#you fools. that’s the point. do you need everything spoon fed to you

[parkitaco]

sometimes being in a high school english class is like being forced to sit in the audience for a game show called Which Person Here Has The Worst Understanding Of Literary Analysis

[ll-until-the-very-end-ll]

Where do you stand with Albus Dumbledore?? Do you like him or hate him? I personally dont like or hate him, I find him sorta weird especially with the whole building armies with children/late teens and his whole not trusting adults but will keep harry in the loop (or at least more than he did with the adults) I dont hate him, I just feel like he needed more friends his age and needed to let the kids live their lives and STOP DRAGGING THEM INTO WARS!!

Good question!

Do I hate Dumbledore? No. There are far worse characters worthy of my hate. Do I like him though? Also no. I think the thing with Dumbledore is that he is built up like your ideal role model, someone who looks and feels like they'd have all the right answers for everything. But that's not the reality of it, is it? You can specifically feel this sentiment for yourself if you grew up with these books. At first you look at him as a savior! Someone so strong and so powerful who took you into a magical realm that provides comfort and a false sense of safety. But as you go on with the books you'd expect him to give you more tips and tricks to figure out how to deal with the current dilemmas and concerns at hand but he never fully does that, does he? He's always vague in his words of support and guidance and this is where Harry and us the readers alike get introduced to characters like Sirius Black in POA and get easily attached towards the end of the book and in GOF because he was comforting, he was direct and he was PRESENT for Harry both physical and emotional needs, and even if we're not fully conscious about it we start coming into terms that this is what Harry actually needed since book 1, this what the adults around him should've been like, and then you form an idea at the back of your mind that MAYBE Dumbledore isn't as all-knowing as trustworthy as we made him to be in our heads (us the readers and Harry alike) but of course that's a silly notion and we don't fully commit to it because HE IS DUMBLEDORE! If we can't trust him then who can we trust??? Right?? Well, not until Harry's emotional explosion in his office, because much like Harry, we the readers are frustrated! At this point in the books we demand answers from this man! His questionable actions starts to rise to the surface and we are constantly asking ourselves WHY DIDN'T HE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS?!!! WHY DIDN'T HE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT?? After all, isn't he one if not the most powerful wizard at the time??? And you carry this rage with you to the next book and now he's dead??? How can he be dead??? He didn't provide the answers he was supposed to provide???? He left us (and Harry) hanging in a critical time where Voldemort is literally out there getting more powerful with each passing second! But the mentality shifts here because the realization sinks in that we (again, and Harry) are almost adults now and we can't forever relay on a now dead man for answers especially since it's a critical time to take action and get the gears in your head working to find a solution and a way to defeat the dark lord. So you do just that! And it works! Congratulations! Voldemort is dead! War is over! Now you finally have the time to rest and reflect on everything that has happened in the past 7 years and this is when you come to the terms with that fact that Dumbledore never really fooled us. We placed him at such a high pedestal because much like Harry, we were kids. Simple as that. He was at the end of the day just a man, a brilliant man and a brilliant wizard...but at the end of the day...he was just a man. Not a hero. Not a savior. He was a mortal man! We expected him to have all the answers and solutions because at the time we were young and naive and wanted those answers and solutions to be spoon-fed to us! We needed guidance and an adult figure who we can go back to at the end of the day and rest our weary heads and get a "there there" but that's not the case, is it? Not in fiction or in real life. And I guess this is the one thing I like about Dumbledore as a character, it's that he makes you come into terms with the fact that people around us are on their own journey, whether be it a parent figure, a teacher, a friend, a sibling...they can't provide all the answers you require to go on with your journey. After all this is their first time in this life much like it's your first time. You need to learn how to take matters into your own hands and make your own decisions and take responsibility for the results of those decisions.

[skylarstark4826]

The spider croaks, looking sideways, and tries his best to ignore the Avatar sitting unforgivably close.

            Quoritch twitches his ears and his tail moves like a snake, his hands, Na'vi's large, wide hands trembling, and an involuntary smile on his face.

      No.

                  A grin.

      A joyous grin.

                        - Did you just-!!!

                        - No," Spider grins, but feeling the paint flooding his face, looks away.

                        - No, I heard you," Quaritch points a finger to his ears and Spider sees how wide his pupils are...

            He's nobody to him.

      Nobody.

                  That thing sitting in front of him is a brutal killer and yet.

      Yet when he opened his eyes and saw him before him, he called him 'Papa'.

            He said it in a hoarse sleepy voice and yet, now the Avatar sits beside him and has been interrogating him for about ten minutes about whether he heard his...

      Son?

                  Quaritch knows for a fact that the boy is not his own blood or close minded soul and yet, after such a long time, he is more than attached to this young man.

                        - Good, good," Quaritch grins and twitches his ears, feeling Spider's body relax a little. The boy glances sideways and even so, he seems much more dangerous than Quoritch.

                        - "...." hand me the spoon," Spider rubs the bridge of his nose and glares angrily at the baffled man. - What's wrong again? You didn't say please? I'm fed up with your stupid etiquette, - but Spider also begins to catch up with the phrase he said himself a minute ago.

                        - It hasn't been a year," Quaritch sniffled, placing a huge hand on the boy's head and ruffling his uncoordinated hair.

      It hasn't even been two weeks.

            Not that Quaritch was counting.

      The incident had not been ignored by the Marines, but Spider didn't need to know about their powers of observation.

                  It was the first time Spider had been turned on to music. Straight out of the '90s past centuries, and as strange as it was, Spider fit in perfectly with the dance the Marines had put on specifically to celebrate the ridiculous holiday that on Earth means the complete revolution of the planets around the light.

      The Spider's dance was not ridiculous and was even graceful, especially for a young man and especially for a man.

                        - Hey Na'vi underachievers, turn on the songs that "...." likes! - The spider laughs and in the midst of the amusement and friendly whistling the Avatars fail to notice the dropped word, so coveted by Quoritch. The spider whirled around, gently, like the waves adjusting to the rhythm, or watching the Avatars, who in turn were interested in his reaction.

            Reaction to everything!

      To the music, to their dancing, to their conversations and words in foreign languages, which Spider began slowly to learn.

                  They watched him, and let none of them admit it, that night they all wanted to be his parent.

                        - What the hell are we all doing here, so and so with Spider! - Quaritch protests. Why on earth was Socorro allowed to play and why is that snooty kid winning his fourth game of Fool's

                        - "...." shut up already, you're annoying, it's not my fault you can't count! - Exclaims the offended Spider, doing so only to have the Marines involuntarily start suppressing chuckles.

                        - Count?! So you count cards?! Where the hell are you?! - Quaritch has no words, only emotion, pouring out in an angry tail and ears pressed against his skull.

      The spider stares back and squints, showing Quaritch his ring finger.

            And Quoritch can do nothing.

      The boy is too happy to beat them, the hard-headed warriors.

            The spider dashes through the library and kitchen, leaping over chairs and tables, laughing louder than his human chords would allow.

      He laughs in laughter, infecting the sleepy Avatars around him and the scientists who have not yet gone to bed.

                  Screaming across the hull, he hears Quaritch running in his wake.

                        - "...."!!! Don't touch, get off," he gasps with laughter, "let go, don't you dare," he draws in air, "n-don't tickle, don't! - Kuorritch glares evilly, and his face has the familiar grin and grin.

                        - You asked for it, you started it! - The man snickers, "playing" on the boy's ribs.

      The avatars only chuckle, but for the sake of decorum they shout "some people are trying to sleep here!".

            Quoritch looks at Spider as he sleeps.

      The boy's body is tiny in comparison to his, but it's no less kindred.

                        - Sleep "...", sleep, ...Pandora.

                  And though Quoritch cannot yet distinguish human breath when he sleeps, Spider can certainly be sure of what he hears.

[iamshay]

The Importance of Respecting Your Parents

Anyone who doesn't respect their parents is a piece of shit. Regardless of how much shit your parents give you, they are your parents. I have gotten so much shit from both parents growing up. That is not shit; that is called tough love. You will understand when you get off your high horse and experience more shit in your life. When you are more grown, you will understand why your parents were so tough on you. I didn't have a perfect childhood. I was born into war and saw things a child should never see. I had many siblings, and they were tougher on me. I obeyed everything, but they were still tough on me. And I turned out amazing.

You are the way you are because you come from a broken home, and it's not your fault. But that doesn't mean or give you the right to disrespect your parents. It's not always your parents' fault. It's life choices when you are in your adult life. Your behavior is on you. As an adult in your 20s, you should know better. You are not a child of 6 or 7 years old. In your 20s, you should know what right and wrong mean. Blaming your parents always just shows whose fault it is. I don't blame your parents for giving up on you. They are also human beings and will reach their breaking point. They also try their best to raise you, and when you don't respect them and listen to them, it's disheartening.

If your parents give you tough love and tell you not to do or say something, you should respect them. They've been around longer than you, dumbass. Religion or not, paradise lies under your parents' feet. If you disrespect them, you will never smell paradise.

You will not always have your parents around. Whatever the issue might be, link up and find a solution. Be the bigger person and find tolerance so that one day you can tell God that you tried your best, and God will not hold you accountable. No parent wants to hurt their child, except monstrous ones. I avoid people who talk smack about their sister, mother, or father, which is the main reason I am not friends with them. Me and one of my sisters are not on good terms, but I am not walking around online talking smack about her. We still have mutual respect. When we meet, we say hi and bye. We just keep things cool out of respect for our mother.

The fact that I see so many people online blaming their actions and behavior on their parents is surprising. It's the main reason your father or mother left. I would disown my child if they behaved in such a bad manner. Your mother didn't carry you for months just for you to bring shame to the family. When your parents have principles, and you tarnish your family name by acting out online or in real life, it's a serious issue. When you become a parent, you will understand. I understand because I grew up helping to raise my nieces and nephews.

