest as you giggle and hang up, feeling ages better than you had before you called him. You’ve never had that before in a relationship. You feel lighter, freer. And loved. 

Your phone buzzes with a text.

H

That was just mean. 

H

Love you. Just 3 weeks xxx

Yeah, you were loved. 

—-

You were absolutely about to jump out of your skin, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning as you woke up hours before your first alarm. You grabbed your phone, immediately reading over the flight details he had sent you a few days earlier with several “xxxxx” in tow. 

Today. He was coming back to you today. Holy shit.

You had taken a far healthier approach this past month, letting the bad feelings happen instead of trying to ignore them with distractions, getting back in touch with your therapist to explore those fears of letting yourself be fully seen, and being Roxy’s ultimate wingwoman, though she did see right through you when you kept encouraging her to see that guy from the bar again tonight. What you were calling being a supportive friend, she was calling a blatant attempt to not get cockblocked. Tomato, tomahto. 

You had been sleeping better, feeling better and were more than ready to see Harry again. It was nerve wracking, heading into this new chapter, knowing there were no planned pauses, no other people entering the chat, it was just going to be you and him. After all this time. Holy. Shit. 

You were cleaning your living room for the umpteenth time, still having a few hours to go before Harry’s plane was supposed to land and there was a knock on your door. Roxy had just left, swearing she would not return, flying out the door with a tight squeeze and kiss on your cheek. 

“Forgot your keys again —?” you say, swinging the door open and absolutely stopping in your tracks. There he was. After two months. Right in front of you. You could cry. You might cry. 

“Thought you were Roxy.”

“‘S it okay that I’m not?”

“Jury’s still out.” you say breathlessly as he snorts. “You’re early.”

“Changed my flight. Couldn’t wait.” he says with a glint in his eye. You quickly scan him, noting the deep tan, the longer strands of curls falling out of his hat, the sweatshirt and joggers combo that makes you want to eat him, the facial hair. Hold on. 

“You’ve got facial hair.” you say, rather stupidly, as he tilts his head back in laughter.

“Yeah I do.”

“Like a proper beard. You’ve never been able to grow facial hair.”

“Times are changing, babe. You gonna let me in anytime soon or keep staring at me?”

“Gonna keep staring for a bit, I think.”

“Get the fuck over here.” he says, practically plowing you over as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, all but carrying you into the flat as the door closes behind him. You wrap your arms around him, knocking off his hat in the process, and hold on tight. He’s murmuring something into your hair but you’re not paying attention, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his body against yours, his arms holding you close, his new beard scratching against your cheek. 

You stand there, holding so tight, feeling like you’re taking the first real breath you’ve taken in months, a part of you setting into place. You’ve got no idea how long you stand there and don’t care, refusing to let go even for a moment. 

You pull your head back slightly, bringing your hands up to his face, fingers scratching at the beard.

“Not gonna get over this.”

“You like it?”

“Looks good. Really good. You look good.” you say, your hands coming down to rest on his chest, playing with the strings of his hoodie. 

“Yeah?” he says, his eyes scanning down your body. “So do you.”

You lock eyes, staring at each other for a moment, smiles fighting their way onto your faces.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“Missed you.”

“Me too.” he says, nudging his nose against your cheek before planting a kiss there, inhaling deeply. Eyes flicking up to yours before his gaze falls to your lips, he licks his own before leaning in, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in two months.

Yes. 

It’s like coming home, like the first day of spring after a long cold winter, a lemonade on a hot summer day. You practically melt into him, his hands coming up to cup your face as he presses another tender kiss to your mouth. He’s holding you so delicately, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek like you’re made of glass. You’ve never been kissed like this. You grip his sweatshirt, pulling him closer to you, not wanting even a centimeter of space between you. He sighs into your mouth, pressing another sweet kiss against your lips before pulling away, never straying too far as he kisses your jaw, your temple, your hairline before ducking in and placing another soft kiss on your lips.

He pulls back slightly, his arms dropping to wrap around your waist once more, looking down at you with a small smile on his face.

“Missed that.” he says, pressing his lips to yours before dragging them down your jaw, nuzzling into your neck, tightening his grip around you. “Missed you so much, baby.”

“Can’t believe you’re here. In my flat. Kissing me.” you say, as he hums, planting a kiss on your neck before pulling back to look at you, soft eyes grazing over your features as a grin grows on your face. “You’re kissing me in my flat.”

“Planning on doing a whole lot more in this flat if you let me.” he says.

“Yeah, I’m counting on it.” you say, as his grip on your waist tightens. “Just mean like…so much of Italy felt like a fever dream. But you’re here. This is real. It’s… overwhelming.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“In the best way.” you say, emotion clogging your throat as you look back at him, the way he’s softly staring back at you. You’d feel silly getting this emotional about something so mundane, but it felt monumental. This wasn’t a special occasion, spur of the moment fling. This was who you’d get to see after a long day of work, who you’d go grocery shopping with, spend your weekends with, clean the bathroom with. He was your person. Even in your wildest teenage fantasies you could never imagine it feeling like this. Like home. Tears spring to your eyes, as he gently brings his thumb up to wipe them away, emotion clouding over his own features. 

“I just - I got so excited at the idea of doing laundry with you. Like the mundane, everyday, kissing in my flat stuff. Running errands, doing chores...”

“Just wait until we load the dishwasher together,” he says, kissing your cheek. “Get the groceries…”

“You’re gonna rile me up.” you say as he huffs a laugh against your skin, before pulling back to look at you, his own eyes glassy, lips quirking up in a small smile. 

“I’m so ready for it. All of it. I’ve never…” he says, taking a deep breath, glimmering eyes never straying from your face. “Never been more ready for anything in my life, I don’t think. Life with you, ‘s the dream.” 

You stand there, letting his words wash over you, warmth flowing through you in waves as you bite your lip and try in vain to blink back tears, not sure you could ever find the words to articulate how you feel right now. You open your mouth and promptly close it, not even sure where to begin.

“Got y’ speechless, have I?” he asks with a soft smile.

You shake your head, trying in vain to bite down your smile, before leaning up and kissing him, hoping every drag of your lips can begin to express what words are failing to. He hums into the kiss as you slide your hands into his hair, bringing one arm up to wrap around your upper back, holding you as close as possible. 

He kisses you slowly, gently, the exact way you want to be kissed, his tongue sweeping over yours in smooth passes. You sigh into his mouth as his hold tightens and you’re content to stay there forever, wrapped up in his arms, being taken apart with every soft drag of his lips. 

“For me too.” you frantically mumble in between kisses, hands grasping tighter. “It’s –”

“I know, baby. I know.” he says, his hand coming up to settle around the back of your neck, tightening his grip as he pulls you in. “Come here.” 

Time passes but you’re not aware of it, too caught up in the feel of his body against yours, the grip of his hands, the curl of his tongue. He eventually pulls away with a gentle suck to your bottom lip, kissing a line across your jaw before burying his head into your neck.

You stand there, breathing each other in, holding on to each other, your brain trying to process the fact that the person you always dreamed would be yours is, in fact, yours. And wants you back just as much. It makes you tighten your hold, your breath catching in your throat as his hand starts to rub soothing circles on your back, instinctively knowing what you need without you ever saying it.

“How was your flight?” you mumble against his shoulder. He huffs a laugh against your skin, pressing a kiss on your jaw before pulling back, his hands sliding down your back to hold your waist.

“Was fine. Long. Just wanted to get here.” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Left all my stuff in the car. Just needed to see you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Thought you might,” he says, kissing your temple, his thumbs drawing small circles on your hips. 

“Probably should have our big chat about our feelings, yeah? Talk about our time apart…how we’ve grown as individuals…” you say as he hums against your skin. “You could sing me those songs you wrote about me…”

“Yeah that’s not happening.” he says, snorting out a laugh, grazing his finger against your cheek, his tone softening when he says: “Not yet.”

The look on his face makes your heart flutter, his whispered words combined with that smile of his making you weak at the knees. You could get lost in his eyes if you stand here too long but you have a mission. You were meant to be responsible.

“Talking.” you say and he smirks at you, amused by your absolute lack of eloquence. “We- we should talk.

“Right. Let’s talk, baby. Wanna hear what you’ve been up to.” he says, his eyes roaming over your body.  “Because once I get you in bed, I’m not planning on letting you out of it.”

“Is that a promise?” you ask, your pulse skyrocketing as he licks his lips, eyes darkening as he nods, his grip on your waist tightening, making your brain go a bit hazy before you snap yourself out of it. “Responsible. We’re going to be responsible. I got snacks.”

You take a step away from him and try to turn towards your kitchen and out of his hold, though he doesn’t let you get very far, his arm winding over your shoulder and across your chest to pull you back against him. 

“Harry. Snacks.”

“Wherever you go, I go, baby.” he says as you snort. You can feel his laughter on your neck as he plants a kiss on your jaw, his thumb rubbing along your shoulder before you start to move.

“Fancy a cuppa?” you ask, making your way over to the kitchen counter, doing your best to gather supplies with this oaf attached to your back. 

“Please.”

“I went to that bakery you like and got those rank profiteroles you love.” you say, relaxing back into him. “The woman behind the counter was like ‘oh no one ever orders these, the owners will be so pleased and i was like ‘yeah, well my boyfriend’s obsessed with them -”

You immediately freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, ever called him that, and by the way he stiffens against your back, barely breathing, you know he knows. 

“Your who?” he whispers against your neck.

“You heard me.” you say quietly, hoping the low volume will hide the waver in your voice. 

“Yeah, but I want to hear y’ say it again.” he says, hooking his chin over your shoulder, squeezing your arm, you can hear the grin in his voice. “Who is obsessed with them?”

“Are you 12?”

“Baby.” he says, planting a kiss behind your ear. “Please. What did y’ call me?”

“My boyfriend.” you say softly. “I called you my boyfriend –”

He spins you in his hold, bringing his hands up to cup your face as he kisses you so thoroughly it makes your head spin. His tongue glides over yours smoothly as his thumb softly strokes your face. A man of multitudes. He pulls back slowly, planting one more chaste kiss to your mouth, his hands not leaving your face. 

“Is that – “ you say, still trying to catch your breath. “Is that okay?”

His brow furrows in disbelief, not letting you move out of his grip. “Just told you a minute ago I wanna do life with you.”

“I know, but this is putting an official label on it. Which feels different. It feels right but it’s, like, official. For real..” 

“Are y’ asking me to go steady with you?”

“Oh my god I don’t know why I even bother –”

“Hey, heeey. None of that.” he says with a laugh, pinning you to the counter with his hips while his lips kiss a pattern across your face before he gently bites at your cheek and pulls away. 

He just looks at you, that soft, just for you smile on his face as he takes a deep breath, looking like he’s about to burst with the love radiating off of him. It’s contagious, making a wide grin spread on your face as you feel like you’re buzzing from the inside out. 

“Let’s make it official, baby. ‘M your boyfriend. And you’re my girlfriend. And we’re…” he says, taking a deep breath, a small blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blush growing across his cheeks. “And we’re in a relationship. ” 

You’re suddenly 15 again trying to slow your galloping heart rate any time Harry hugs you hello, you’re 18 trying not to stare too hard at your best mate’s bare chest as he does a cannonball into the ocean, you’re 22 trying to steady the shake in your hands as you cut his ponytail because he insisted you be the one to chop it, you’re 25 going on 26, in your kitchen, with your best mate who’s now your boyfriend. A fantasy you used to write about in your journal, used to cry yourself to sleep over. 

If you could grin any wider, your face would split in half, heat rushing to your cheeks as you look up at him. The two of you standing there, big smiles on your faces, looking at each other in joy, in awe. It feels a bit juvenile to be getting so worked up over a label but you can’t help it. It’s different with him. Everything’s different with him. 

Your face crumples slightly, overwhelmed by the love flowing through you, the love you’ve always felt for the man looking back at you. 

“I know, I know.” he mutters, pulling you closer. “Long time coming, huh?”

“You could say that,” you whisper back as he wraps his arms around you, planting a kiss on your temple. 

“Thank you for waiting for me to catch up.” he whispers, smiling down at you as butterflies erupt in your stomach, your heart feeling on the cusp of bursting. 

You gently wind your arms around his neck, pushing your hand up into his hair as he closes his eyes briefly at the feeling of your nails against his scalp. He opens his eyes, those green irises focusing right on you, looking at you like you’re the only person on the planet, his expression so sincere it all but bowls you over. 

“Would’ve waited my whole life for you, I think.” 

You can see the words hit him as his eyes go glassy, blinking a few times while looking back at you. He lets out a sheepish laugh when you bring a hand up to gently wipe away the tears pooling in his eyes, biting his lip as he grins at you before planting a kiss on your palm. His index finger brushes down the side of your face gently as he looks at you in awe, in wonder and you feel like you’re on fire.

You’re not sure who closes the gap first but you know it doesn’t matter, clutching each other so tight that you feel his groan before you hear it as you swipe your tongue over his. He kisses you deeply, reverently, his tongue licking into your mouth in languid, all encompassing passes that make you feel like you’re going to explode. He pulls away slowly, kisses trailing down your neck as he takes his time licking and biting at the skin there.

“Do you -” you gasp out, sparks flying through you with each drag of his lips. “Would it be alright if we -”

“Being so polite. You trying ask me to tea or ask me to take y’ to bed?” he mumbles, mouth not straying far from its spot on your neck, laughing against your skin when you smack him. 

“You know,” you say with a huff of frustration, “I’m usually quite good at this but but you’ve got me flustered -”

“Promise y’ you’re still good,” he mumbles, kissing his way across your throat and taking his time on the other side, letting out a deep breath. “So good.”

“I just - I know I said we should talk but I -” you breathe out, the mindless patterns of his hands against your sides making it impossible to finish a sentence. The way he’s dragging his hands  up and down, giving you an occasional squeeze. Those big hands. Jesus. “I want -”

“What do y’ want? Need you to tell me.”

“Want you.” you say as he bites down on your neck, hands squeezing you tight.  

He groans, leaning his head against your collarbone, his palms clutching your hips.

“Do y’ have any idea what y’ do to me -” he grunts out. “Calling me up to say you’re needy, that you’ve dreamt of –”

He cuts himself off as he leans up, his lips claiming yours. This kiss is not like the others, it's deep from the start, as he licks into your mouth with a groan. His hands can’t seem to find a place to settle, roaming from your hips, your sides, your breasts, your arse. His breaths are ragged as he bites your lower lip before diving in for more, nothing gentle or sweet about the way he’s making you moan into his mouth, each drag of his tongue driving you mad. 

“Bedroom,” he says, wrenching his mouth away from yours. “Let’s – bedroom. Unless you want your boyfriend to fuck you on the counter.” 

You choke on air, your nails digging into the muscles on his shoulders.

“Need you horizontal c’mon baby -” he mutters, already pulling you back from the counter as you grab his hand and take off down the hallway towards your bedroom, faltering only slightly when you look back to see him lacing your hands together and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You both practically trip over yourselves in eagerness once your door is closed, laughing into each other’s mouths. His hands fall to your waist, sliding up your skin as he pulls your shirt up and over your head, mouths disconnecting before crashing together again. He kisses his way down your neck, making quick work of your bra as he kisses across your chest, mouth wrapping around your nipple as his hands slide further down, pausing at the waistband of your jeans. He pulls his head back to look at you, leaning in to kiss you softly. 

“Can I?” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you when you nod, hands slipping on your skin. “Sorry, my palms are sweaty.”

“Mine too,” you whisper as you both laugh sheepishly.

“We’ve done this bit before.”

“Yeah, but it still feels new. It always …everything feels new with you.”

He nods once, marveling at you for a second before pressing his lips to yours, sweet in contrast with the way his hand keeps inching closer to where you need him most. You fist his sweatshirt, pulling at it in frustration. 

“Can we get this off please?” you huff, trying in vain to start to push it up when he simply won’t budge. 

“Patience is a virtue, darling” he says, taking his sweet time unbuttoning your jeans as he kisses along your jaw, heat spreading through every ounce of your body and you want to kill him. 

“Yeah but I’m practically naked while you’re fully dressed.”

“Cause I got my priorities straight,” he says, hands finally sliding past your waistband into your underwear, biting down on your lip when you gasp at his fingers pushing past your folds, feeling the wetness there. “Fuck, baby. Did I get y’ this wet?”

He kisses you before you can respond, licking hotly into your mouth as he pulls his hand away, shushing you when you whine. He uses both hands to pull your jeans and underwear off, helping you balance when you kick them to the ground. 

“On the bed,” he mumbles, “need y’ on the bed.” 

He walks you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and you lie back, pushing yourself up with your arms until you’re in the middle of the bed, propped up on your elbows, eyes never leaving his. 

His eyes roam all over your body, jaw set as his intent gaze sweeps over you, making every inch of you feel like it’s burning up from the inside out. He reaches behind his head to pull his sweatshirt and t-shirt up and over in one fell swoop, throwing them to the ground before clamoring onto the bed as he kneels between your legs, jogger-clad thighs nudging yours further apart. 

You barely have time to take in the expanse of skin before he’s ducking down to kiss you again, getting temporarily lost in the mind-numbing drag of his lips, the soft moans he lets out when you push your hand up into his hair and tug it every so often.

He pulls away slowly, eyes sweeping up and down your body as he puffs out a big breath and shakes his head. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, pressing one more kiss to your lips before slowly making his way down your body, his tongue against your skin mixed with the deep timbre of his voice making you grip the bed sheets tighter, your breath coming in shorter bursts, hand falling away from his head as he makes his way down to your core. 

“So sexy,” he mumbles, tongue sweeping along your stomach before he pauses to suck a mark into the skin. “All mine.”

A soft moan leaves your lips, his words and mouth against your skin proving to be a deadly combination, as arousal pools between your thighs. You shift on the sheets, deep desire flowing into restless anticipation.

“I know, baby, I know.” he says, kissing a line along your thigh, inching ever so close. “Gonna give y’ what y’ need.”

Your brain barely has time to catch up before his mouth is on you, humming as he licks a stripe up your slit, the sensation making you gasp. His hands slide up your legs to hold your hips down as he sucks your clit into his mouth, your eyes roll into the back of your head as heat sears through you. 

He’s good at this and he knows it, eyes never wavering from your face as he watches the way you react to his tongue, moaning into you when your hand slides into his hair. You look down at him and almost come on the spot, the way his back muscles strain as he expertly moves his head, the image of him headfirst into you with his joggers still on doing something to you that you could never explain. Like he was so eager to get his mouth on you he didn’t stop to pull his sweats off. Fuck. 

“Dreamt of this.” he mumbles, kissing a line up your stomach, your arousal already evident in that new 'stache of his. “Dreamt of you.”

“H-” you can’t do anything beyond moaning his name at this point, already gone past the point of coherence, using your hand in his hair to guide his head back down.

“Alright, needy girl, ‘m going” he says, kissing his way back down before biting down on the skin of your thigh, groaning out: “love you like this.”

He dives in tongue first, licking his way down to your entrance before dragging his tongue up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth in steady pulls. He’s getting sloppy with it, the feeling of his beard against your skin making you pull at his hair, while he kisses, licks and sucks. You’re so wet you can hear it, it would embarrass you if not for the way he clearly loves it, his eyes closed tight with his brow furrowed in concentration, nose nudging against your center as his tongue curls over you, grunting and groaning into you in a way that has you seeing stars. 

“Want you to come like this. Want it in my mouth.” he mumbles, hooded eyes opening to look at you, take you in. “Can y’ do that for me?”

“Fuck - please I -” you’re cut off by your own moan, as he gets his mouth back on you. His hands on your hips no longer hold you down but encourage you to buck up into him. It’s overwhelming, heat searing through you and you can’t keep your eyes open, feeling yourself hurdle towards your orgasm with every slurp, lick, and suck. His grip tightens, nails making crescent marks into your skin as he latches onto your clit once more and sucks, hard. 

And that’s it, your eyes roll back in your head as you come, so intense that you can’t hear the praise he’s mumbling, can feel nothing but endless heat, pleasure rolling through you, hand gripping his hair so tight as his mouth works you through your orgasm, only pulling away when you whimper from the overstimulation.

He plants one kiss against your core before kissing his way up your body, self-satisfied smirk on his face when his head hovers over yours, evidence of how hard you just came present in his beard. You look up at him, panting, sentences still jumbling in your brain as he settles next to you, laying a possessive hand on your stomach, thumb drawing mindless patterns on your skin. 

“That good, huh?”

“Like you didn’t know.” you breathe out,  thumb coming up to wipe his bottom lip, heat swirling through you when he grabs your wrist and sucks your thumb into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact.

“Christ.” 

He hums, releasing your thumb with a pop before leaning in to kiss you, both of you moaning when your tongue swipes over his. Your hand drags down his chest, damp with sweat from the exertion of his efforts, and falls to the waistband of his joggers.

“I can’t believe you still have these on.” you say snapping the waistband against his abs as he moves to pull them off.

“Had you naked on your bed, time was of the essence,” he says, as you snort, watching as he successfully pulls his joggers and briefs all the way off and throws them on the ground, his hard cock slapping against his belly. Did he get that hard just from getting you off?

“Took your shirt off, though.” you say, voice wavering at how affected you are at the sight in front of you. This gorgeous man in all his naked glory. 

“Yeah, well, I know how you feel about my arms. Wanted to give you a proper show.” he says with a shrug, hand sliding up your neck to grip at the nape, pulling you in for a deep kiss. 

Your hand slides further down his abs, wrapping around him as he moans into your mouth. You pull away from him slowly, making full eye contact as you lick your palm, his eyes widening at the sight, before wrapping around him again. He moans, his grip on you tightening as he bites at your jaw. 

“Got this hard from eating me out?”

“Y’ have no idea what you look like.” he says, pulling back to look at you, eyes roaming all over your face. “What you taste like.”

He captures your lips once more, breaths more ragged than before the more you play with him, your thumb swiping over the head as he bites your lip.

“Gotta stop -” he pants out. “Unless you don’t want -”

“No, I do.” you say, letting go of his cock in favor of straddling him. He sits up, trying to get close to your mouth but you shake your head and push him back down. He goes easily, eyes flickering all over your body, unable to settle on just one spot before looking back into your eyes, his own pupils blown wide. 

“What’ve y’ got planned, love?”

“Wanna ride you.” you say, your hands staying planted on his chest. 

“Fuck - yes please.” he groans, hands coming to rest on your thighs. “You have stuff?”

You falter. You do, you know exactly where it is but that’s not what you want tonight. You curse yourself, knowing you should’ve brought this up earlier, and not when you’re straddling him on your bed. The hesitation must be written on your face because he sits up quickly -  damn those ab muscles - his hand coming up to cup your face, thumb rubbing on your cheek. 

“What’s up? Do you not have any? Need me to pop to the -”

You shake your head. “Uh - no. I have stuff. I just - sorry I should have brought this up before -”

“‘S okay.” he says gently, patiently, as if you both can’t feel how hard he is against your thighs. 

“I just - I got tested and I’m clean,” you say, his eyebrows shooting up before he schools his expression into something more neutral, though the sudden clamminess of his palm against your face gives him away. “And I’m on the pill. I have condoms and totally understand if that makes you more comfortable but I want this, with you. I want to feel –”

“Me too.” he says gruffly, a mix of emotions passing over his face as he stares back at you, so intently it makes your head spin. “I got tested a few weeks ago and I’m also clean - if you want that -”

“I do.”

He crushes his lips against yours, kissing you deeply as you clutch at his shoulders, giving it back just as good. His tongue passes over yours as he tightens his hold on your face, his other arm coming to wrap around your waist. You lose track of how long you stay there, kissing each other until your lips go numb, but he pulls back slowly, emotion clouding over his eyes as he looks at you, taking a few moments just to stare before he clears his throat.