I might not have given breast milk, and neither did their mother, except for the first niece. None of the others were breastfed. But I did everything their mother did: gave them baths, changed diapers, fed them, put them to bed, helped them learn new words, etc. I witnessed how demanding children can be. So, I got a taste of motherhood already, especially considering the way I was raised. I was not a handful child. I was actually quite easy and quiet, and I still am unless someone provokes me. That’s one thing my dad loved more than anything: he knew my boundaries. So, whenever my sisters tried to blame things on me, my dad simply said, “Shay would never do that unless you provoked her first, she’s the quiet one.” He never took sides and would yell at me too if needed. He kept things super fair. He knew everyone’s boundaries and was not easily fooled. He was the boss and the man in the house.

So next time you blame your behavior on your parents or the absence of a father figure, remember there are always two sides to the story. Maybe your mother hasn’t told you the full story. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Why you complain about. In other country people have no food or both parents because they lost their in war. You the luckiest had everything handed to u. YET you still bitching?

xo.

Shay

[solaeter]

Parenting - Satoru Gojou

I started these when I needed a distraction from my own thoughts lmao. Purely fluffy and light hearted, I hope you don’t mind the little emoticons and whatnot. I just wanted to try something different uwu.

Warning[s]: Pure fluff and possible errors I didn’t bother to check for.

❖ First of all, the moment Gojo hears the news that you're pregnant, he just kinda stares like he had shut down for a moment. Don’t take it the wrong way, his mind is just running in circles, processing the news and then the biggest, brightest smile breaks on his face and you're in his arms, being spun around. No one has probably ever seen him so happy, literally nothing could knock the smile off his face or the budding excitement and swell of love swirling in his chest.

❖ Definitely is the one to keep a copy of the first ultrasound to show off to his students, bragging that the little spec on the paper is his baby. He can't keep a secret like this, it's just too exciting so he has to let it out somehow.. If someone says they can't tell what they're looking at, Gojo will gladly point out his child. 

"Aren't they precious??" 

"You can barely see–"  

(╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

❖ If he wasn't already protective before, Gojo is now like a looming shadow whenever he's home from work. Which he will deliberately take more time off just to be with you. There's no point in arguing with him once his mind is set, he doesn't care if he pisses off the higher ups. You and his baby are the only thing that matters to him. He's always there for you, helping you out in any way in his typical manner. Often says the most random things while aiding you too, like it's quiet and then he's just like: 

"You know the longest pregnancy ever recorded was like 375 days?" 

Leave it to him to look up little interesting tidbits in his free time while you rest. The whole experience is fascinating to him, especially watching you grow and change.

❖ Gojo's hands don't know how to keep to themselves. He was already handsy, but with your growing belly..my word he just loves to rub it and touch it. He can't get over that the life he helped create is in there, his heart had never been so full. 

Also low key finds you even more sexy. Definitely loves spooning so he can hold your stomach gently and roam while he loves up on you. Ugh so tendy unless you want more of course. But he'll always put your comfort first over desire. 

❖ The more you progress and grow, the less you get to do. Gojo doesn't want you to put yourself at risk..for anything. You want something to drink? He'll get it. If he has to go somewhere, one of his students will be with you to aid you. He'll say it's training or some sort of excuse while you just..have to take it or face his pouting self. 

"You know I'm fully capable right?" 

"No you rest, we can't have anything happening to the baby." 

Don't argue, it won't work. But his concern and willingness to do just about anything for you under the sun is absolutely precious 🥺.

❖ On the day your baby comes into the world, Gojo probably cries more than you. It's those silent tears of awe, when his newborn is placed in his hands and that sudden realization that this little life he holds is so vulnerable and his to protect..his heart is already sealed and he's wrapped around their tiny fingers. 

❖ At home, dealing with the nightly duties of parenthood, Gojo really steps up considering he doesn't sleep that much. He isn't too fond of changing times but doesn't complain and really enjoys rocking his baby to sleep after they've been fed. It's so relaxing and he thrives on the tender bonding time.

What's even cuter is if you wake up and find them both; Gojo holding the baby on his chest while his head is leaned back, dozing lightly from the peacefulness. Truly wholesome and your heart melts truly 🥰.

❖ Gojo is definitely the type to always be taking photos of his child. He captures every possible milestone he can manage. He has videos from when they first sat up on their own, finally being able to hold their bottle and even when he thought they said their first word, which was just baby gibberish..but to him it counted and he just had to have it documented. Don't get him started about the day his baby learned to walk, he's never been more proud of them and thankful to finally get rid of the evil walker that rammed his legs more times than he could count.

He will also make sure to have you in most of the moments, even if you're glaring or telling him to stop because you're tired or busy, he just wants to capture memories dammit 😤🥺.

❖ Don't blame Gojo if your child really enjoys sweets. He'll let them try just about anything he buys, finding it humorous if their face twists in disgust or from something potentially sour. He gets a kick out of it but he's more happy when they enjoy the treat and will give it to them..when you're not watching. He has to be extra cautious if it's before dinner, if there's one thing that scares him..it's his beautiful, perfect, loving, wife. 

And yes, he will try to charm his way out of trouble with sweet words and handsy actions. There's just a 50% chance of it actually working hehe.

❖ He likes to say he's the lenient parent because it's true. If your child acts up, he will either encourage them or try his damndest to get them out of trouble. You have to deal with two children and one is unfortunately stuck in an adult's body. Gojo will probably teach your child one or several things that they shouldn't know at their age. Like climbing on something to jump off of or anything that raises immediate concern. While you're off having a panic attack from watching your child literally propel them off something, Gojo is just smiling like a fool.

"They're a natural babe!" 

"What if they get hurt?!?!" 

"You know I wouldn't let that happen."

(¬_¬)

Let's just say after a firm scolding and a promise to ban him to the couch permanently, Gojo will no longer encourage daredevil stunts to his child. Though he is a little sneaky when you're not around. He just has to pray his child doesn't let it slip when you come back or he's a dead man. 

❖ Gojo cannot say no for the life of him. If his child wants anything, consider it theirs. He pays attention to everything when he's out and about with his child. If they linger on a toy, ten to one it'll be in their hands within the hour. Now he knows what not to get them considering they're just a tiny little thing, so he can limit himself. But when he comes home to you, loaded with one too many toys and nothing that you listed, he can't help but give that sheepish smile and melt.

"You know I can't say no to them.."

"Did you get what I asked for?" 

(⌒_⌒;)

It's a good thing he's cute and already leaving to do what he needed to do in the first place. Which left you to go through every little toy, stuffy and whatever else he bought for your child. 

❖ Now when we talk about the first day of school, Gojo is more worked up than his own child. He can't wrap it around his head that his baby, the light of his life is finally leaving the house on a daily basis. It almost feels illegal and you're the one that reassures him that it'll be fine even though you're just as sad. 

Don't mind Gojo, he'll be back to his normal self after an hour after realizing that he has more alone time with you if he isn't busy 😏. 

❖ All in all, Gojo was taken back by the idea of parenthood but as time progressed he became more excited and embraced this beautiful new life. He's protective and light hearted, always making sure his child isn't put through any of the stress he dealt with growing up. And most importantly, he'll love his child unconditionally and make subtle hints about wanting more down the road 😉.

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Alya & Nino (commission for miner249er)

Fourth chapter of @miner249er ‘s commission

Chapter Summary: The truth is harsh. Teens are harsher.

Previous Work

Last Chapter                          Next Chapter

Truth.

As an aspiring journalist it was something Alya strived for. It was the most important thing she could give the people who followed her so diligently. She thought she had been giving them that. She had been so good about giving them the truth, her truth, and Ladybug’s truth in the past, she foolheartedly believed she was continuing to do so despite taking shortcuts later on in the road. Why didn’t she fact check herself? Why did she throw that very thing in Marinette’s face? What kind of reporter was she? What kind of friend was she? The answers were all around her and yet she still wasn’t ready to face them head on. There was still that voice in her head that was telling her that this was all Lila Rossi’s fault. 

But is it? Alya thought as her and Nino ate together at her house, the TV on in the background. At first it had been on the news but Alya was done with the news for a long while, all it had been was coverage of The Protector and Nino had immediately taken the remote and changed it to cartoons. This was hitting him hard, harder than Alya had expected if she was being honest. When they found out Ladybug and Chat Noir had, in fact, not defeated The Protector and instead the akuma, that Marinette had gone missing, it hit the class hard. Hard because they learned the truth about Lila in that time and that had been rough to work through. Then they had to come to the realization that they believed Lila over Marinette, the sweet, kind, selfless girl that had all at one point been friends with. 

Then the lies got to them. It poisoned them. That’s what Alya had written on her blog anyways. They were victims of a silver-tongue and they had paid the price, one they had not been prepared to pay for. Their friend was missing, had been missing and they couldn’t do anything. Alya had been searching through as many local papers and news around the world for any clues if Marinette had possibly gone to those places. Everything was coming up empty. She had even made a separate website along with Max all about Marinette and what had happened, she left ways to reach her and her classmates in case anyone had any info. Nino said they should have added Tom and Sabine’s information as well but Alya was too scared to ask them if they would be okay with it, last time they had all been at the bakery the tension had been palpable. 

They weren’t banned like Nathaniel had worried they would be but every time they went in with their families, because that was the only time they went in there, it was always awkward. Tom and Sabine were much too nice to ban them even if they felt like they deserved it. How did everything go so wrong? Even school wasn’t as fun as it had been. Walking into their classroom was like taking a walk of shame, people from other classes, even teachers just stared at them. Some even glared. Then there were the whispers, Dieu the whispers, they followed them everywhere not just school, but they were the most prominent there. Her, Nino, and their classmates would find notes in their lockers, none were really threatening but they tore at her heart all the same. Things like, ‘You’re the reason she’s gone,’ or, ‘Are you guys proud of yourselves now?’ ‘Were the lies worth it?’ ‘You traded in a gem for fool’s gold.’ ‘What a reporter you turned out to be.’