“I know my reputation precedes me with this sort of thing-” 

“That doesn’t matter to me.” you say, the look on his face making your heart clench. “At all.”

“I know I just - I want you to know that I don’t take this lightly. You trusting me like this. Me trusting you the same.” he says, with a shake of his head, looking at you with glassy eyes. “It’s - I haven’t done this very often and to get to do it with you is…”

“Yeah. For me, too.” you whisper, emotion caught in your throat, as the two of you just look at each other, biting down smiles.

You lean in to kiss him slowly, hands sliding up into his hair as he sighs into your mouth.

“I love you.” you say softly, the words almost getting caught in your throat as you look at him, hold him tight. 

“Oh, angel.” he breathes out. “I love you too.”

You lean in at the same time, soft kisses slowly devolving into pure heat, tongues curling as you moan into each other’s mouths. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” you mumble against his mouth.

“Yeah?” he says, kissing you once before kissing a line down your jaw. “Gonna take care of me?”

You nod, leaning in to slowly kiss at his neck as his hand slides down your body and rests on your thigh, squeezing once. You reach down to stroke him slowly as he groans, your tongue darting out to suck at the skin, leaving a mark in its wake. 

You bring a hand down to balance on his shoulder as you line him up with your center, and slowly start to sink down, both of you moaning almost instantly at the sensation.

“Slow - baby, slow” he grits out, hands sliding up to your hips to hold on, to ease you down. Once you're fully seated, his hands come up to rub your back, his jaw set as he exhales through his nose, his eyes fluttering closed as he tries to maintain eye contact. “Shit.”

“Okay?” you whisper, not doing much better yourself, being able to feel all of him like this makes your mouth hang open, sparks of arousal shooting up your spine. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, huffing out a laugh. “Feel so good.”

He brings one hand around to massage at your breast as the other slides down to knead your ass as he leans in to kiss you deeply, both groaning when your tongues meet. You slowly lift up and back down, a sharp grunt leaving his chest as you start to find your rhythm, his hands gripping tightly at your hips. You find your pace slowly, the look on his face guiding every twist, turn and bounce of your hips. 

He’s usually talkative during sex, a never ending stream of praise falling from his lips but you seem to have stunned him into silence as he sits there, grasping you tightly, mouth never moving far from yours. For a while, the only noise in the room is the sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans, grunts and groans mixing together as you find a delicious rhythm that has left you both speechless, panting against each other's mouths.

You lose all sense of time, getting lost in the look on his face, the way he swallows harshly, his breath coming out shallow when you swivel your hips just so. It’s sweltering, it’s heady, overwhelming. The two of you losing yourselves to the pleasure as you ride him into the mattress, his hooded eyes watching your every move.

“‘S like a dream.” he mumbles against your lips. “Jesus.”

He kisses at your neck, the sensation making you clench around him, as he groans and bites down. Your hand slips on his sweaty chest, overwhelmed at the sight of him, jaw set, teeth gritted, eyes wild. He looks wrecked in a way you’ve never seen him, eyes squeezing shut and a deep exhale leaving his lips at a particularly tight swivel of your hips. Knowing you did that, that you’re making him feel this way, causes a fire in your belly unlike you’ve ever experienced before. You place your hand on his cheek and he opens his eyes to look at you, the look of pure ecstasy making you moan his name as you lean in to kiss him, gasping into his mouth when his grip on your hips tightens and he plants his feet, starting to thrust up into you.

Your rhythm falters, having lost any sense of control as he takes over, each drive of his hips hitting you just right. His face now steeled in determination, brow furrowed as he expertly guides his hips into yours, the bliss from before replaced by desperate need.

“Fucking me so good, baby.” he mumbles. “Couldn’t do anything but sit here and take it - y’ feel so -.”

“H-”

“Does it feel good?” he grunts, “Fucking yourself on my cock?”

“‘M close I -” you gasp out, nails digging into his scalp at a particularly hard thrust.

“Need to feel you come around me.” he mumbles, kissing along your collarbone. “What’s gonna get y’ there?”

“Want you on top.” you say, your legs all but turned to jelly as you try to keep up with his relenting pace. 

“Give y’ anything.” he groans, “Anything y’ need. Hold on.”

He slows down his hips, holding you in place on top of him as you wrap your arms around his neck. He slides his arms up your back, warm palm sliding up to grip the back of your neck as he holds you tightly to him, leaning forward to lay you back on the mattress, never once disconnecting himself from you. He hovers over you, both groaning at the new angle. He slides his other hand down your body, grabbing the outer edge of your thigh to wrap around his hip as you bring your other leg up to do the same. 

He leans in to kiss you deeply, grip tightening on the back of your neck as he starts to slowly grind his hips. You gasp into his mouth as you drag your nails down his back, his grinds turning into slow, deep thrusts that have both of you moaning.

“Y’ so wet,” he groans out. “Can feel all of it. All for me. Christ -”

His pace picks up, thrusting so hard you can hear the bed frame against the wall at the other end. Your hand falls to the bed, grasping at the bedsheets as he keeps driving his hips into yours, mumbling incoherently against your cheek, the feeling of his abs sliding against your skin sending sparks through you. You can see how hard he’s working, arms and thighs bulging as he works to give it to you as good as he can. 

He squeezes your neck once, before sliding his hand over to where yours is gripping the sheets, lacing your fingers together and holding tight and you just about lose your mind. 

“Y’ close? Squeezing me like y’ close.” 

“Harry -”

“Love when you say my name like that.” he mumbles and you do it again just to see the look on his face. You slide your hand not holding his down your body to flick at your clit, watching his eyes go impossibly darker as you clench down on him.

“That’s it. Be my good girl and go after it.” he grunts, thrusting even harder than before. “Want y’ to soak me.”

It only takes a few more tight circles from your fingers and one perfectly timed thrust and then you’re coming, stars in your eyes as you shake with aftershocks, clenching down so hard his rhythm falters, a series of expletives falling from his lips. 

“So good. That’s it. Y’ gonna make me come - fuck”

“Please - want you to.” you say, trying in vain to catch your breath as you clench down on him once more, overstimulation be damned. “Come inside me.”

“Jesus - fuck”  he grunts out, brows furrowed, eyes focused on you, hips driving into yours once, twice, and then that’s it, a guttural groan punches out of him as strings of his come paint your walls, the sensation making you squeeze his hand tightly as he shakes through it, a look of utter bliss on his face. 

He buries his head into your neck, panting heavily. You slowly lower your legs down to the mattress, sliding your hand out from in between your bodies and threading it through his sweaty hair, scratching at his scalp as your heart rates start to slow down and sync up.

You lay there for a few moments, just breathing each other in. He grunts wordlessly into your neck, the sound making you laugh, feeling of your bodies shaking against each other setting the two of you off. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, kissing your neck as he squeezes your hand once before pulling away, planting his hands on the bed to pull out, murmuring apologies into your skin when you hiss at the feeling before plopping on the bed next to you. 

You turn your head to face him as he props himself up on his elbow, an indescribable glow on his features as he smiles softly at you, his arm splaying across you to wrap around your waist. 

“It’s a good look on you.”

“What?” 

“Satisfaction.” you say with a grin. He honks out a laugh, pulling you closer to him to kiss your face. 

“Ah, a bit cheeky after riding my brains out, are ya?” he asks, kissing a line down your neck. “After fucking me bare?”

“That’s me. Cheeky and full of your cum.” you say, giggling when he tightens his grip on your waist, his breath leaving him in one big exhale. 

“Can’t say shit like that, baby.” he mutters against your neck, tongue darting out to lick at the skin. “Gonna turn me into a bloody neanderthal. C’mere.”

He slides his hand up your body to grip at your jaw, pulling you towards him as he captures your lips with his, letting out a soft moan into your mouth when your tongue passes over his. 

“You’re unreal.” he murmurs against your mouth. “So good to me.”

He kisses you again, somehow deeper this time as you sigh into his mouth, his hand gripping you tighter as you slide your hand across his chest. He pulls away slowly, kissing your cheek and temple before leaning back to look at you, soft smile on his face as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. 

“And it was good for you, yeah?”

“Think you could feel that it was.”

“I could, yeah. Came pretty hard, didn’t you?” he says with a smirk. “Soaked me.”

“What was that you were saying earlier? About being a neanderthal?”

“Ah, so she can dish it out but can’t take it.” 

“I can take it!” you scoff in indignation.

“Yeah, you can.” he all but growls, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Oh my god -” you say, trying in vain to suppress the giggles escaping you as he laughs along with you, wrapping his arm around your waist again, nuzzling into your neck as you try to catch your breath before you both crack up again, laughing at nothing and everything, at this feeling of lightness, of love, effervescent joy. 

Your laughter slowly subsides, just the occasional giggle coming out as you smile at each other. He kisses your cheek, your jaw and presses one soft, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling back. You shift your hips a bit, the reality of the no condom situation leaking out of you and you grimace slightly as his eyes track the moment.

“Not exactly comfortable, is it?”

“Can’t say it is, no. Loved it when it happened but now - ”

“Yeah. Hang on a sec.” he smacks a kiss to your forehead before pushing himself up and off the bed and jogging out of the room, you try in vain to tilt your head back to follow his movement but can only go so far. You hear the sounds of the sink turning on and promptly shutting off, his shuffle footsteps re-entering the room as he hops back on the bed next to you, wet washcloth in hand. 

“May I?” he asks, holding up the washcloth.

“Not exactly sexy, is it?”

“Yeah, but I put it there.” he says with a shrug as he crawls between your thighs. “Least I can do is help clean it out.”

“Thank you.” you whisper, affection flowing through you as you prop yourself up on your elbows, planting your feet on the mattress. He presses a kiss to your knee as he starts to clean you up. There's a lot to be said about praising men for doing the bare minimum, how women should have higher standards but this isn’t common practice, something you’ve usually had to do on your own, grabbing a spare t-shirt or something for a quick fix. And this, letting him take care of you like this, makes you feel open and trusting in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever felt. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this cared for, a thought that makes tears spring to your eyes. 

You quickly blink them away though when he looks up at you, you know he sees them, a gentle shake of his head as if to say “it’s nothing”, as if to say “you’re welcome”, as if to say “i’ll always take care of you”. He throws the washcloth into the laundry bin and crawls back up your body to plank over you, leaning down to give you a sweet kiss. You bring your hand up into his hair, kissing him back before pulling away and nudging your nose against his.

“Do you want to shower with me?” you ask.

“Yes please.”

You head to the washroom hand in hand, exchanging lazy kisses in front of the shower as you wait for it to heat up before squeezing in and attempting to be productive. You manage to completely wash your body and get most of your hair when he pulls you against him with a hand on your hip, planting deadly kisses along your neck as his hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts, drawing circles on your belly before sliding down in between your thighs. 

He waits until you’re ready and takes you right there, one hand splaying out across your stomach with the other is pressed against yours on the shower wall, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, hips driving into yours over and over with in a way that has you moaning out so loud you’re sure your neighbors can hear but you don’t care. Content to just lean back and lean into the pleasure until you’re both shaking with orgasms faster than you expected. 

After snogging under the spray long after the hot water has run out, you get dried off and changed, throwing him an old pair of sweats and hoodie of his that you’ve kept all these years as you pass your phone back and forth to order from the local thai place you both love.

Once the food arrives you set up camp on the couch, laughing and reminiscing, though tactfully avoiding any discussion of the past two months, as you share plates, both eating more of what the other ordered than you’d ever admit. Once you’ve had your fill, the empty boxes stacked on the coffee table, you settle back on the couch, he grabs your feet and pulls them into his lap, resting a warm palm on your ankles as you lean back against the pillows.

“I really like this,” he says softly, a light squeeze on your ankle when you smile over at him. “Just like… everything about this day.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Nothing we’re running away from, nothing looming over our heads.” he says as you hum in agreement. “‘S all I could think about getting to these last few weeks and ‘s better than I imagined.”

“I know. Felt like it wasn’t gonna happen some days.”

“Yeah.” he says, looking down in his lap, small frown on his face. “Did it - y’never called me so I assumed but - how were the last few weeks for you? Better or just as shit as the first?”

“Better. Talking to you really helped and then I decided to, you know, actually feel my feelings instead of ignoring them? A novel concept.” you say, as he huffs out a laugh, attentive eyes on you. “Also started talking to my therapist again about, like all the guilt and weirdness from the wedding and my hesitation to be completely open and vulnerable with you, which is a bit of a work in progress.”

“Meant what I said on the phone, you know.” he says, hand sliding up to your calf, thumb moving soothing circles. “When I say I love you, I mean all of you. Nothing’s gonna scare me off or make me feel differently about you.” 

You just look at him for a moment, his eyes full of warm, open affection staring back at you as you nod, biting your lip at the onset of emotions running through you. He squeezes your calf gently.

“Did your boss ever apologize?” he asks, frowning when you shake your head. “Wanker.”

You snort. “It’s alright. She’ll be groveling once the grant comes through. It’s not confirmed but have heard whispers that it’s likely going to us.”

“That’s my girl. Proud of you.”

“Thanks, H.” you say with a soft smile. “What about you? How has it been? Not gonna let you do that thing where you ask me loads of questions and be such a good listener that we never talk about you.”

“Ah, she knows my tricks.”

“Ah, yes she does.” you say as he laughs, looking down at his lap with a smile, thumb rubbing circles on your leg as he takes his time to find the words. 

“It was…a lot. There was loads of bullshit in the first few weeks, meetings where I felt like I was back in the band again, all this talk about my image and how to best preserve it, not a lot about how I was doing or feeling.”

“That’s fucked.”

“Yeah. Didn’t feel good. It got better…once I drew my lines in the sand, established what was necessary for me to know and what wasn’t. Like if Erin’s team goes rogue and tries to talk about you or if anyone who was working the wedding comes forward - they can’t and they won’t.” he says quickly. “They signed some pretty ironclad NDAs.”

“Oh.” you say, not sure how to process that. 

“Yeah. Now y’ know why I almost called you 8 times.” he says, pausing as a deep frown falls over his face. “I know I - last time we saw each other, I was angry and scared and snapped but…there was some truth to what I said. This bullshit never goes away with me. Not entirely. We can get good at tuning it out, but it’s always gonna be there. And I know it’s selfish of me to ask you to subject yourself -”

“Harry-”

“Just let me say this bit.” he says gently, cutting you off. “I know being with me has a price, however big or small you may think it is, it’s there. ‘nd I know you’ve experienced it as my friend but it’s…much different for who I’m dating, no matter how private we are. And I just want you to know that if it ever gets to be too much, I understand. I won’t hold it against you.” 

“This is a legitimate fear of yours? That I’ll leave if the attention gets to be too much?”

“I know you don’t pay attention to any of it - it’s one of the things that makes me feel so lucky with all of this, that you really couldn’t give a shit about that. That you just love me for me. But… it can seep into every aspect of your life and force you to make sacrifices you never planned on making.”

“And I think a part of me is scared that ‘m not worth all that.” he says. “That I won’t be good enough to you or for you to make up for how difficult I may make parts of your life. You deserve privacy and normalcy in a way I can’t provide. At least not all of the time. And I just need you to know that you always have an out.”

You stare at him for a moment, the determined, slightly defeated look in his eyes before you sit up, pulling your legs off his lap and crossing them in front of you on the couch, knees bumping against his thigh. You take his hand, holding it between both of yours.

“And I just need you to know that I’m never going to use it.” you say, rushing to keep talking when he opens his mouth. “I know I don’t know the full extent of what your world can feel like, being involved in it in this new way, but I can say for sure it’s never going to make me want to give you up. Or like, run away when the scrutiny gets too intense. This isn’t conditional, for me. I’d do a lot worse and sacrifice a lot more to get to have you like this. We’re in this together. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to want to.”

He stares at you, blinking rapidly as he takes a deep breath, squeezing your hand.

“Thank you.” he says softly, brow furrowing as his lip twitches, trying to hold his emotions in. “I don’t take that lightly, you know. And you can change your mind at any -”

“I’m not going to. Not about that. Not about you. I don’t want you constantly worrying that if something goes wrong with your public life, I’m gonna go. I won’t. That’s not going to happen. Those are easy sacrifices to make.”

He closes the distance between you before you even realize what’s happening, kissing you deeply as his hand cups your jaw. He gently pulls his other hand from yours, bringing it up to frame your face, thumbs brushing over your cheek when you sigh into his mouth. 

“Thank you.” he mumbles in between kisses. “Don’t know what I did to deserve…”

He shakes his head, eyes darting over your face before pressing his lips to yours once more, humming into the kiss. You just sit there and let yourself be kissed, head reeling from how good this all feels, how right, when he pulls back suddenly. 

“I don’t want it to be just you giving things up or changing things for me.” he says sincerely, eyes not wavering from yours. “Like y’ said, we’re in this together. I want to make sacrifices for you, too. I want to be meeting you in the middle.”

“That’s really good to hear.” you say solemnly, taking a deep breath. “Because the paps surrounding the nonprofit world can be vultures.” 

“Alright,” he says, rolling his eyes as he pinches your cheek before you swat his hand away. “Little jokester are ya?”

“It’s just so refreshing to finally be with someone willing to make those life changes for me.” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Your sincere facade lasts all of two seconds, shrieking as his hands fall to your sides, trying to jab the most ticklish spots he’s learned over the years. 

“The intense scrutiny that comes from being - ah! - with someone who sits at a desk for 8 hours writing proposals—”

“Are y' done?”

“I’ve got about 5 more minutes of material –” 

He honks out a laugh, pulling you across his lap with minimal struggle from you lying you flat on your back on the other end of the couch as he plants his hands on either side of your head.

“Here I am, baring my soul… telling y’ my deepest fears,” he says one hand coming to tickle at your side as you try to dodge him. “And you’re just taking the piss -”

“Oh my god -”

“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to be vulnerable again…” 

“Gonna nominate you for a BAFTA for this performance.”

“I’d like to thank the academy –”

“Alright, pal,” you laugh as you grab his wrist and pull, effectively knocking him off balance and he collapses onto you with a big “oof”, both of you giggling as you try to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe you tickled me.” you say, as he laughs against your neck. 

“Ah, but in a battle of wits against you, darling, I’m guaranteed to lose. I needed backup.” he says, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “All hands on deck.”

You sputter out a laugh at that, warmth rushing through you as you look over at him, the wide grin on his face, the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs with you. It wasn’t even that funny, it was just so stupid, so him, said with such sincerity it makes your heart race. You can’t stop replaying his line delivery as another wave of laughter rolls through you. 

“You are such an idiot.” you laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, might be.” he says with a shrug, eyes twinkling as he looks at you. “But I think I’d say just about anything to make y’ laugh like that.” 

You can’t stop the smile that grows on your face, his words rendering you speechless, warmth blooming on your cheeks as the laughter all but dies in your throat when you take in the way he’s looking back at you. 

“‘S my favorite sound.” he says, so softly it��s almost to himself as he leans in, eyes locked on your mouth before they drift up, smiling when you lock eyes. You lean up to close the distance between you, running your fingers through his hair as he hums into the kiss, his hand slowly sliding up and down your arm as your lips slide against each other. It’s soft, warm, reverential, this kiss. 

You pull back slowly as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, pulling you back to him, mumbling “‘m not done yet” against your mouth.

He kisses you slowly, his hand a steady presence against your jaw as his lips drag against yours, smiling against your lips with you let out a little sigh, tilting his head to get the angle right. You’re practically melting against the couch, every kiss feeling better than the last.

He pulls away, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back to look at you, warm eyes slowly passing over your features. 

“That got ya to stop teasing me, didn’t it?” he says, leaning back in to plant kisses along your cheek. 

“Mm, much more effective than tickling.”

“Mutually beneficial as well.” he says, laughing when you do before pulling back to grin at you. 

You shake your head at him, a mumbled “idiot” leaving your lips though your smile detracts any potential sting of your words. 

“Yours.” he murmurs, kissing you softly. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek before scootching down the couch a little, getting comfortable as he lays his head on your chest, arms wrapping around you as his legs intertwine with yours. Your hand comes up to play with his hair, scratching at his scalp as he hums.

“This couch is kinda small for those long legs of yours.”

“Nah, I like it.” he says, wiggling his hips for emphasis, making you snort. “‘S cozy. ”

“It’s nice, innit?” you say, as he hums, hand squeezing your waist. 

You lay there for a bit, playing with his hair in comfortable silence. It’s so nice, being with him like this, two of you able to just enjoy each other's company, having each other close after all this time. You don’t want to disturb the peace, but curiosity is gnawing at you.  

“Could you tell me more about what you’ve been up to?” you ask softly. “Gonna depress me if I keep thinking about you being stuck in those bloody meetings. Did it ever ease up or am I going to have to beat someone up?”

“Defending my honor, are ya?”

“Always.” 

“My girl.” he says with a grin, before taking a deep breath, squinting off into space as he thinks through his next words. “It definitely got better… especially when Jeff and Sadie took over that side of things, knowing to only contact me if things got bad, which they didn’t. Let me deal with the aftermath of the wedding and breakup like a human ‘nd not a machine.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, was nice to finally realize that I - I can’t be everything to everyone all the time. To, like release that standard I always held myself to felt really good.” he says, the look on his face making your heart clench. “Was able to really think about what I want and who I want to be for the first time in ages.” 

“That's what you deserve, you know.” you say softly. “A life lived for you and not for anyone else. It’s what you’ve always deserved.” 

You can see the emotion pass over his face as he clears his throat, propping himself up on an elbow and leaning back against the couch cushions to get a good look at your face. He takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. 

“Thanks, baby.” he says, taking a deep breath as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. “Was good to finally have the time to realize that. To start to figure out how to do that… I didn’t have to work at all - I had taken that time off for the wedding and um, honeymoon and haven’t had that much time off in about a decade -  to just like be with myself for any amount of time longer than a couple of hours was a bit of a mindfuck. Lasted about a week before I called Tom up.” he says with a sheepish laugh, leaning into your hand when you run it through his hair. 

“Some things never change.” you say as he hums in agreement, before his brow furrows as he thinks through what he’s going to say next. 

“I just - I spent my time working on myself in a way I’ve never had time to do before. Working on being a better friend, going to therapy to really unpack everything I’ve been through. Was definitely scary and challenging in a way I hadn’t expected, to face the truth of everything and really reflect on the past year I had, all the things I’d been running from. Got more in touch with myself than I have in years and it…” he pauses, looking up at you, eyes flitting over your features as he inhales deeply through his nose. 

“It made me so grateful for the present moment and for the people I have in my life, my relationships with my family ‘nd friends ‘nd…you. Especially you. I really needed that time to get closure on a lot of things. Still a work in progress, like y’ said, but it was a good start. Made it easier to deal with the logistics stuff - like moving out of the place Erin and I had in Kensington.”

“Oh shit. How was that?”

“Was… okay.” he says.  “Erin really wants nothing to do with me right now, which I understand, so it was mostly handled by our assistants, as mad as that sounds. So Joanna really did most of the work and I was able to stay out of it. Was weird but… it never felt like home, that place. None of that really did. Or it did for the beginning but stopped feeling like it far earlier than I was willing to admit.”

“So you haven’t talked with Erin at all?”

“No, not directly, just through our teams and stuff.” he says. “I would’ve loved to have a chat about everything but when she tried to go after you that changed things for me. But… I also know that what I did really hurt her and she doesn’t owe me her forgiveness or anything. I think how we’ve been doing things - just through our teams - is the best way for now.”

“Right. That makes sense”

“How’s all that been for you?” he asks. “I know it was rough for both of us to come to terms with, starting this relationship like that.”

“Yeah it … I don’t know, it’s definitely easier than it was. Think the amount of time that’s passed since that weekend really helped,” you say. “Like the nagging guilt that was there for that first month has mostly faded. Think I’ve gotten better at coming to terms with the fact that what’s done is done and I can’t change the past or rewrite our history. And now it doesn’t feel like a shadow over this, or something holding us back. It feels more like we can just be us. Which just feels… so good and right and ….”