All the notes hurt. That was the truth. That last one? She had found it in her locker this morning and it burned. Alya had been bullied before, she never liked to think about it, who would? But she was and she had to acknowledge it because she had told herself she would never allow herself to be bullied again, and most importantly, she would never turn into a bully. Wrong. She was wrong, and it wasn’t the first time she had been made aware of this since everything happened. Since everything changed. It was a blessing that Nino and her were still together, he never partook in the “tough love” the class had been giving Marinette before she...before she had been akumatized. Sure he didn’t stop them, and that was bad, but he didn’t go out of his way to not invite her to things until she stopped being “jealous” and started acting like the bigger person. Nino wasn’t the one who ignored her text messages, which now that Alya read them, were pretty telling that her friend had been hurting and she had only made that worse. 

“What are you thinking about babe?”

Alya looked up from her half eaten bowl of soup to see Nino gazing at her in concern. “Marinette.”

“Oh…” He breathed out as he put his spoon down and looked down at the table before placing one of his hands on hers and giving her a small smile. “Everything will be okay Alya. Someone will find her and then she’ll be back home.”

Empty words. Empty words fed to him too much from adults who didn’t have any updates on anything. “You don’t believe that. And even if she did...who's to say she would even want to talk to us!? What’s to say that anything would be better? We would still be seen as the bad guys! We will still all have to eat lunch at our houses or the park just to avoid the stares and the whispers and the tossed trash our way and the “accidentally” spilled drinks!”

Alya had never understood just how much their class had been living in its own little world. Not to say they were completely unattached to the rest of the school, Alix, Nathaniel, Rose, Chloe, and Sabrina were in the art club (the art teacher and the rest of the club had made a mural of Marinette without notifying them or asking for their help. Everyone is encouraged to leave notes about Marinette on the mural. The art room even has a chair decorated in honor of Marinette that no one else can use. That was announced very pointedly Alix later shared.), Rose was in the scrapbooking club (no one asked to use her materials anymore like they used to), and Max was in the gaming club which Marinette had helped him set up (people weren’t showing up lately.) They weren’t kicked out, but they were reminded of Marinette all the time,it was like everyone’s way of punishing them. It had never occurred to any of them how popular Marinette was.

So popular that the whole school seemed to hate them. Even Mlle Mendeleiev seemed to be harsher than normal and that was really saying something, it would seem like she had a soft spot for Marinette. In their class everyone avoided Marinette’s seats in class, Alya had to step up as class representative but the silver lining was that Nino had stepped up to be her deputy. Though another negative was the fact Nino had stopped making his music and taking DJ gigs. At first he hadn’t said anything to her or their friends, Alya found out because of Chris actually, but then her and Adrien confronted him and he broke down. He cried and he didn’t stop for a long time, but when he had calmed enough to talk he pulled out old pictures of him and Marinette, told them stories about how they had grown up together. It had made the pit in Alya’s stomach grow, she had just been thinking about her and how much she blamed herself and how much she missed her best friend, she hadn’t even thought how this was affecting Nino.

“I...I need to believe it Alya. I need to. Because if I don’t I will break apart. Mari...Marinette and I were best friends in l'école primaire. I never thought she would ever not be a part of my life. Then the whole Lila thing happened and I turned into a coward again, like I had with Chloe! No, worse than a coward! I don’t even know what I would call myself but I know I can’t call myself her friend.” His voice rose the more he spoke and near the end it cracked. 

“Nino…”

“No. I know that’s the truth! And I know, I know that things at school have been rough. Hell, they’ve been awful, everyone sees us as these villains in some trashy young teen novel when all we’ve done is make a mistake! Yes. It was a big mistake but it was a mistake nonetheless but we’re...we’re kids dammit. We’re just kids.” Alya felt tears race down her cheeks as she saw her boyfriend break yet again, his cheeks wet with his tears, his voice choked with his guilt. 

“I know. I just...I just want her back. I want everything back. I don’t know how many times we have to apologize to the school, but they’re not even the ones that need to hear the apologies! The one we need to have hear us isn’t here and…” Alya could feel herself breaking but she tried to hold on. Nino needed her to be strong. Her class needed her to be strong. Her family needed her to be strong.

“I can’t take the stares! Or, or hear Rose’s cries that she tries to hide from us. Mylene hasn’t been eating and I know she thinks we don’t notice and Adrien, god Adrien. I’m trying to hold it together because my bro is falling apart at the seams! First Marinette gets...gets fucking akumatized, then his dad and Nathalie get taken to the hospital from some supposedly random attack but it’s pretty obvious it was Mar-the akuma’s doing, his mom freaking pops out of nowhere but of course that can’t just be a good thing because everyone has to talk about how his dad and Nathalie were probably Hawkmoth and Mayura! And I’m over here trying not to think too much about all that because it makes actually too much sense, but then we find out that Marinette was most likely Ladybug! LADYBUG!” He lamented, not bothering to hide the fact he was crying, more like sobbing. It just made Alya cry more.

“I...I wanted the truth for so long, but not like this. Not like this. I...I know this makes me sound like the worst person on the planet but I kind of wish stupid Gabriel Agreste wasn’t Hawkmoth because then I could be akumatized and maybe I could be some kind of time-travelling akuma and we could go back and fix everything and school wouldn’t be hell and the twins wouldn’t act like they had to walk on eggshells around me all the time and my dad wouldn’t look like he’s always so disappointed in me and my mom wouldn’t look at my with only pity in her eyes and Nora would talk to me and Marinette would be back!” Alya sobbed out. At this point her and Nino had moved from their seats to the kitchen floor and were huddled together hugging each other for comfort. 

The two just sat there soaking up whatever comfort they could and dreaded the time that passed. For each minute that passed, was a minute that brought them closer to having to go back to school. Alya didn’t know if she had the strength to go back and deal with everything, she didn’t know if Nino could handle it either, but she knew her mother would be by any minute to give them a lift back to school. If there was a way she could just finish school online, Alya was willing to do it, but her father wouldn’t ever allow it. He had put his foot down, Otis Césaire was mad, then he was disappointed and he thought it only fair that Alya face her peers and continue on at Françoise Dupont. It didn’t feel fair, it didn’t feel fair at all, it felt like punishment. Hadn’t she been punished enough? Even in sleep she wasn’t safe, all she dreamed of was Lila and her making her act like a puppet. She would see puppet her do all these things to Marinette and she would wake up in sweat and tears.

“Okay I’m here, I hope you two are ready to head ba-” Alya looked up to see her mom standing there staring at her and Nino, her mouth agape. “Oh Alya...Nino...How about I call the school and tell them you’re not feeling good? And I’ll call your parents Nino.”

Alya was going to respond, she really was, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out but a choked off cry and nod. Nino nodded as well as he took in a shaky breath. “Th-Thanks, Mme C.”

“Nino, you know I told you to call me Marlena. Now you two go rest in Alya’s room while I make those calls. Then maybe I can get the rest of the day off and-” 

“No manman. Things...things are already bad enough, don’t make it worse by not going back to work. I don’t...I don’t want to be the reason why you get fired.” Alya mumbled as she and Nino got up off the floor.

“Oh...Oh my little one, that won’t happen. And if it did, not because of you. Never. Don’t you think that.” Alya’s mother breathed out as she pulled her daughter into a hug before taking her daughter’s face in her hands and doing her best to wipe her tears. 

“Papa and Nora would! Nora still won’t talk to me and Papa only looks at me like he’s disappointed he ever had me!” Alya cried out before she could stop the words from coming out. Her mind completely forgot that Nino was standing right beside her until she felt him hold her hand and give it a squeeze. 

“Your Papa is just being stubborn, but you listen to me, he could never ever be disappointed in having you. You are our daughter. You made a mistake yes, but I know you know you made a mistake and that you are sorry. Your Papa will realize that. He just needs time. And Nora...she just needs time too. I just think she doesn’t know how to handle everything and that she’s mad that she couldn’t protect you sweetie. She’s always been the protective older sister, and this was something she couldn’t protect you from herself. They’ll come around. I’m sure.” 

“If you’re sure manman…”

“I am. Now you kids go relax. I’m going to take the rest of the day off and go to the store for dinner ingredients, I’ll be back soon. I know things are hard my little Melusine but they won’t always be like this.” With a kiss to her forehead and a swift hug to Nino, Alya’s mom left the two teens in the family apartment.

At first they just stood there in silence and sniffles, but Nino made the move to put their plates in the sink and rinse them out while Alya gathered their schoolwork back into their bookbags. Then they  made their way to Alya’s room and kicked off their shoes before sitting on the bed. Nino nudged Alya who looked at him in confusion until she saw him give her a crooked smile and open his arms which she fell easily into. She took off her glasses and placed them on her bedside table while she felt more than saw Nino take off his cap. For a while they just sat there in the quiet of the moment and Alya was content to do just that, to just have a moment of peace, but she slowly pushed away and reached for her remote to turn on the TV and quickly pulled up Netflix. Her mom wanted them to relax so why not fry their brains with some television. 

“Anything in particular you want to watch?” She asked as she settled back against Nino.

“As long as it has nothing to do with school or superheroes...I’m good.” Nino responded with a hollow chuckle. 

“I’m glad we don’t have to go back too…” She murmured, “Should we...tell the others?”

“Probably. But if I’m being honest I don’t really feel like talking to them and them asking how we are and if we’re okay when they know we’re not. I just. I don’t think I could handle that. Not today.” 

“I get it. Sometimes I feel like everyone else even blames me for what happened. Like... Like it was my responsibility to not fall for the lies and to warn them. Like my word would have made a difference! Mari...Marinette’s didn’t so why would mine?” Alya huffed as she scrolled through all the movie and show choices and tried her best not to cry again. 

“If they blame you then they need to blame me too and blame the people in the mirror. We all fell for the lies. Sure you’re the budding reporter, but the blame could just as easily be pushed onto Max who is so smart he created a living AI. But we have no one to be mad at but ourselves and we can only do that for so long.” Nino sighed as he held her closer and kissed her temple. Alya relished in the warmth of it all. 

“When did you get so wise?” Alya teased softly.