You cut yourself off, nose scrunching as you try to hold your emotions in, his hand squeezing yours in encouragement. 

“Feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.” you say softly, voice cracking with emotion as a wide smile grows across your face. He just looks at you, his own eyes filled with emotion as they graze over your features carefully, reverently. 

“‘M coming over there.”

“Over where?! You are already on top of me -” 

“Not all the way give me a mo -” he says, sliding over you until his head is right above yours, bringing one hand up to cup your face, open emotion on his face. 

“I… I feel so ready to be in this with you ‘nd ‘m so grateful you chose me. Don’t really know what I did to deserve any of it but I … thank you for giving me that time and space and sticking with me through this.”

“H, I was never gonna go anywhere.”

“No, I know I just… Being with you feels different than anything I’ve never experienced before ‘nd I am just…” he cuts himself off, taking a shaky breath before shaking his head, leaning in to kiss you. 

“Bloody in love with you.” he says against your mouth, diving in to capture your lips once more before you can even respond. His thumb brushes along your cheek as he drags his lips against your, kissing you reverently while holding you tight against him. 

He pulls back slowly, his lips kissing a line up your face before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, lightly panting against your mouth.

“Love you, too.” you whisper, the words hardly capturing how this moment feels or how you feel about him. The love flowing through you stronger than you’ve ever felt it before. Heartbeats syncing up as you hold each other close. Finally.

“Alright, your turn.” he says after a while, settling back down with his head on your chest. 

“My turn? H, I already –”

“C’mon love I just talked for ages, ‘m sure you still got some stories for me.”

“Pressure is on, okay…oh !” you say, smiling at the eager look on his face as you start to tell him about a particularly wild night out you had with your mates a few weeks back, that almost ended with Jenna getting a few stitches at the A&E, living for how along for the ride he is, reacting at all the right spots. He’s always been your favorite person to tell stories to; no one listens with quite the same intensity as he does, no pay off feels better than shocking a laugh out of him.

You swap stories from there, him telling you the hijinks that him, Tom and Tyler got up to, his long phone calls he had with his mum, you tell him how you parents cried even when you gave them the bare minimum about what was going on with you two, how Roxy tackled you to the ground when she found out, how Archie threatened him. He starts to launch into a story about a very stoned writing session him and Tyler had and you’re listening, you swear you are…it’s just you hadn’t really slept very well last night and his voice is so soothing, his body so warm, you can feel the vibrations of his voice and you try to stay awake, you do, but you can feel your eye drift shut…  

“Falling asleep on me?” he asks, hand brushing through your hair as you quickly blink your eyes open. 

“No, no I’m not -”

“Baby -”

“‘S just … you’re so warm and your voice is so nice.” your words were slurring a bit but you were too tired to fix it. “Just didn’t sleep a lot last night. Was too excited.”

“To see me?”

“Felt like Christmas.” you mumble, your exhaustion erasing any possible brain to mouth filter. 

“Oh angel,” he says, kissing your forehead as his hands draw up and down your arms. “Want to go to bed?”

“Noo, want to stay right here. Keep talking, I’m listening..”

“Okay,” he says with a chuckle, “Hang on, then.”

He wraps one arm around you and plants the other on the couch, gently flipping the two of you over so you’re laying on his chest as he lays against the pillows. You sigh sleepily, nuzzling your head into his chest. He’s got one arm behind his head and the other brushing up and down your back. “‘S better, isn’t it?”

“Mmmf” you mumble, words failing you at this point, your attempt at being awake slipping through your fingers. 

He kisses your forehead, picking up right where he left off in the story. You think. You could feel yourself start to nod off again, trying to shake yourself out of it but everything felt so comfortable, so right…

When you open your eyes, it’s morning. And you’re in bed. How did you…?

You slowly shift, trying to get more oriented to the day as you squint into the early light, looking over to see him sound asleep, stretched out next to you and - oh. 

Hazy memories of last night fill your head, of him softly telling you to go back to sleep as he carried you - he carried you?! - from the couch to the bed, strong arms looped under your knees and back, holding you tight against his chest as his lips brushed against your hairline. Memories of him whispering “I love you” as he slid next to you in bed, memories of you grunting back at him, his soft laughter against your neck as he pulled you closer.

It makes you flush, warmth flowing through every fiber of your being. You quietly slip out from under the covers, careful not to wake him as you slip out of your room and into the washroom to quickly brush your teeth, heart fluttering as the memories from last night swirl around in your head. You head back to your room and lean against the doorframe for a moment, just watching him. The man you love, the boy you’ve always loved, asleep in your bed. Your boyfriend. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you bite down on the wide smile growing across your face. God, you love him. You really, really love him. 

You pad over to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling off your joggers and tossing them on the floor. You slide a knee up and over the bed until you’re straddling him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Good morning,” you whisper and he snuffles sleepily, one arm instinctively coming up to wrap around your waist as he grunts. You stretch out so you’re laying on top of him, kissing a line up his neck, his arm sliding up to hold you close as he turns his head into the pillow, eyes still closed. 

“H.” you whisper and he grunts and you laugh against his skin, kissing along his jaw. “Did you carry me to bed last night?”

He peeks one eye open at you, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks that makes your heart skip a beat, his hand coming up to rub his eyes as he shrugs. 

“Yeah. You were dead to the world, love.”

“So you carried me?”

“Should’ve left you out there if I knew you were gonna tease me about it –”

“No no no” you say quickly, grabbing his face in both hands, as he blinks sleepily back at you, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, leaning in as you whisper: “Thank you.” 

You kiss him softly, his hand around your back pulling you impossibly closer as you drag your lips against his. You’re murmuring thank yous, love yous in between kisses, feeling delirious with how much you want him. How much you need him. You rake your hands into his hair as you deepen the kiss, heat searing through you when he groans into your mouth. 

“It's so crazy,” you say when you pull away, relishing the dazed look in his eyes, the way his gaze keeps falling back to your lips. “That you just look like this and it isn’t even the best thing about you.”

“Baby - “

“I’m serious, it's like… I fell in love with your heart and your mind and your stupid sense of humor and how patient you are, how kind,” you say, your fingers running through his hair, heart clenching when he leans into your touch. “And then you had to go and grow up like this with a six pack and these bloody arms and that face - it’s my favorite face. God, you’re maddening.” 

You drag your hands down from his hair to his chest, resting on the muscles there, drawing mindless patterns, stomach twisting when his eyes darken. His hand slides up your back and rests on the back of your neck.

“C’mere.” his voice comes out as deep as gravel, pulling you towards him and kissing you hard. You feel overwhelmed with your love for him, each slide of his lips against yours making you dig your hands into his chest as you slowly rock your hips against his, consumed by need.

“What’s gotten into y’ this morning?” he pants out when you pull away, kissing along his neck down to his shoulders, tongue darting out to taste the skin. 

“Woke up with you in my bed,” you say, lips dragging against his skin, your words reminiscent of his that first morning in Italy. “Looking this good. Driving me mental.”

“Yeah? Tell me.” he rasps out, hand sliding up into your hair as you start to kiss along his tattoos, stopping amongst your favorites to suck a mark into the skin. “Love hearing what I do t’ you.”

“Just keep remembering how it felt to be wrapped up in your arms yesterday,” you say, lips dragging across his skin. “Felt so nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm, but it’s… nothing compared to how it feels when you grab a hold of me with your hands.” you say, “Know it's archaic but something about you getting possessive gets me so hot.”

“Gets you wet, doesn’t it?” he rumbles out, his hands sliding up and down your body, squeezing at all the right places as you gasp against his skin. “‘S cause I like taking hold of what’s mine.”

You can’t help the moan that escapes you at that, rocking your hips down against his, feeling him get hard for you. His hands slide down to grab your ass, smirking at you when you lock eyes and you just want to wreck him.

“And your tattoos…thought they were so stupid at first,” you say, focusing back on the task at hand as he huffs a laugh, his hand sliding up into your hair and pulling as you bite down on a cluster on his arm, tongue smoothing over the skin. “And now…”

“Now?” he says, his breath coming in a bit more ragged, the audible effect you’re having on him making heat surge through you as you look up at him. 

“Wanna get my mouth on all of them.”

A groan punches out of him as he pulls your head back up to his to kiss you deeply. It’s rough and messy from the start, his other hand sliding up your legs to your hips, encouraging their rolls against his. You moan into his mouth as his tongue sweeps over yours. You know you could get lost in this sensation, the way his breath stutters against your mouth when you grind your hips just so, how he pulls a bit harder on your hair when you kiss him deep, the feeling of his big, warm hands on you. But you’re a woman on a mission here. 

You pull back slowly, kissing a line down his jaw, hands drawing mindless circles against his chest, feeling the way it’s warming under your touch, the way his heart is racing. You slide down his body, taking the sheet with you as your lips drag against his chest, taking your time to stop and suck a mark on each tattoo that adorns his chest, stopping when you get to the laurels on his hips, lips dancing against his skin as you wrap your hand around his cock, already halfway hard and waiting for you. 

He inhales deeply the second your hand makes contact, a hissed “fuck” leaving his lips as you slide further down the bed, settling between his thighs, lips dragging from his hips to kiss a line up his cock. You look up at him as you pump your hand, taking in the flush crawling up his neck, the way his chest is heaving, how he bites at his lip, his hooded eyes never leaving your face. 

You kiss the tip, tongue splaying out to take him into your mouth. His head slams back against the pillows, long neck straining as he inhales sharply through his nose. From this angle, you can see your handiwork, the bruises starting to bloom on his skin, proof that you were there. That he’s yours for the taking. The thought makes you moan around his cock as you suck more of him into your mouth, a trail of expletives leaving his mouth at the sensation as his arm falls over his eyes.

You pull off with a louder than intended slurp, keeping your eyes on him as you drag kisses up and down his length. 

“Don’t you want to watch me?” you ask, as your tongue darts out to lick along his vein. A groan punches out of his chest as his arm falls to his side, other hand coming up to slide your hair away from your face and stays there, a steady presence on the back of your head, never pushing down, just holding tight. 

“Fuck, baby” he grunts out. “Look so good -”  

He cuts himself off with a moan as you take him in your mouth again, his blown eyes locking with yours, flitting down to your mouth and back again. You watch him watch you before you have to close your eyes, getting lost in the taste of him, the sounds he’s making, how he feels in your hands, your mouth. Heat sears through you and you can feel how wet you’re getting, just at having him like this, like putty in your hands, every flick of your tongue drawing a new sound out of him. 

You keep one hand on him as you close your eyes, working him further down into your mouth, gagging slightly when he hits the back of your throat, his hand tightening in your hair as he grunts,  tongue flicking along the vein running up the underside of his cock, other hand falling to gently cup his balls.

“Oh shit - angel, just like that -”

You open your eyes, blinking away the tears, taking him into the back of your throat again just to watch the way his face crumples, flush spreading across his cheeks as he looks back at you, eyes the darkest you’ve ever seen them, chest heaving. 

You pull off again, tongue flicking up and down his cock as you catch your breath, continuing to pump him as his head falls back to the pillow, mouth open as he pants for air. 

“Can y’ get back on me, love? ‘M so close - gonna - yes.” he moans when you take him down once more, sucking hard and pumping your hand once and that’s all it takes for him to shoot off into your mouth, lips tightening as you swallow it down, feeling his eyes on you as you close your eyes and give one final suck, pulling off slowly. 

You sit back on your heels, licking your lips before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You hear a soft groan and look up to see his eyes peeking at you from where he had thrown his arm over his head, his chest moving rapidly up and down as he tried to catch his breath. He looks wrecked, something that fills you with pride even as you absolutely ache for him. You shift a bit, able to feel yourself dripping through your underwear as you rub your hands up and down his legs.

“Y’ got me good. Fuck.” he says, making you snort. His arm falls to his side, eyes taking you in fully as he slowly gathers his bearings. “Where did that come from?”