“When I decided to rewatch Star Wars. But no seriously. If anyone in class bothers you please tell me because we should be sticking together not at each other’s throats.” Nino stuck out one hand and Alya slid her hand into his.

“Cross my heart and hope to die. I will. And you’re right, we do need each other, especially now, especially at that school.”

“Especially at that school, yeah.” He laughed out. “We’re going to get through this. I don’t know how, but, we are and we’re going to do it together.”

Alya smiled wryly before she looked up at Nino and it slipped into a real small smile. “Together.” She agreed softly.

Last Chapter                             Next Chapter

l'école primaire - elementaryschool

manman - Haitian Creole for Mother

[nebulous-tundra]

Jumin for the character meme? 👋😮

YES, FINALLY! my man!

favorite thing about them

his struggle with loneliness. Cheritz took a man with wealth beyond our feeble imaginings and gave him a psychosis that made him so fucking relatable. for real though they really hit the nail on the head with him: hyper-focusing on your job, dismissing big familial issues, putting too much emotional weight onto your pet, these are things i think most people can relate to do, and Cheritz tied them together with loneliness, distilled them to their base issues, and fed them to Jumin on a silver spoon. his BEs reflect how horribly his life can spiral if he doesn't properly address(BE3 is actually more of a reflection of MC's character but i digress) the root problem: his inability to make meaningful connections to other, and a dating sim is the perfect setting to explore that! unlike Damien who i was talking about before, Jumin is a perfect example of executing a premise perfectly and to it's logical conclusion

least favorite thing about them

while i do appreciate Jumin's wealth being part of the appeal of his character, his capitalistic sympathies are kindaaaa the elephant in the room for me. why run a charity fundraiser when he already has so much wealth at his disposal- i mean he's donating too but considering the things he's mentioned buying for Elizabeth the Third i feel like he's pretty close to having enough money to end world hunger......well. if i can suspend my disbelief about Saeyoung flying i guess i can also pretend the economics of the MysMe world is fundamentally different i guess lol

favorite line

"You must be blind to not know where my eyes are. You can't even see with your left eye now?

Everything you're hiding, your secrets, they're all fine. I'll trust whatever you do and follow you. But please... don't lie to me! At least not you... at least not you...! Don't you feel ashamed to Rika? And to yourself!? When did you start living with so little dignity? Even my friendship... How dare you treat it like this!

You crossed the line, V... You made a mistake if you thought you could fool me. Think about all the years we spent together. You can't even count the numbers? You idiot... Drop the soap opera. Quit with the bullshit that you have cancer.

Damn it! Where do you have to go? Where at this point!?"

this is one of the few times we actually see Jumin call out V and reprimand him, and it is so worth it. Jumin has plenty of good moments but this one definitely takes the cake, especially after all we learn about what V has let transpire in his and Saeran's routes

brOTP

Jumin & Zen, such a fun dynamic, everytime you see them in chat together you know you're in for a treat, even if Zen takes it a little too far sometimes lol.

OTP

i mean.....if i said anything other than Jumin x MC i would expect y'all to shoot me- as is your duty

nOTP

Jumin x Jihyun. purely because i hate V. also Jumin x Jaehee, because i respect her too much to do that to her LMAO

random headcanon

i feel like we already have so much canon from Cheritz that i don't even need to have my own lil headcanons buuuuut i guess that he doesn't really mind how things taste too much, he'll eat anything once(if his dietician says it's alright). despite this he has a p good idea of what he does and doesn't like, even if he strays from it at times

unpopular opinion

is it unpopular to acknowledge that he had romantic feelings for Rika? i can't seem to remember where the fandom was at on that

song i associate with them

okay i actually have quite a few of these, i have a whole playlist from when i was a neet and would do nothing but draw comics about him

Jumin's Theme v.2 - Mystic Messenger OST

<-- this one's obvious but i would be remiss to not include it

Things Remembered - Kakegurui OST

<-- good Jumin work vibes

Meltdown [Jazz Cover] - Baguettes Ensemble

<-- a nice, luxurious cover to listen to whenever i think about the nice, luxurious life Jumin must lead

What You Won't Do for Love - Bobby Caldwell

<-- good husband Jumin vibes

Flame of Despair - Puella Magi Madoka Magica: Rebellion OST

<-- good song for illustrating Jumin's emotional turmoil

Deal with the Devil [Piano Cover] - CANACANA

<-- if there was ever a MysMe anime where Jumin x MC was endgame, this would be the op

regret song - Maya Kern

<-- the lyrics aren't wholy compliant to his character, but a good song for thinking about his prior experiences with love

favorite picture of them

again i can't limit myself to one so

this has wonderful angst, have i ever mentioned i love unrequited loves as a trope?

the expression on Jumin here.....fantastic

okay this one might actually be my favorite

thanks for the ask on Jumin! i swear to god i'm gonna have a 3rd Jumin era sometime whenever i get around to playing the Rika DLC and writing out my Jumin meta on his BE2 DLC(which i have played, WOW). he is top tier husbando material

[mssirey]

Hope (part 10 - finale)

Everything can now be read all together on AO3!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Kara went still.

Her face melted into a smooth, blank stare, and the sight of it invited icy tendrils to grip Lena’s exposed heart, squeezing until all she could do was gasp pitifully. Lena slammed the flat of her hand against the field that kept them apart, crackles dispersing around her skin, but Kara didn’t so much as blink.

It had taken every bit of her courage to put words to the tightness in her chest, to name the heaviness that beat against her ribs, to acknowledge the way gravity had turned against reason and her orbit circled one person. She had never let herself consider it, shrank away from it, welcomed darker thoughts in its place. Love was a fool’s game, after all, and Lena had long refused to play.

In the end, she was a fool and the universe proved its point in its ruthless fashion, her admission met with utter silence, not even a whisper to ease her doubts. Mercy was never meant for her.

Kara was lost—fallen out of reach—and Lena was ready to follow her, to sink beneath the tide of panic and be forgotten by the world. There was no telling what might surface, but she preferred not to see it.

The first break in the stillness was the soft flutter of Kara’s eyelashes and the well of tears that fell down marred cheeks, salted already weeping wounds. “No, no, no, no, Lena,” she whispered, syllables wet and slurred together. Her face cracked, her brow heavy with her devastation, her eyes stormy.

“Kara?” Lena didn’t dare hope, couldn’t survive being wrong, but her heart wished so deeply for it to be Kara—safe and whole.

Kara blinked, jarred from her sputtering, and her head cocked, her gaze distant, looking inward. “Yes,” she breathed, with a startled little laugh. “It’s me! Just me!”

Lena exhaled all the weight she harbored, sank back to sit fully on the floor, numb overtaking her limbs, closing in on the rest of her. “Fuck,” she panted and her body gave out as tension bled away, leaving her a boneless mess. She laid back, covered her face with her shaking hands, and willed her heart to steady.

There was relief, unquestionably, but there was also the sense that she had to answer for the hand she had in the course of events and she was tapped dry of courage. When she could feel her face again, she turned onto her side and lifted onto still trembling hands. She crawled until she felt her legs could support her and then set herself to task.

Kara called after her, her voice warbling and frantic. “Lena, where are you—”

“If Lex thinks I can’t break into a cell I designed, he only has his ego to blame,” she huffed, putting her hands to work rather than facing the continuation of their conversation. She didn’t aim for finesse as she pried the control panel open with ill-suited tools and in a matter of minutes, the door slid open.

Kara had gotten to her feet, and once freed, sidled out with her head hung and her gaze flitting between Lena’s face and the floor at her feet. “Lena, I, um… will you let me say something?”

Lena couldn’t summon the walls of her fortress fast enough, couldn’t contain her spilling heart, but for the first time, that wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of never trying to meet Kara. She nodded.

“I am sorry, Lena,” Kara said as she fidgeted, her hands each seeming to work to keep the other from reaching out. “I worried endlessly about what might happen if I told you—”

“For four years?” Lena was reluctant to press, afraid of what she would find when she opened that vein. Her lips were ready to drink from any cup offered—cracked and broken as they were—but she knew poison when it was fed to her.

Kara gave a pained nod. “I hold onto things too tightly— I always have.” She tried to force a smile, but it never quite stuck. “After everything I’ve lost, I…”

Lena’s stomach twisted, trapped in a vice with jagged teeth that rent her open, let the acid wash into her gut and devour her from within. “Kara, that’s not fair.” How was she supposed to justify her hurt when set against the backdrop of Kara’s loss?

Kara was floundering, lost and trembling. “No, I know, hang on— just, um, let me finish?”

Lena could only offer a stiff dip of her head. She watched Kara’s head lift, her eyes turned up towards the ceiling, her lips moving in a silent whisper—a prayer. When her gaze returned, she was steeled.

“I felt helpless… hopeless, that’s true, but instead of trusting what we had, I let my fears back me into every wrong choice.” All Lena heard was that Kara didn’t trust her and it punched straight into the hollow pit at her core—gave credence to the haunting whispers she argued so fervently against when alone with her thoughts. “I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

It didn’t make sense and her mind screeched its alarm, telling her to run. “I was always there for you,” Lena reminded, her voice cracking under the strain of her withering composer, her knees degrading with the rest of her, ready to give out.

Kara chewed at her lip, but forced her chin to stay lifted, refusing to bend under her guilt. “You were,” she managed. “You’ve always made me feel so whole and I—” her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “I didn’t let myself think about how little of me was present for you.” She exhaled shakily before she looked at Lena properly once more. “You deserved better from me, Lena.”

Lena’s doubts feasted, spun every word into another lie, mocked her with the awareness that there was no way to truly know if she was being spoon fed exactly what she wanted to hear. She needed something tangible to hold onto, and without thinking, found herself walking forward. Kara let her approach, watched with wide eyes, her uncertainty stiffening her back.

Lena stepped into Kara’s space and hesitantly reached out. Kara’s hands untangled and fell away from each other, affording Lena more room, and she took it. As soon as her arms encircled Kara, she sank forward, no longer able to deny needing to be held.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispered into her hair as she wrapped Lena up in the shelter of her embrace, cautious at first, but then shifting to pull Lena closer, taking the weight from her with sturdy hands.