You shrug, squeezing his thigh. “Missed you. Was a long two months”

“Gonna have me leaving more often if that’s how you welcome me home.” 

“Noooo,” you say, crawling your way back up his body and planking over him, his dark eyes gazing up at you, the flush on his cheeks not yet faded. You did that.  His hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, his thumb dragging down your cheek. “Please don’t.”

“Not going anywhere, not gonna leave you again,” he says, muttering utter nonsense as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down for a kiss, “C’mere.”

It’s rough and wet from the start, his tongue swiping over yours, moaning the second he can taste himself on your tongue. 

“Fuck you’re so fit,” he says, pulling back to kiss any part of your face he could touch as he sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you sit in his lap. He grabs the hem of your shirt, shaking it in frustration, “Get this off.”

You reach down and pull your shirt off, his eyes immediately falling to your chest, hands sliding up your back as he kisses down your chest, one hand squeezing your breast while he sucks your other nipple into his mouth, biting down lightly when you moan. He switches sides, each drag of his tongue hurtling you towards the edge. You’ve been on fire since you first put your mouth on him, feeling closer to your high than ever. 

“These too.” he says, hand sliding down to snap the waistband of your underwear, helping you lean back to pull them off, settling you back on his lap once they’re gone. 

“Said you liked my tattoos, yeah?” he says, kissing a line down your neck, sucking at the skin as you nod. He pulls back to look at your face, leaning in to kiss you before biting your lip and pulling away, hands squeezing your arse. “Sit on my tiger, love.”

He shifts you onto his thigh, flexing the muscle, both of you moaning when you’re seated. You are soaked, moreso than you thought, and the feeling of his hairy thigh right against your dripping core sends heat down your spine. His hands fall to your hips, encouraging you to roll against him.

“Tha’s it. Ride my thigh, baby.” he says, one hand sliding down to grip at your ass as his lips fall to your neck. “Did y’ like having me in your mouth? Looked like y’ did…feels like y’ did.”

“H, I -” you gasped out, hands digging into his shoulders as you found your rhythm, each drag of your hips sending you closer to the edge. “‘M so wet -”

“Know y’ are, can feel it -” he groans, “Gonna make a mess on me?”

“Fucking - shit.” you moan, one hand sliding up into his hair and pulling at the strands as you grind down hard, stomach twisting as a wave of pleasure rolls through you. 

“Feels good, yeah?” he mumbles against your skin, biting down when you gasp. “Y’ can push down a little harder, love - yeah tha’s it, baby. Go after it for me.”

Your mind is hazy, the movement of your hips getting sloppy as you get closer to the edge. You pulled his head up to yours, kissing him deeply, moaning into his mouth when both of his hands slid down to grip your bum, heat flowing through every part of your body as you pant against his lips. 

“I’m close - I-”

“C’mon angel, come for me. Soak that tiger -”

“Fuck -” you moan, hands pulling on his hair as you come, feeling him groan against you as you rode out your high. You slump into him once you’re done, breathing heavily onto his neck. He shifts you so you’re sat fully in his lap, hands sliding up your back, rubbing soothing patterns as he kisses along your hairline, mumbling praise into your hair. 

He kisses down the side of your face and you pull back to stare at him, both of you smiling when you lock eyes. He holds your chin in between his pointer finger and thumb, pulling you into him as he kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls kiss after kiss from you, the two of you getting lost in each other as you come back down to earth. 

You pull back slowly, his lips drifting to your cheek, your temple, your nose, as he pulls his head back to look at you, soft smile on his face, light sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Love you,” you whisper.

“Love you so much,” he says, planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth, to your cheek before pulling away, emotion clouding over his face.

“Y’ missed a spot,” he says softly, eyes widening when you thumb at the corner of your mouth. “No - Jesus - i didn’t mean -” 

He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, looking down at his lap before looking back at you, his expression almost unreadable. He seems nervous, though you’ve got no clue why. You slide a hand up into his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp while he gathers his thoughts.

“Meant with the um, tattoos.” he says, rubbing at his nose with his knuckle as he clears his throat. “Y’ missed one.”

“Pretty sure I got all of them.”

“Nah,” he says with a light shake of his head. “Got a new one.”

“What?!” you say, mouth dropping in shock, both hands immediately grabbing his arm, poring over the countless tattoos to see how you missed one. “Where? Oh shit - am I like, sat on it?”

“Nooo,” he says, laughter punching through his words, though his eyes remain focused on you, soft and full of love, you’re so busy trying to find the new tattoo you’re barely paying attention. “Other arm, love.”

“You barely have any on that arm - how did I miss it?” you say, already grabbing for that other arm, looking up at him when he doesn’t move it towards you.

“‘M mean, it’s quite small and a bit hidden -”

“Oh my god,” you say, swatting at his chest, “Let me see it!” 

He slowly lifts his arm up and there, right on his inner bicep, is his new tattoo.

It’s like all the air got sucked out of the room, your eyes hardly believing what they’re seeing, your heart skipping a beat. It’s a single letter, just your first initial like the ones he has for his mum and sister but this one is different…the font is different. It’s - oh. 

It’s in your handwriting. 

“Know it’s not much -” he starts to say before you blindly cover his mouth with your hand, refusing to take your eyes off the tattoo for one second. He huffs a laugh against your palm, pressing a kiss to it and keeping his mouth shut. His eyes are burning holes in the side of your face but you can’t look away from his arm. From your initial on his arm. A permanent tattoo of your initial on his arm.

There’s no redness, no raised skin, so he must have had it for a while, a thought that sends butterflies through your stomach. 

“When did you get this?” 

“‘Bout a month ago. Two hours after you called me, give or take.” he says, and you look over at him, the open affection on his face knocking the wind out of you, tears pricking your eyes. 

“Is that -” you say, swallowing heavily against the wave of emotion flowing through you, “That’s my handwriting, yeah?”

He nods. “From a birthday card y’ wrote me ages ago. Always loved how you signed your name.”

You just look at him and back at his arm, biting down on your lip. It’s not to say that any of this felt temporary, you had no doubts you were both in this for the long haul, there is just something about the permanence of a tattoo for you on his skin that is making your head whirl in the best possible way.

“D’ you like it?” he asks quietly and you pull your eyes away to face him once again, his thumb coming up to brush away the tears that start to fall from your eyes. “Are y’ crying because it’s ugly and y’ hate it?”

You shake your head, biting at your lip as any words you try to come up with to describe this feeling inside you feel utterly inadequate.

“Know it’s small but I wanted to have something just for me, that only I could see most of th’ time. To remind me of you, to have with me wherever I go.”

“On your skin. Forever.”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Forever. After that conversation we had … think I’ve always been a bit scared of permanence, feeling trapped in something, always thinking of what else is out there. There’s none of that, with you. No fear. Just feel so bloody excited, to get to be with you and know and love you in this new way.”

“Me too.” you say, heart racing at the smile that grows on his face. “I love the tattoo.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, sliding one hand up into his hair, taking a deep breath, wanting to get this right. You have time to tell him how you feel now. There’s no looming party guests, nothing you’re hiding from, nothing you’re rushing to. It’s you and him, with all the time in the world. 

“When I confessed my feelings the first time, felt like I rushed it a bit. Didn’t mean to say it out loud and just told you you’re my favorite person about eight times.”

“No complaints here,” he says, his shining eyes not once drifting away from yours.

“Yeah but I want to say more this time. You are my best friend and my favorite person.” you say, heart fluttering when he smiles so wide his dimple pops out. “And… I’ve spent most of my life loving you and thought I had a pretty good handle on what that felt like, what it meant to be utterly in love with you. But after these last few months… turns out I’ve been barely scratching the surface. I can’t believe the amount of love I feel for you - I’ve never felt like this with anyone before and to have it be with you…not sure there are words for it, really. I think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You see the way your words hit him, tears clouding his eyes as he tightens his mouth in an attempt to hold it all in, looking at you in awe, in love. Nothing but love. 

You lean in at the same time, mouths connecting in a sweet kiss, arms holding each other tight, as close as you can possibly be. In disbelief that you’re here, marveling at how far you’ve come from that courtyard, reveling in the feeling of his mouth on yours, his hands sliding over your skin. Thinking back to those two kids dancing together in the school gym, the two 22 year old best friends fighting in the pub for reasons you couldn’t decipher, stares lingering at his mum’s birthday years later for reasons you refused to admit.  

The one who tried to be your first kiss when you were thirteen but got too nervous, who held you when your granddad died, who called you from across an ocean when the pressure got too much, who cried in the courtyard when you told him you loved him the night before his wedding, who knocked on your hotel room door at four in the morning to say, “‘m leaving and I want you to come with me.”, the one who made love to you in his bedroom in Italy, the one who held you in your tiny kitchen and made your relationship official, the one who has a tattoo for you on his arm, permanent. Yours. Yours. Yours.

You pull away slowly, wide smiles and tear tracks covering both of your faces, cheeks flushed and eyes full of love. He nudges his nose against yours, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling back.

“You and me, yeah?” he whispers, arms holding you so carefully, strongly, tightly. 

“Yeah,” you say, leaning in to kiss him again and again and again. “You and me.”

----

a/n: holy fucking shit can we believe it?! man how deeeply i appreciate all of you who have waited this long for this part, i worked on it for months and truly cant believe its here, lots of days felt like it was never going to come together. endless gratitude for everyone who reads and loves them like i do and was nagging me to keep working on it. there is still more of their story to tell that i wasnt possibly going to add on too this 20k saga so ill see u at the epilogue <3. never spent more time on a piece of writing in my life, pleease let me know what you think. ily ily ily.

taglist: @tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen,

[mixelation]

for the reborn au: how will Itachi deal with being a dad?

the idea of itachi as a "dad" is so weird it took me a hot second to realize you meant him and his Illegal Test Tube Baby, Kushina Jr.

So, I think Itachi is someone who thinks he likes children (but in practice doesn't really enjoy non-Sasuke kids). In canon I think he definitely wouldn't want to have his own kids, but I don't think he's totally turned off by the idea. Maybe his pacifist life fantasies occasionally include a kid. Or maybe just like a cute neighbor kid he can talk to sometimes. This means that, in a universe where his life is more stable and people are actively expecting him to pop out an heir, he's able to make peace with the idea of having kids.

I talked about this before, but I think Itachi is more likely to form an attachment to kids that he can conceptualize as not being his. Sasuke's kid? Shisui's kid? He will Uncle them so hard. I think he's more likely to bond with his own kid if he thinks of them as a product of his beloved partner than his own. Not that he'd dislike his own kid-- he already resolved to have the mandatory heir and attempt to raise it well-- it's just... weird. With the test tube baby, from his POV.... it sort of feels like Tori went off and adopted a new puppy. He knew it was happening. He donated half the DNA. He's seen the test tube. He read a bunch of safety evaluations for cribs. It's still VERY WEIRD when a whole ass baby comes home one day. He's not like "oh gross, a mini-me," but Tori is his platonic friend SLASH life teammate he decided to move in with permanently and not his cherished lover, so he doesn't instantly fall in love with the baby. It's.... a process.

(I think at this point Itachi and Tori have to have some genuine affection for each other, so the idea of a tiny Tori IS funny/cute, it's just not like how I'd write him having a kid with a more romantic partner.)

The danger with giving Itachi kids, I think, is that he has a lot of anxiety over people he loves being taken away or killed by the ongoing horrors of the ninja world. That's why he makes a bunch of Insane Choices about Sasuke: if he can't completely control his loved ones, he will force them to be as strong and resilient as he thinks they need to be. The good news is that in the Reborn AU:

He's an adult and not a teenager, so his bad decisions and life philosophy have slightly more wisdom.

There are a lot fewer terrifying forces outside of his control that he can use to project anxiety onto his helpless little test tube baby.