Kara’s support allowed her to let go of her boxes, to let the seams of her wretched masks unravel, to fall apart and trust that she wouldn’t be alone to put herself back together. She buried her face in Kara’s neck and wept. Lena clutched tight to the fabric at her fingertips, secured the source of warmth that cushioned her fall. Kara made no mention of the tears that dampened her shirt, only soothed a hand along her back.

With the floodgates opened, her doubts spilled outward. “What did I do to—”

Kara shook her head and squeezed Lena tighter. “You didn’t do anything, Lena, I promise.”

“Then what were you afraid of?”

Kara’s chest expanded in her arms and Lena could feel the heaviness of her heart, the quickened thud against her cheek. “I was scared of letting you down.”

That struck a chord in Lena, plucked at the very strings that appeared in every arrangement she wrote. It was the undercurrent that steered her towards grand gestures and worse decisions, and why she tried so desperately to earn affection. She never felt worthy unless she compensated for every debt, and every misstep, and sometimes it was never enough.

For Kara it had been, or so she had been led to believe. She had bought into it blindly, unaware she was staking her heart until it was too late.

“Kara Danvers is not all of who I am, but she was who I wanted to be.” She tucked her head closer, as if to ensure that her words reached Lena’s ear. “She was important to you and I… I didn’t know how to give that up.”

Lena still couldn’t understand why she was singled out and it tightened her throat until she couldn’t swallow the reasoning.

Kara was important to everyone. She forged light out of her own darkness; she strived not only to be good, but to see good when others might turn away; she understood the power of kindness and empathy; she encouraged strength by way of example; she embodied hope, not in grandness, but in nuance. No one in her life would say different.

“Why me?”

Kara pulled back so abruptly that the air seemed to go with her and Lena’s lungs struggled to fill, but then warm, tender hands cupped her cheeks, and she melted into them. “Lena,” she breathed, her resolve beared down upon Lena with such intensity, her gaze unwavering, “it’s because I love you.”

That was one possibility Lena had never considered and it ripped up every logical foundation her doubts relied on. Her mind went quiet, slowly calibrating to the new way of framing events, wondering how the two of them could have been such fools.

“I’m sorry I let you think otherwise,” Kara said, her hands quivering, her courage wavering. “You are so, so important to me, Lena, and you always will be.”

Lena’s hands lifted to Kara’s wrists, fingers curled around them, wishing she could keep them there. “You promise?”

Kara nodded, relief mixing with eagerness in her eyes. “Yes! Yes, whatever the future brings, whatever we have to face out there,” her gaze flicked to the lab door before returning to Lena, “I’ll be here for you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her lungs over-full, a spark of warmth igniting in her heart. Her shoulders were less burdened, or her spine sturdier, it was hard to be certain. Her tears didn’t sting the same, instead seemed like a welcome cleansing. Her smile didn’t need to be forced.

Perhaps that’s what hope felt like.

Lena didn’t mind it.

[yenafmd]

❧ repeat.

#famedtask12: five-track soundtrack (what songs would be on the soundtrack of a movie made about yena’s life?) word count: (168+159+180+197+223) = 927 words tw: misogyny, sexualisation, distorted self-perception, body image, self-worth issues. generally read at your own discretion, we’re unpacking some shit here. 

tous le mêmes - stromae

to say yena’s relationship with the male gender is difficult would be... an understatement. growing up in an archaic traditional household, she is spoon fed a very clear-cut idea of what the power balance between men and women is, her parents the shining example of outdated gender norms. as a family of five daughters, it’s clear the nam girls are raised with one goal, to be perfect wives, no dreams or aspirations of their own, to dedicate themselves to the lives of their husbands and children. her list of bad experiences only grows when she becomes an idol, one with a pretty figure and doll-like features in a group with a sexy concept. she gets warned over and over, to be careful of her male seniors who might be trying to level their seniority over her, over fans who might act inappropriate, of cameras in places they’re not supposed to be. 26 years down the line, it’s needless to say that’s she’d fed up with being devalued and objectified.

“you men are all the same macho but cheap a bunch of unfaithful fools so predictable, i’m not even sure you deserve me you’re lucky that we love you go on, thank me [...] all the same, all the same, all the same and we’re fed up”

i want war (BUT I NEED PEACE) - kali uchis

yena likes to think that she has to take on the whole world, that she has to. speak out against every injustice dealt to her, to put her foot down when people try to walk all over her, to fire back when attacked. but it’s a tiring affair and sometimes, there is simply no winning, with some people there is simply no arguing and there is nothing to win from doing so. there is no point in running herself ragged on something that won’t change, to get angry about something that will not pay off whatsoever. yena might think she wants to be clenched teeth and balled fists against whoever is doing her wrong but at the end of the day, what she really needs is to simply let it pass her by, to not waste her anger, her energy on what she can’t change and instead focus it on those around her that deserve her time and effort.

“but i got needs, yeah, i got needs i want war, but i need peace and you kept on calling me crazy but, baby, that's what you made me take a look at what you made me calling me crazy, that's what you made me”

mirrorball - taylor swift 

if you asked her, yena wouldn’t consider herself a people pleaser, not when she’s so stubbornly herself, shameless to a fault. but that doesn’t explain her tendency to always need to establish herself as worthy, of time, of effort, of affection. yena might deny that she is willing to conform to what others want of her and maybe she’s right to some degree but she forgets to account for the fact that the impossible standards she has placed on herself, to be pretty enough, to be talented enough, to be interesting enough, are all deeply-rooted in the firm belief that if she isn’t any of those things- hell all of those things, that she is inherently not worth anything. it makes her desperate to prove that she is and even more desperate for the validation that she is. yena is an attention-seeker through and through and it’s not a good look on her, a really ugly, desperate once at best. but who can blame her? when the alternative is the deep-seated fear that she’s not enough, that she doesn’t matter?

“i'm still a believer but i don't know why i've never been a natural all i do is try, try, try i'm still on that trapeze i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me”

liquid smooth - mitski

a lot of yena’s missplaced, distorted self-esteem is rooted in her looks, perhaps that’s why she’s so vain, bordering on superficial. she grew up very aware that she didn’t have much to offer, none of the things that she were taught really mattered, she wasn’t smart, nor kind, nor particularly talented. but yena has always been pretty, gosh was she pretty. ever since a young age, it seemed to be her one sticking point, big eyes and soft lips and a lithe frame. all her life, people haven’t been able to shut up about just how pretty yena is. so is it really worth that she has latched onto that? has become obsessed with remaining pretty, like a last crutch. but of course, yena is hyperaware that beauty fades, that she will not always be considered young and beautiful, that she will inevitably be replaced by younger, prettier girls, that the one thing she’s praised for will eventually slip through her fingers without anything she can do about it. the question haunts her, inching closer and closer with her years in the industry piling up: if she’s no longer considered beautiful, what will be left of her?

“i'm beautiful, i know cause it's the season but what am i to do with all this beauty? [...] i'm liquid smooth, come touch me, too i'm at my highest peak, i'm ripe about to fall”

blue - marina and the diamonds

as established before, yena’s self-perception has largely been outsourced, almost as if she can’t dare value her own opinion, her own thoughts high enough for that level of critical, reserved for people smarter, better, worth more than her. still, it’s human nature to seek out validation and if yena doesn’t feel equipped to carry that judgment out herself, the responsibility rests on someone else. as a rule of thumb, it applies that the more intimate the relationship, the bigger part of yena’s self-esteem hinges on their judgment. of course, some of the public opinion trickles through, it’s not fun to be disliked by everyone but it’s not the small rumors, the hate comments, that really tip the scales. the more vulnerable yena is to a person, the more their opinion of her matters, shapes her own self-perception. and there we have come full circle, because what is more vulnerable than the people she bears her heart too? is it really so hard to imagine that the fear of being uncovered whole and deemed not enough could put her off from wanting to open up at all. still, she yearns, aches for affection and validation and so the cycle begins, flirt, indulge, flake, rinse, repeat. even if she breaks a couple hearts in the process, as long as it’s not her own, she’ll manage.

“no, i don't love you, no, i don't care i just wanna be held when i'm scared and all i want is one night with you just 'cause i'm selfish, i know it's true [...] gimme love, gimme dreams, gimme a good self-esteem gimme good and pure, what you waiting for? gimme everything, all your heart can bring something good and true i don't wanna feel blue anymore, blue”

[the-mirror-witch]

scenarios of sick heartslabyul boys being taken care by their fem!s/o, please?

(Feeling under the weather? Never fear, for the nurse is here!)

Riddle Rosehearts:

How undignified. Riddle had been so busy with club activities, staying ahead of his studies, and maintaining law and order in Heartslabyul that he had managed to overwork his body to the point of exhaustion. And what was a weak body susceptible to? Sickness, that’s what. As he rested in the infirmary, his body shaking with chills, he cursed his oversight. He could practically hear his mother’s voice berating him for his negligence. 

A soft knock resounded through the room before the door opened and your head poked inside. Your eyes caught sight of him, a bright smile gracing your lips. As you approached him with a cup in your hands, he attempted to sit up so he could greet you properly.

“Please don’t get up,” You chided him gently, your voice laced with concern. “You need your rest.”

He’d argue with you about proper etiquette, but he was frankly too exhausted. 

You sat down on the edge of the bed. You handed him the cup in your hands, “Here. This’ll make you feel better.”

He examined the cups contents with a scrutinizing eye, “What is it?”

“It’s tea. My mom used to make it for me whenever I got sick. It’s got honey in it.”

He frowned, “I see you don’t remember rule number 631 of the Queen: The only beverage permissible for illness is-”

“Yeah, well, rule number 900 says that sick boyfriends have to let their girlfriend take care of them without a fuss,” You cut him off, pouting with your hands on your hips.

“...You just made that up.”