There are a lot more people he can trust to have his (and therefore his kid's) back. This doesn't necessarily include his parents, but it definitely includes Shisui and Sasuke, and probably the rest of Team 4. All these people can also theoretically stop him from being insane. :)

So I think Itachi would have high standards for his kid, in part because Itachi forgets what normal people are like, and then in part because his kid being a good ninja eases his anxiety. BUT he's in a place where he doesn't feel the need to push them beyond what would be healthy for the kid. Like he would prefer they be able to best him in single combat at 10, but also he recognizes this is unrealistic. I can see him having to be reminded to compliment his kid for getting good grades, but I don't think he'd be like. Horrible.

All that being said, I don't think either him OR Tori completely conceptualized "making an illegal test tube baby means we have to take care of a baby now." Partly because if no one actually gets pregnant... you can just go home for the night and forget about how you have a baby in the works. So the learning curve is high and also very confusing the first couple years, in part because like. Navigating a baby is very different from from navigating a deep conspiracy to get rid of Danzo or a fake romantic relationship. And there's suddenly? A whole ass new human?? Who you named Kushina Jr for SOME REASON

[sophieinwonderland]

I think a lot of community infighting among oppressed people is manufactured by bad actors to destabilize the power we have in our numbers. It's a lot easier to divide and conquer, so to speak. If our communities are fractured and we're driving each other away over who "qualifies" to be in the community, it'll be a cinch to win people over to conservatism, either because those people were made into outcasts by their community or because they couldn't get rid of the "undesirables and fakers" and just decided it wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

The best part (for those manufacturing the drama) is that the only thing they have to do is sow doubt in a few places, and the rest is done by people who bought into the bullshit. We saw a lot of this during the ace discourse heyday, and it works so well that the pattern is almost identical across so many different discourse topics.

"X isn't really a part of our community. They're actually fakers. Even if they're not faking, it's possible for them to conceal their identity and appear as if they aren't one of us [often not by choice or because being open about it would be dangerous], which means they have privilege over us and are an enemy."

With the ace discourse, we got such gems as "aspec actually means autism spectrum and using it to mean anything else is ableist," and "asexules actually just means sexualities in Spanish, ignore the fact that the asexual flag is right there," among other things. And it worked. A lot of us aspec folks felt unsafe enough that we went back into the closet. It wasn't even until recently that I felt safe enough to come to the realization that I'm aroace.

I saw someone not that long ago chastising transgender people for marking trumeds on shinigami eye as unsafe because "well they're not entirely transphobic, just misguided," which I thought was ridiculous. If someone is going around saying, "transtrenders are stealing our resources, those icky trans people who make their gender their whole identity shouldn't get to sit with us," that person is being transphobic. Even if they wise up and grow past that hatred and internalized bigotry, and there's a lot riding on that "if," they're still not a safe person for a good portion of trans people to be around. Hence, the marking them as unsafe.

So yeah, that's my conspiracy theory. There's like a formula for this shit, down to the smallest detail.

Thanks for the addition!

This... weirdly reminds me of that anti-endo who was theorizing that endogenic systems were a psyop meant to sow division.

That's not an insult. I actually... kind of enjoyed reading that theory, even if it was totally wrong. (As a system who definitely has no trauma and is still plural, I can confirm that we're not a psyop.)

I just find it interesting how similar your minds work. 😜

But I mean, when it comes to conservatives, you're also definitely not wrong in many cases! There are some conservative aggravators out there who will adopt progressive language to disguise hate, preaching values they don't truly believe in to sow division. And I wouldn't be shocked if you were right about it happening in the ace discourse.

I have a harder time believing that it's happening in syscourse though, just because of how niche the community is. While I hope things will change in the coming years, right now, I don't think we're even on the radars of 99% of conservatives.

With the ace discourse, we got such gems as "aspec actually means autism spectrum and using it to mean anything else is ableist," and "asexules actually just means sexualities in Spanish, ignore the fact that the asexual flag is right there," among other things.

It's actually eerie how similar the playbooks are. The whole "Aspec means autism" claim sounds exactly like the "system hopping was stolen from RAMCOA systems" lie. I wonder if we're just destined to eternally repeat history in different marginalized communities.

But can I ask what the deal was with the Spanish one? I'm confused on how that was even supposed to be a gotcha or what the argument was there.

Again, thanks for sharing your thoughts. And let me also say that I'm glad the infighting with exclusionists has settled down enough that you feel safe being out. Hopefully that bodes well for the plural community getting to a point where it's safer for endogenic systems.

[hamofjustice]

Nemona the Unrivaled

Chapter 2: An Open Window

Info / Chapter Select: here

Nemona and her Cyclizar zoomed down the dirt road through the beautiful Poco Path, past its assorted curious little wild Pokemon, accompanied by the considerably less beautiful slapping sound of Cyclizar’s rubbery paw pads...

When there was a violet flash in the sky above.

A strange shiny purple thing with what looked like yellow wings or fins was falling out of the sky right towards them. A Pokemon they’d never seen before? Some kind of fallen spacecraft? An oncoming missile?! Cyclizar slowed down and backed off and Nemona shielded her face with her arm...

...But whatever it was disappeared from sight behind a cliff down to the beach, without a splash or explosion or anything -- it must’ve landed quietly in the sand. Everything weighing on Nemona’s mind before was forgotten for the time being as she fully committed to investigating this, feeling renewed by the curiosity. Was whatever this was fate? She dismounted Cyclizar in front of a broken cliffside guardrail fence and they peeked over the edge together to check out the beach below.

A purple metallic... Pokemon? Pokemon, with four large silver paws and a very long silver tail, was indeed lying in the sand, looking like it was hurt or passed out. Nemona thought it looked pretty awesome and powerful, but she knew it wasn't the time to focus on that. A pack of Houndour ran out onto the beach from a nearby cave to surround the mysterious creature.

“OYEEE!! Leave that thing alone!” she shouted down at them, cupping her palms like a megaphone as if a group of wild Pokemon were just going to listen to her that easily. When they predictably did not, she quickly returned Cyclizar to its Ball in exchange for her Kilowattrel, and rode the large, imposing electric seagull down to the beach below. The last time she tried jumping off and relying on her Rotom Phone to slow her momentum like some daredevil trainers did, she couldn’t use her arms for a couple days.

Nemona hopped off her Pokemon’s back onto the sand and backed off, giving it the space it needed to drive the Houndour pack back into the cave by threatening to use Discharge. Meanwhile, she ran over to check out the status of the violet beast from the sky. It seemed like a robot, covered in lights and sparkly bits that were flickering and going out, with what seemed to be... an LCD display for eyes? Yet it also had the presence and fluid motions of a living and breathing creature -- a very weak, barely conscious one. It looked a bit like a bigger Cyclizar, with riding gear as a part of its body (as well as those silly jet engines Team Star punks loved strapping onto them). It was definitely like nothing Nemona had ever seen in real life before, only in sci-fi or those weird conspiracy magazines. What the heck was she looking at? More importantly... was it gonna be okay?

“Hey, buddy... hey... you alright? Need help? Huhhh...?” Nemona asked gently, trying her best to sound like she was soothing a baby and not let her worry for its safety (or her own) seep into her voice. She was pretty sure she shouldn’t try to touch it just yet, given she had no idea what it could do if it felt threatened. Kilowattrell returned to Nemona’s side, ready to intervene if anything happened. Nemona’s composure didn’t last long, as this potentially being a critical situation she was now responsible for began to sink in. “Uh... okay, um, um... Hey, are you hurt anywhere?”

“... Gia...” it muttered.

Okay, that was a response, but it seemed too tired to move. Hopefully that weak cry meant ‘no’. Nemona pulled a Hyper Potion out of her bag and thought for a moment, then shook her head and put it back. Not yet. She rummaged around a bit more before pulling out a baggie of Sitrus Berries instead. It was amazing how much stuff someone could fit into the backpacks and satchel bags Trainers typically wore. “You want some of theeese, bud?” she asked temptingly as she held a couple of the healing fruits out in front of what appeared to be its snout, realizing a bit too late that it might bite her fingers. It sniffed a few times, then slowly scooped the Berries into its mouth with an unsettlingly organic lavender tongue. Gross, but lucky.

After a slow gulp and a few moments of suspense, the semi-robotic creature slowly rose to sit on its haunches. That seemed to have done the trick.

“Agias...”

Kilowattrel spread its wings and squawked in celebration. “SkreEEK!”

“Woorgh.” the violet beast responded, wincing away from Kilowattrel’s volume.

Nemona offered it a third berry. “There ya go, that’s it... feel a little better, amigo?”

The lizard-thing scarfed that one down more eagerly than the others, then stood on all fours and gazed up... longingly? at one of the steep cliffs above them.

“Huh? What’re you lookin’ at?” Nemona asked as she wiped off her slobbery hand on her shorts. She noticed an empty Poke Ball sitting in the sand and picked it up for good luck -- she always had trouble resisting picking up random stuff she saw on the ground -- then craned her neck up to follow the beast’s gaze. “The lighthouse?”

“Agias!” it barked eagerly. ‘Lighthouse’ definitely seemed to be a word it knew.

“You wanna go up there?” She asked, pointing upward. “And... I guess you probably can’t fly anymore. Hmm... I don’t think I have any Pokemon with me that could carry a big fella like you, sooo... uh... Oh, we’ll go through this cave over here, okay?” She continued, pointing to the large opening the Houndour came from, then tracing her finger back up to the lighthouse in case that wasn’t clear enough. “My Pokemon are pretty strong, we’ll protect you, no problem!” she promised with a fist pump.

“Woorgh. Agias.”

The mysterious Pokemon turned toward the cave and seemed to agree to follow Nemona through it. She decided the tunnels might be a little too cramped for Kilowattrel’s huge wingspan, and put her Tauros on guard duty instead. The escort went off without a hitch; most of the Pokemon in there wanted nothing to do with the bull Pokemon, and it easily smashed some of the boulders blocking the path through the winding, mossy cavern. While the Houndour pack’s Houndoom leader did attempt a confrontation, it was knocked aside too easily to even call it a battle. Soon, Nemona and her old and new companion emerged from a tunnel back onto Poco Path, fairly close to where she’d gone down from.

Nemona’s new friend perked up at the lighthouse now being so close and eagerly trotted up toward it. “Agias!”

“Oye, wait up, haha!”

Nemona and her Tauros chased it happily through the grass. She was having a good time for just a bit... until she saw a familiar fluffy-haired classmate in their path and snapped coldly back to reality. Yeah, okay, she kinda thought he lived in that lighthouse but wasn’t totally sure...?

Arven jumped back in surprise. “Why you little... what're you doing out here?!" he shouted incredulously... but after a moment, Nemona realized Arven wasn’t looking at her -- he was addressing the violet beast that ran ahead of her.

“Agi! Agias!”

“Huh? You know each other?” Nemona asked with wide eyes.

“You... I wasn’t talking to you. You can shove off.” Arven sneered.

Nemona’s brow furrowed and jaw clenched in an instant. Some part of her still felt raw from earlier, and facing another hostile attitude so soon felt like ripping the bandage off way too early.

“Hey! I just rescued this fella from passing out on the beach after that crash landing, why don’t YOU can it for once, buster?” She retorted as she marched up to him and crossed her arms. Tauros stepped closer alongside her, but looked a bit surprised by her reaction.

Arven huffed and turned away from her to give the mysterious Pokemon a once-over. “... What’s with this form it’s in? I wouldn’t be surprised that it needed rescuing, it can’t fight anything all powered-down like this.”

“Form? Powered-down?” Nemona asked with an eyebrow raised. She expected Arven to have a retort rather than give her information.

The subject of their conversation started pawing at one of the doors to the lighthouse in the background.

“Ugh. Yeah. Miraidon here is... a real special Pokemon. And a real special thorn in my side! Hey, knock that off, you can't go in the lab. It's locked."

Miraidon cowered a bit.

“What happened, you big brute, did Dad stop feeding YOU, too?”

“Gia...”

“... Too? Wait, is this something Professor Turo found? What do you mean by --”

Arven gritted his teeth. “Didn’t I tell you to shove off?! I’m far too out of sorts to humor more of your prying little questions about my problems right now, student council girl. Don’t you have some trophies to polish? Tie length regulations to enforce? Little kids to beat up for their lunch money?