“Did not. Besides, my number is bigger than your number, so I win!”

“That’s not how it works!” 

Raising his voice even slightly caused him to spiral into a coughing fit. He hunched over, and you reached out to rub his back soothingly and to keep his hands steady so that he didn’t spill the drink.

Once he recovered, you gazed at him with pleading eyes, “Please? For me?”

He felt his resistance waver under your earnest gaze. He sighed, “Very well, then.”

You smiled brightly as he drank your home remedy. It was delightfully sweet. 

Trey Clover:

Trey chuckled as you continued to administer your “fool-proof cold remedy”. Ever since he had fallen ill, you hadn’t left his side for a moment. You brought him more tissues when he ran out, changed the wet cloth on his forehead, even spoon-fed him when his arms felt like jello. Though, he had to admit, this current treatment was his favorite, as you peppered his cheeks dainty little kisses. 

“Kisses are magical,” You had insisted. “They make all pain go away.”

Well, he wasn't about to argue with you about your logic. 

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” He still asked anyways, concerned. “I don’t want you to catch my fever.”

“I won’t,” You assured him, muttering softly against his skin, causing him to shiver. “I have a strong immune system.”

“But-”

“Shush,” You said, more forcefully this time. You lifted your head to look directly into his golden eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me. Just let me take care of you.”

Can’t argue with that. Not that he wanted to. He allowed you to continue without further fuss.

Later, when you did get sick, he chuckled at your feverish form. You glared at him from under the too-thick-yet-not-thick-enough blankets.

“If you say “I told you so”, I will kill you.”

He smirked, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides...”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your flushed forehead, “Now, I get to take care of you.”

Cater Diamond:

Cater was on his phone, updating his status on his MagiCam account. 

#gottheflu #babetakingcareofme #blessed

He continued to scroll through his posts until you came back. You said something about “getting into the spirit of healthcare”, whatever that meant. 

The door to the the infirmary creaked open, “Cater, I’m back.”

Ah, your voice was like music to his ears. His chuckle sounded more like a cough as he looked up from his phone, “About time. I’ve been wasting away here without my-”

His tongue turned to lead in his mouth at the sight of you. Oh, you had gotten into the spirit of healthcare alright. You were dressed in a cute little nurse outfit, beaming at Cater like the sun had broken through the clouds.

Oh, definitely #blessed. 

He couldn’t help it. He whistled at the sight of you. 

You blushed, “Now, don’t get any funny ideas. I’m only doing this to get into my role as caretaker. No funny business until you’re better.”

Boo.

He couldn’t help but watch your every moment as you dutifully attended to his needs. He didn’t even try to hide it. You caught him staring numerous times.

After a while, you eventually said, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

He’s never reached for his phone faster in his life.

“I was joking!”

Ace Trappola:

“I’m not drinking it.”

“Ace-”

“I said I’m not doing it.”

You huffed, fed up with your boyfriend’s antics. For the better part of an hour now, you had been arguing with your stubborn as hell boyfriend, trying to convince him to just take his damn medicine. You’d have better luck convincing the sun not to rise in the morning.

“Ace, if you don’t take it, then you won’t get better,” You reasoned, patience waning. 

“Fine by me. I’m not taking that nasty shit.”

“What if you get worse, Ace? Huh? Isn’t taking the medicine better than that?” 

“Nope. Have fun at my funeral.” 

Alright, you had officially been pushed past your limit. Damn that Ace. If he wasn’t going to take the medicine willingly, then you were just going to have to make him. 

You poured the medicine into the little plastic cup. Ace watched you with a smirk, knowing it was a futile effort. He wasn’t going to back down. What he didn’t expect, however, was for you to drink it yourself.

“Wha-”

You shuddered as the rancid taste of the medicine registered on your tongue. Okay, yeah, it was pretty awful. But it was a necessary evil. Suddenly, you grabbed Ace’s reddened cheeks. He made a startled noise as you leaned forward and crushed your lips against his. Taking advantage of his blatant shock, you managed to coax his lips apart, forcing the medicine into his mouth.

His eyes widened and he tried to pull away, but you held on tight. He was forced to gulp down the dreaded substance. Satisfied, you released him and pulled away. 

He gagged, “Gross! You’re awful.”

You smirked, “Got you to drink it, didn’t I?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Deuce Spade:

He felt absolutely awful. His muscles ached, and his body was torn between chills and heat flashes. His nose was stuffed and his throat was scratchy. Honestly, he’s come out of fights feeling better than he did now. 

Deuce faded in and out of consciousness, too tired to register what was happening around him. It wasn’t until sometime during the night that he was able to regain some of his bearings.

He blearily opened his eyes to a dark room. Sweet Queen, his head hurt. In fact, everything hurt. Why had he bothered waking up if he was going to feel this bad? Then, he realized that he wasn’t alone as a lovely melody finally reached his ears. 

It was a lullaby, being softly sung to him by a familiar voice. The sound of your voice surrounded him like a warm blanket, reminding of all the times his mother cared for him while he had been sick as a child. 

“Y/N...” He croaked your name.

You paused your song. “Shush. Don’t speak, just rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Oh. 

He did as he was told, closing his eyes again as you resumed your singing. You placed your hand in his hand. He squeezed it weakly, and you squeezed back. He drifted back to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that you wouldn’t leave him. 

Your song followed him into his dreams, where you greeted him with your beautiful smile and open arms. 

[qqueenofhades]

(1/2) Honestly, Hilary, you are a blessing. I want to scream about your amazing Fic, how I love Immortal Husbands and the whole Immortal Family and how I had more fun learning history from your writing than in my whole damn school. But I also want to appreciate your TOG answers and meta. All the more because my friends outside the internet saw TOG as some boring movie with shitty plot and I'm just here in the corner, wanting to scream at someone who will understand about FINALLY seeing...

"(2/2) ...some GOOD queer representation, without throwing stereotypes in our faces, and I can't even begin with the found family trope because THE FEELS. Anyway, what I was trying to say with this rambling: thank you. <3"

....I’m sorry what. Who. Who is saying this. Straight people? I feel like the answer is definitely straight people. Because they have had EIGHTY FUCKING THOUSAND shitty action movies with the Boring White Man Hero, the disposable Muslim-coded (or actually Muslim) villains, the equally disposable eye-candy female love interest who either gets fridged or is secretly evil, Grimdark Everyone Is Secretly Bad And Nothing Matters crap philosophy, Moral Hand Wringing Over Superhero Violence, on and on. So of course they can moan and whine about “iT’s nOt OrIGinAL” and apparently not sufficiently Grimdark and Amoral, and how the dynamics of the team are completely reshuffled in a way that actually doesn’t prioritize THEM, and like.... this is why I never trust media only beloved by straight people, and only ever watch anything after it’s been recommended to me by a trusted queer friend. Because sometimes I remember the difference, and WHOOF.

Because: the gays and people of color DESERVE formulaic action/superhero movies as much as the Generic White Bro (in fact, we can all agree, far more than the Generic White Bro). This is the trap where every piece of media that’s not made by a Mediocre White Man has to be the best all-time of its genre, apparently, rather than using some of the same well-loved storytelling tropes but recoding them and re-deploying them for a more diverse audience. Instead of the Hard Bitten White Man Action Hero, we have Andy and Nile (two women, and Nile as a young Black woman who literally cannot be shot to death, in the year 2020, is fucking revolutionary on its own don’t @ me). As I said in my first meta, even Booker, who comes closest to fulfilling that trope, is made the closest thing to a “villain” there is on the team and even then for entirely sympathetic motives that rest on him having teary-eyed conversations with Nile about how he misses his family and feels like he failed them. His emotions help drive the story in an actually GOOD and useful way, rather than sacrificing everyone else to coddle him through his feeble heterosexual manchildness (why yes, I AM staring directly at the Abomination without blinking). Nobody in the story is EVER penalized or made a fool of for loving their found family (itself an intensely queer trope, even before the queerness of the individual characters) or trying to do the right thing even in the middle of the horrors, and frankly, I just want to consume more media with that as the main message. I’M SO FREAKING TIRED OF GRIMDARK. GOD. IF I WANTED THAT I COULD JUST TURN ON THE NEWS.

And of course, my BELOVED Joe and Nicky: an interracial, interreligious gay couple that has been wildly in love for literal CENTURIES and gives me the opportunity to do things like write the most self-indulgent historical romance backstory fic ever with DVLA. They met in the embodiment of religious conflict and have transcended that, there are never any cruel jokes or expectation for you to congratulate the narrative for being so beneficent as to give you “an exclusively gay moment” (fuck you Disney!). Joe and Nicky’s love story is central both to who they are as characters, doesn’t revolve around them being suffering or being Tormented over being gay (when the cops pull them apart for kissing, they beat the cops the fuck up, WE STAN), gets to unfold naturally in the background of the story with these beautiful little beats of casual intimacy (the SPOONING /clutches heart) and since THEY LITERALLY CANNOT DIE, no chance of the “burying your gays” bullshit. Even when they’re captured first by the bad guys, and I briefly, upon first viewing, worried that they were going the Gay Pain route just for cheap emotional points, they remain constantly united and fighting together and able to do stupid things like flirt when they’re strapped to gurneys by a mad scientist. Then the rest of the team ends up right there with them, so it’s not something that happens to them alone, and Nile comes in to save everyone’s asses, and Joe and Nicky get ANOTHER beautiful moment of fighting the bad guys and being worried about each other and tender even in the middle of this chaos and GOD! MY HEART! MY WHOLE ASS HEART! I LOVE THEM!

And just the fact that it’s not the Evul Mooslim Turrorists or Boilerplate Scary Eastern Europeans or whoever else who are the bad guys, but Big Pharma, nasty white men with too much money and not enough ethics, the CIA (at least tangentially; they could have pushed a lot harder on that but I’ll give Copley individually a pass), and the very forces that want to stop the Old Guard and discount what they do (helping the little people) as worthless... GOD. That is fucking POWERFUL. They literally take the time to explain with Copley’s Conspiracy Wall that even the little things the team does, when they can’t see it themselves, spiral out through centuries and have positive effects down the line. And it’s NOT just in the Western world (no scene in the movie takes place in America, none of the main four characters/heroes are American, and they only go to England when the English villains capture them). They’re in Africa, in Asia, in South America, in all these places where the Western/imperial world order has harmed people the most and in a way that Euro/American audience often gets to forget. On the surface this might be an action movie with Charlize Theron beating up men (which I mean, that alone is fine if you ask me) but there are SO MANY WAYS in which it achieves these deeper moments of meaning and subversion of the narrative that we are so often fed and the ways it could have done this (i.e. the same old Mediocre White Man ways).

I love the fact that the team unabashedly LOVES each other as their family members (I will never get over them all liking to sleep in one room even in their safe house in France), even when they struggle, and that they continue trying to make it right and never consider leaving Booker behind, because he screwed up but they still love him (and he them). I LOVE LOVE LOVE that this movie gave me not just Joe and Nicky but Andy and Quynh: two completely badass queer couples who kick tons of ass and have romance and Drama and rich and well-realized lives outside being used as emotional manipulation or suffering porn for straight people. (I realise it’s only been two weeks since the first one released, but where is my sequel, I have Needs. Especially Andy/Quynh and Quynh/Joe/Nicky needs). I was disappointed that they’d gotten rid of Quynh in a Bad Medieval Way to cause pain for Andy and then shocked and DELIGHTED when she turned up alive in Booker’s apartment at the end of the film. I LOVE that this movie gave me Nile Freeman and everything that she represents in the middle of this hellish year. I even love Booker! BOOKER! When he’s usually the character type I can’t stand and have the least patience with!

So yes. I have watched it three times already. I am sure I am going to watch it several times more. It just makes me so happy.

[narcissasdaffodil]

If you prefer A03, I’ve put the link here. This was inspired by Liability by Lorde. There’s subtle references in this. This one was definitely pretty easy to write, parts of it are quite personal. It does hurt a lot emotionally though, so be prepared. I’ve been more unstable recently so that inspired this.

“You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability.”

Marisol replays part of Olivia’s words in her head, eyes wide. She sits as if pinned to the leather seat in the cafe, mostly motionless entirely apart from the motion of her nails. The cafe is quiet from the isolated booth towards the back of the cafe. She finds herself travelling back in time, to reason things out any way she could.

Marisol has arrived early to meet Olivia, unaware about what was about to happen. Her scarf is loose around her neck and she adjusts it. She makes her way inside and the bell jingles as she opens the cafe door. She orders a black coffee and gets tempted by the raspberry cake on display. Raspberries aren’t something you’ll have for a while, that’s for sure.

She takes the tray and scans the cafe for a free table. She settles towards the back, in a booth. She places her bag next to her and sends Olivia a quick text to notify her where she’s seated. She receives no instant response, which is strange, considering how Liv is usually glued to her phone.

Marisol writes it off to start with, until it turns 2pm and Olivia is nowhere to be seen. She’s never late. Oh no. What’s happening?

Half an hour later, Olivia appears in the doorway. She makes a beeline for Marisol, and doesn’t stop at the counter first.

She settles on the other side of the booth, and pointedly eyes Marisol.

“This is a surprise. I didn’t expect you to make time for me, your girlfriend, with your ‘oh, so important plans’. I’m tired of coming second and having you dictate when we meet up. To be honest, Marisol, I have a life too. I’m fed up of barely seeing you, and when I do, have it be for 10 minutes at most. Not only that, but you’re clearly hurting yourself with all the overworking you do.” Olivia’s tone hurts Marisol who finds herself just staring over at her in disbelief. She’s not even apologising for being late, then? Law is a difficult course in general, of course you barely have any free time and don’t go out. You want to keep up the same momentum in first year for second and third year, and that means continuing what you’re doing.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, to be frank. I’ve met someone else, anyway. We can do this the easy way or the hard one. It’s clear we’re no longer compatible.”

“What? I...I don’t understand.” Marisol winces slightly at her stutter reappearing, and continues speaking before Olivia jumps in again. “You’ve met someone else. Does that mean we’re over, that you’re just giving up, on me, on us, on everything…” her voice breaks and she looks down, spooning up her cake and distracting herself with it.

“Marisol, look. We can still be friends, I just...can’t constantly come second to uni all the time. You barely have time for me at all, and it’s frustrating. Everyone else I’ve met can manage to have a social life along with uni, apart from you. I do know other law students too, so it’s not like I’m comparing different courses. You don’t appear to spend time with anyone else either, you’re just holed up in your room apart from when you’re in lectures or at the library. I know you’re quieter and more introverted and don’t make friends easily, but the amount of time you spend on work isn’t healthy. You study far too frequently, and your assignments are coming back good too, you’re getting scores equivalent to a 2:1, which is more than enough at first year. And don’t tell me everything you do has to be ‘perfect’! Life isn’t that way, and you need to get out of your idealistic perfectionist world!” Olivia’s voice appears to be getting louder, and Marisol wants to put her hands over her ears, to block out the noise. Just because you cried once at your first ever result, doesn’t mean you automatically do that. Yes, you do stay up late to study often, and regularly survive off coffee, but that isn’t unhealthy.

Marisol feels eyes on her, and notices the people at the other tables watch the blow up. She feels very self conscious and wants the world to swallow her up. Olivia’s next set of words bypass her, and she just wants it to be over. Olivia pokes her arm and she looks back over.

“You can’t even fully concentrate on me. You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability. It feels like I have to censor myself to not offend you, you’re far too thin skinned and insecure. I’m fed up of this.”

Marisol’s words catch in her throat and she forces them free, feeling the sour taste in her throat. “T...then leave. I...I don’t want your friendship either, even though we have history, i...if you’re going to pity me and treat me like dirt on the bottom of your shoe. It’s Lucas, isn’t it? The one you like. We’re completely done, broken up. It’s what you wanted, right?” Marisol works to keep a neutral expression and tries her best to not trip over her words but ultimately fails. She stares down at her hands and hopes she can keep it together long enough to not cause concern to the others in the cafe.

Olivia sighs, and clasps one of her hands. “Mari, you seriously don’t look well. At all, you need to take better care of yourself.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that, anymore. Save your pity, I don’t want it.” She pulls her hand away and curls it around her spoon. She stares down at the cake, not having the energy to eat it, or do anything.

Olivia huffs, and makes her way from the booth without a second glance. Marisol lets go of the spoon and rests her hands on the table.

She snaps back into the present and leans a hand on her cheek. She can’t face going back to her flat currently, facing her flatmates in halls and the constant noise.

Why do you have to be the one everyone gives up on? Do you have any value, or are you just here to be cast aside and replaced by the next best model? Why does it still hurt?

Marisol taps her nails on the table and tries to release some nervous energy. She feels entirely numb, which scares her to the bone. Her hands keep shaking, and she forces them flat to the table. In your head, you do everything right. And you haven’t lost your girlfriend in your dreamland. You’re still so happy. But that’s just your dreams, not reality.

She bows her head and tries to eat the cake, her hands stop before touching the spoon until she gives up. Her phone lights up from the table, and she ignores it. Olivia was right. You need to wisen up, get with the times. She pretended to care about you, you do have Charlotte, but she probably believes the same. Olivia should be satisfied at how much of an idiotic fool she’s made you.

Marisol removes her glasses and rests her head in her hands. Her eyes close and she sits there with her head on the table. Her neck aches, but she can’t bring herself to move, to do anything.

You’re a toy that people enjoy till all of the tricks don’t work anymore and then they are bored of you. You have no real value, but who does?

She hears a voice, and looks up through her hair. She notices a short brunette standing next to the booth, long hair in a French braid. She recognises the face, the combination of glasses, nose piercing and fringe with the delicate spread of freckles over her cheeks cause the other girl to stand out.

She’s unsure whether the other girl is on her course, or a flat mate, but her face is memorable.

“D...did you see that? Or not?” she feels her voice break and tears build in her eyes and she hides her face.

“No, I didn’t. Are you okay? You really don’t look great. I was going to ask if I could share the table, but that doesn’t matter.” the other girl sits down and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Marisol, I don’t mean to pry, but I haven’t seen you in a while. Like in the living room/kitchen area and I’ve been a bit worried.”

“About me? Why? I’m nothing special… I’m a liability.” her voice fades out slightly as she hides behind her hair.

“You’re not. That’s a cruel thing to say. I know I don’t really know you that well, and we only share a kitchen, but I want to get to know you better. What’s wrong? You don’t have to talk about it.”

“My girlfriend broke up with me, while pretending to care about my wellbeing. I say pretending, as she was so condescending, and rude. A break up via text would’ve been better! She was even late. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Marisol shifts her hair out of her eyes and turns to face the brunette.

“Not good with names, either, huh? No problem, names usually aren’t my strong point. I’m Alecto. For some reason I remembered your name though, which is strange.” Alecto extends a small, freckled hand to her, and Marisol shakes it. She feels tears burn behind her eyes and curses at not wearing waterproof mascara.

“That’s a pretty name. Nice to meet you. Names aren’t my strong point either,” she feels tears escape and a bubble in her throat. “Sorry, I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“The reason I remembered yours is because I found it so pretty, and you at that. I love your hair, the highlights are gorgeous and suit you.”

“Really?” Marisol blushes at the simple compliment, as tears slip down her cheeks and leaves mascara trails. “Sorry, I’m not used to people believing that.”

“Really.” Alecto wipes her eyes with a napkin and the small touch makes Marisol’s cheek vibrate. She meets Alecto’s eyes and gets mesmerised by the constellations in her brown eyes, and the scattering of freckles on her cheeks.

She feels different as she sets eyes on Alecto. Sure, she has lost a friendship and a relationship, but there is a possibility for something more here.

“Part of me is glad that the cafe was busy. Otherwise we wouldn’t have bumped into each other.”