Nemona scowled more with each passing second as her Tauros side-eyed her nervously. It wasn’t the type to attack Arven like a wild Tauros might, but it did snort loudly. She shut her eyes, attempted to bottle everything up, and took a deep breath, before asking her next question in an unsettlingly calm and even tone, like her best impression of La Primera.

“... Arven. Why are you always like this.”

He just glared back at her and didn’t say a word, despite Miraidon looking at him expectantly too.

“If there’s something I did to deserve this rotten attitude of yours... could you PLEASE just tell me so I can fix it?” Nemona continued with her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Her composure was starting to crack just as quickly as she’d gained it.

Arven looked down at the ground. “... Why’s it so important to you? Couldn’t you go buy some other friends, student council girl?” He muttered.

And then her composure shattered. Her hands tightened into fists and everything she’d bottled up that day began to spill onto the dirt.

“No! No I can’t! And why! Do you keep! Calling me that! Arven?! I have a NAME!! You used to know it! I used to have fr- I-I used to be a PERSON, to people, not... not... ‘Student Council Girl’, or... ‘Princess,’ or ‘Big Shot Champion’, or, or... ‘Annoying Pest’, o-or ‘Other Daughter’... or... g-grah... aagaaAAAH!!!”

Nemona dropped to her knees -- sobbing, raging, overwhelmed -- in front of one of the top three people in the world that least she wanted to break down in front of.

Arven, meanwhile, leapt back a bit and momentarily held his hands up in fear, which would probably be hilarious under different circumstances.

She raised her gloved arm shakily, like she was about to punch the ground, but she thought better of it and let it fall limply. Tauros and Miraidon checked in and sniffed her from each respective side. Man, she was just a total mess right now. There was no coming back from this. She just wanted to cover her ears and shrivel up into a ball and return to the earth--

“... Uh. Um... S-sorry.” Arven said quietly.

Wait, what did he say?

Arven knelt down to her level. “I, uh... I dunno what exactly’s going on with you, but... It sounds like you don’t need to be knocked down a peg today... Nemona.”

Huh?

“I’m...” Arven huffed and scratched his fluffy scalp. “... I’ve really been at the end of my rope lately, let’s say. But I’d never guess you were too. Sorry.”

Nemona looked up at Arven, quite confused. Her glistening eyes darted around his face looking for a sign this was some kind of trick. But no, he mostly just looked guilty and uncomfortable. She’d gotten through to that standoffish brick of a boy somehow. She felt some pretty intense whiplash from being furious, ashamed, and cautiously relieved in such quick succession, but... found a tiny smile in her heart that she could wear.

“Heh... I’m just full of surprises.” she said with a sniffle.

When the moment ended and Arven stood up, offering Nemona a hand, she took it.

[silentreigns]

Singapore GP 2023 Reflection

Singapore is now my favorite race of the season. I liked it even more than Monza and Silverstone. The race started off slow but those last 15 laps were everything

Charles going from P3 to P4 doesn't look too bad on paper. But considering they asked him to create a 5 second gap to Carlos and a 5.7 s pitstop, I wouldn't be surprised if he started cussing everyone out. Not to mention Max closed the gap to him in like 20 s.

Carlos is a well-rounded driver. Good at tire management, good strategist, and he's been like the best qualifier this whole season. If you told me that he would be the one to end RedBull's streak at the beginning of the year, I wouldn't have believed you. He was scoring points but he wasn't really on the podium. I would have thought Fernando would have been the one to do it

Speaking of Carlos, we saw him keeping Lando within DRS to fight off other cars like we did in Austria. Something about Carlando teaming up despite being on different teams is so special to me. Idk a better friendship on the grid

Esteban putting in all that work & overtaking just to DNF because of reliability issues suuuuucks. Especially on his birthday 😭

Saw Pierre for like 2 seconds and what we did see was pretty cool. Good for him for scoring points.

Fernando having a disasterclass was not on my bingo card. I need Aston Martin to bounce back and go back to how they were at the beginning of the season.

Checo not getting investigated for taking Yuki out is part of my conspiracy on how RedBull is paying off the stewards. Idgaf if I sound crazy but something is up and you can't tell me otherwise. At least he's getting investigated for the incident with Alex

Lewis was the fastest car out of the top 4 in the final laps. What I wanted to happen was for him to overtake George on lap 60 and for him to cook. I wanted him on the podium by overtaking, not because George took himself out. But he's now 3rd in the driver's standings so it's all cool

George you had everything within your grasp like what happened 😭 I know he's going to be beating himself up a lot about this and I feel pretty bad. I'm sure he will bounce back at Suzuka.

Congrats to Liam on scoring points! You deserve that AlphaTauri seat more than Daniel does 🥳

If Yuki was actually able to race, I definitely think he would have scored points. Fastest RedBull in quali and it went unrewarded. And the worst part is that I think nobody on his team will defend him. I just want him to have a seat on the grid next year. There's a voice in the back on my head saying that he's gonna be replaced next year and I really hope that's not true. Please let him finish a race again 😭😭😭

[eisforeidolon]

It really does seem that getting too deep into niche shipping fandom absolutely kills some people's media literacy. Like, I was reading this interesting anon post on Nancy's blog [X] about following a rewatcher going on about bi lighting and expecting a romantic HEA from fucking Supernatural and it sent my brain off on a tangent.

I mean, I remember thinking literary interpretation in school was so fucking absurd when it got to the point of analyzing a goddamn autobiography and waffling on about the author remembering the grass in the spring being green when they moved as a symbol of rebirth. As absurd as I still think interpreting on that level is? It did work thematically, because the interpretation matches the surface level of the story - that was when the character's life started through a period of growth/rebirth. Did they intentionally mention the grass for the symbolism of the color green, consciously or unconsciously? Fuck if I know (or care, tbh).

The problem with the way hellers (and other similar conspiracy shippers) try to use this kind of interpretation is that they ignore several majorly important factors that apply when you're talking about an open canon rather than a closed one where you know the ending. When you do this with a story that's finished, where you know the whole picture? Even if you're so openminded about what the story could have been despite all genre conventions and other outside information that your brain is on the verge of falling out and rolling away down a hill? You can filter out the noise of potential symbols and meanings that do not match that finished, overarching story. And there is a lot of fucking noise, because our brains really, really like to find patterns whether they exist or not - but most random details are not intentional symbolism, and most symbols do not have one single definitive meaning. With any sufficiently large text (which SPN definitely is), you could pick out enough random symbols and meanings to point to literally any-fucking-thing you wanted as a possibility - but without knowing the end that's no more an indication of what direction the story is actually heading than any other randomly chosen set of symbols and meanings.

In the above example, let's say you don't know anything about autobiographies in general, that author's life in particular, and stopped reading at that chapter to try and predict what'll happen next. Aha, the grass out of the window when they moved in spring was GREEN! Well, yes, that might symbolize growth and the character's life finally starting on a new positive path now. But green can also symbolize naivety and/or hope, and that could have been a brief shining moment of good possibilities before things went even more to shit. Hell, it can also mean jealousy, where maybe it would turn out their best friend who stayed behind got an opportunity they missed because they moved. Not only are those not the only possible symbolic meanings of the color? The author might have also just decided to describe the grass out the window as green because grass is generally fucking green in spring, yo. A major part of the reason someone can sit and pontificate about the ~*deep symbolic meaning*~ of that passage without potentially being obviously hilariously wrong is that they DO know where it ultimately leads and have tossed out the interpretations that explicitly don't fit the story.

What the shippers in question try to do is insist they know what the ending HAS TO BE ... because reasons. As such, every single symbol they find which could potentially signal that ending must be doing so, despite any number of other possible meanings ... because reasons. Naturally the symbols that they find are actually meaningful symbols as opposed to every single other random detail in the story with potential meaning ... because reasons. Then we reach the end of the story and they're oh-so-shocked that because reasons ... isn't a real basis for anything, actually. HOW COULD MY AMAZING INTERPRETATIONS HAVE BEEN SO WRONG WHEN I CHERRY-PICKED THEM SO CAREFULLY? CONSPIRACY! HATE CRIME! WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! There was never any basis for their assumption they knew those symbols were legitimately symbols with significance, let alone their assumption they knew the ending - other than their own fixation and entitlement.

Just to finally drive the point home about how absurd it all is? In my original autobiography example, we're talking about an autobiography of a famously successful person. Any remotely savvy reader can make pretty reasonable guesses from the genre conventions of autobiographies, that person being Known Name successful, and context in the surrounding text about how important that move was going to be to the author's life to be such a focus - and therefore what things in the surrounding text might be *cough* reasonable symbolic signposts. There's still some potential to be wrong about the particulars of that moment, but it's a more educated guess about where the story is likely to go because of everything you know about the protagonist and the genre.

Similarly, any remotely savvy watcher who has some familiarity with horror fantasy as a genre, who spent fifteen seasons watching a show where everyone fucking dies and two brothers are obsessively and intensely brothering each other to the exclusion of all their other relationships every episode, from every single premiere through every single finale? Nevermind anyone who also basically ever heard the showrunners and stars talk about it? Is not going to reasonably think, oh, hey, this is totally going to end with the single central relationship of the show indifferently separating to turn into a fluffy HEA romcom with random side characters. Even if you take off the ending of that sentence which is "because I totally found a bunch of secret clues in food and lighting that told me so".

It makes no fucking sense on a micro interpretation level of symbolism and signposts, and it makes no fucking sense on a macro interpretation level of genre and overarching themes. But, like, they really wanted it, so who cares about that? Um, all the rest of us who actually liked the show for what it was, not an entirely different thing we tried to convince ourselves it would eventually have to be ... because reasons. Especially anyone who gives even half a shit about how decent storytelling in media actually works.

[panlight]

More than a few folklore around the world makes no distinction between vampires and werewolves,if twilight!vampires and twilight!werewolves had a common ancestor that branched out what would they be like?

Genuinely, one of my Twilight Conspiracy Theories is that we'll eventually find out that the shifters themselves are descended from vampires.

Look, I don't WANT that to happen. For a whole lot of reasons, but if you think about how Breaking Dawn goes out of its way to point out how similar Renesmee is to the shifters: growth spurts, high body temp, same number of chromosomes you . . . you gotta wonder, right?

Part of me thinks that the backstory is that hundreds of years ago there was a vampire who had some sort of shapeshifting ability of his own who had a hybrid child, and that hybrid child had children, who had children, who had children, etc and the shapeshifting powers and limited immortality of the wolfpack are the watered down versions of that vampire's powers after all this time.

AGAIN. I don't WANT that to happen. I don't WANT the Indigenous characters to be absorbed by the vampire blob. Trust me! I want them to be their own thing and have their own identity separate from the vampires. I'm just saying like . . . I could see her doing that, and the weird insistence that Nessie and Jake were similar supports it.

So, like, well, there's the link. Some vampire dude who could shapeshift. Maybe he was the origin of the 'vampires can turn into bats/wolves/mist' legends. But it was JUST him. Then he has a hybrid who has more limited shifting abilities. That hybrid has children and the genes continue to get passed down but are only sometimes activated by the presence of other vampires.

Because, yeah, it's true in a lot of folklore the definitions of things like vampires, werewolves, even witches are kind of nebulous and overlap. And there's also folklore that children of vampires often are the best vampire hunters, so THAT works with this common ancestor theory, too.

Now if we want to go with what I think is the original spirit of your ask, which is that way back in prehistoric time there was a creature that was the common ancestor of both vampires and shapeshifters (or children of the moon?) then that's different. I guess it would have to be some alien or demon or something that then had offspring that turned out Not Quite Human but did so in different ways. The vampiric child couldn't have biological children but could pass their condition on through venom; the shifter couldn't pass the condition on through a bite but could have children and their supernatural abilities got watered down over time; and a third (the child of the moon type) could have both human offspring biologically but also pass on their condition via bite.

Edward and Carlisle would not like the demon origin if they ever discovered it. Emmett would think it was dope.