“Well…” Alecto fidgets. “There were free tables, but I used this opportunity to talk to you instead. Like I said, I want to get to know you. I hope that’s not weird.”

Marisol feels a small smile build on her face. “Definitely not weird. I appreciate the fact you care, genuinely.”

It feels different being sat there in the cafe with Alecto. Something about her energy was different, and she got drawn to it. It feels like they had known each other their entire life, a strange form of closeness was present.

[soccerbites]

fools gold, JJ Maybank

masterlist on bio

a.n: i posted this near april this year, but when i deactivated i lost it so I'm posting it again, if you read it and feel it familiar, that's why :) also, english is not my first language so forgive me in advance for any mistake.

words count: 1,3k

warnings: mention of a close relative death, a close relative being very sick.

(not my gif, if it's yours let me know so i can give you credits)

After I finish eating completely alone in the kitchen of my home, I did the dishes and fed Simba, my cat. He was a birthday present from JJ who was also the one who chose the name, and I have to admit that I love it.

Mum was on a trip visiting my grandma who was found very sick and needed help at her house. It has already been over a week since she left and i don't really expect her back in a few more.

As i was opening the freezer to take out the ice cream i had bought today, a sudden but still gentle knock on the front door took me by surprise. I placed the cold plastic box on the kitchen table and walked to the door while they continued to knock.

I slowly opened the door so i could see who was behind it, when i saw my best friend's face i smiled and let him come inside my house.

- "hey Olivia" he said as he stepped inside.

- "hey" i closed the door "what are you doing here? did something happened at home?" i asked fully knowing that he had got into a fight with his dad again, his back was facing my face.

- "the usual" he said as he turned and looked me in the eyes, i just stood there, hands on my waist as i looked at him "what" he smiled.

- "what was it this time?" i went to the kitchen and took two spoons so we both could have some ice cream.

- "I don't even know OI" i smiled at his weird nickname and came out of the kitchen to find him sitting down at the couch and i did the same, "anyways, can i crash here tonight? by the way, where's Simba?" he turned the tv on.

- "he went to my room after i fed him" i gave him one of the spoons and he smiled at me as a thank you, "and of course you can crash here, stay how long you want to".

- "thank you" he opened the ice cream box "when's your mum coming back? i miss her" he took some ice cream with the spoon and took it to his mouth.

-"i miss her too" i copied his actions "i wish i knew, i haven't talked to her in like two days, signal has been pretty shitty in the island lately" i licked my lips that tasted as cookies due to the exquisite ice cream, "grandma is really sick, at this point we are just waiting".

- "for what?" he asked as he looked at me.

- "for her to die, i guess" my voice cracked a little as i said that and he noticed, JJ took the ice cream box and put it on the little table besides the couch.

I looked at him as he came closer to me and hugged me tightly, i hugged him back.

- "I'm ok, i promise" i said while we broke the hug, he started searching in my eyes any sign of tears, but there were none, "you know i never really got to know her, she never liked mum moving here with my dad".

-"i know, you told me the story" he just kept staring at me.

- "stop staring at me, it makes me uncomfortable" i nervously laughed and turn away.

- "i make you uncomfortable?" he asked.

- "no, your firmly stare does" i glanced at him, he hadn't stop looking at me yet.

- "'firmly stare? all those books you've read make you talk weird" he scrunched his nose.

- "they don't, you're the one who doesn't talk properly" now i was looking at him.

- "stop firmly looking at me you make me uncomfortable" he joked and i just blanked my eyes at him and pulled out my middle finger.

- "suck my ass" i said.

- "look at you! so sassy suddenly!" he laughed and i just ignored him "c'mon don't ignore me" i didn't even glance at him "i see how it goes".

I thought he had give up but i found out i was wrong when he started tickling me.

- "you bitch!" i said between little laughs "stop" but he didn't "JJ STOP" he just kept tickling "i fucking hate you" there was when he stopped.

- "no you don't" he stated, looking kinda offended.

- "yes i do" i said while i stared at him, his face went completely neutral.

- "you know? that's a pity" he crossed his arms and his muscles tensed under his white short sleeve t-shirt.

- "why?" i asked being actually intrigued by it.

- "because i love you" he said and looked deep into my eyes.

- "i love you too JJ, you know that! i was just joking so you would stop tickling me" i giggled a little.

- "no, not like that" he bit his bottom lip and looked down.

- "what do you mean?" i tried to make him look at me again but he kept avoiding eye contact.

- "i really love you" part of me knew what he was talking about but the other part couldn't actually believe it "i am in love with you" he finally looked at me, waiting for an answer i couldn't give because i was shocked, "great, i've ruined everything" he said as he ran his hands through his hair and got up, i just kept looking at him, "i should get going".

He was already walking towards the door when it hit me. I got up and ran the few meters between us and turned him by his arm once i reached the door.

I was staring at his lips as i tried to talk but couldn't manage to say a single word. So i kissed him, he responded almost instantly and placed his hands on both my cheeks as i did in the back of his neck. After a few seconds we pulled away and he pressed his forehead against mine.

- "you don't have an idea of how long I've been waiting for this" he said with his eyes still closed.

- "me too" i answered while i gently placed my left hand on his jaw, he smiled to that.

- "i just-" he stopped mid sentence "i just know how afraid you're of relationships of any kind" he opened his eyes and looked into mine, "and to be honest i do too, i don't commit to stuff and you know that".

- "of course i do" i smiled trying to calm him.

- "I don't want to hurt you Ol, as well as i don't want you to hurt me".

- "JJ, i can play the tough part sometimes but you know I wouldn't hurt a bug, even less you".

- "i could still hurt you and i would never forgive myself if that happens".

- "let's sit down" i grabbed his hand and we sat down together on the couch again, "listen, i don't have any memories of which you're not in, I've known you for God knows how long and I've been in love with you for a few years now, i know every little secret about you, or at least i like to think i do" we both laughed, "what i'm trying to say is that there's no fucking way-" he interrupted me.

- "stop cursing you little kid" he pointed a finger at me.

- "alright, what i was trying to say is that there's no way, there's literally nothing you can do that would make me hate you or at least want to" he laid down on the couch, positioning his head on my legs.

- "there's nothing you could do to make me hate you either" he looked at me with one eye while he scrunched the other one and smiled, "am i still able to stay here?"

- "of course you're you fool bitch" he got up from my lap and grabbed my face with his hands.

-"i told you to stop cursing!" he laughed.

- "why don't you want me to curse?!" i asked as i giggled.

- "because it makes me want to kiss you".

- "and who says you can't?" he smiled at my answer and kissed me again.

-------

hope you liked it :)

[cowboisadness]

Hang Em’ High {FemOC x Arthur Morgan} Chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summary: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

.....

Today it was back to doing the ever so mundane chores around camp, conversing with the other girls whenever we got the chance and when we knew Grimshaw wouldn't scold us for not doing work. Dutch was the leader of the gang, but Grimshaw kept everything running, kept everyone in line when doing the daily duties within the camp. God forbid anyone that crossed her, whether she thought us girls were taking our sweet time or the guys lacking in keeping up with their personal hygiene, she wouldn't go easy, even on her good days. Thankfully I haven't been on the receiving end of her fury, well, not yet anyway. When supper was ready in the evening and all chores were done, I thought it best to take a bowl over to the poor boy they had tied to a tree when I arrived. Kieran, his name is, apparently one of the O’Driscoll boys. Although he didn't seem like the type that would run with them, given the information I had been given regarding the rival gang. Kieran was now able to wander the camp, under the watchful eye of the others that saw him with nothing but contempt. He wouldn't get fed if it wasn't for us ladies. He kept himself busy with the horses most of the time, they wouldn't hurt or insult him after all. I approached him with a hot bowl, disturbing him as he brushed through The Counts mane, the beautiful white Arabian belonging to Dutch. Handing him the bowl he looked to me with hesitation, a few seconds passing by before he reached out to retrieve it.

“Don't worry, me nor the stew bite.”

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Bella”

“...Miss Bella. I hope you won't get a tellin’ for giving me this. Some of the other girls have.”

“Ya gotta eat. Besides, I'd give them a tallin’ back if they do.” He smiles slightly, finally taking a spoonful of the stew.

“How's my girl doing then?” walking over to my mare, stroking her nose and getting a playful nudge to the palm.

“She's a bit feisty sometimes but she's a good one. Does she have a name?”

A name. There's a lot of meaning in a name. I'd need something strong, something steadfast and with purpose. She's feisty but that means she knows what she wants. She seems the type that will set her mind to something and be determined to get it, like a hunter. Looking up to the darkening sky, clouds clearing to present itself with the most beautiful array of blues and blacks, adorned with tiny kisses of light.

“Orion.” I say with a point, keeping my eyes on the constellations above. “After the hunter in the stars. Yeah, I quite like that.” I look back down as she nudges me again, looking for any sweet treats I may have on my person. I give her another rub on her nose before turning back, giving a bye to Kieran as I make my way back to the stew pot.

After everyone had ate and the sun had fallen beyond the horizon most of the camp gathered around the main fire to share a few drinks. Arthur and Lenny decided to head into town for a few drinks instead, promising they will be back in a few hours and to keep out of trouble. Hosea gave them a doubtful look, reminding them that they were laying low. Pearson shared a few stories of his time in the Navy, everyone listening as they drank. Abigail soon retired to bed with a tired Jack in her arms, bidding everyone a goodnight. Couple of bottles later, Hosea was now the one to share stories. Ones of gripping heists and hilarious cons they carried out many years ago before the gang grew into what it is today. Laughter shared amongst everyone over the fire, rising into the air with the smoke. Before the alcohol could hit me in a way I would regret in the morning, I left the others to their merry stories and drunken tales. Curling up on the bedroll I let the distant chatter lull me to sleep.

…

By Morning I was woken by Karen, snaking me side to side, willing to awake with a loud whisper.

“What's wrong Karen?”

“Them two idiots must have got themselves locked up last night. Come with me to get them out?”

“Why me?” Sitting up I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked to her, confused.

“The others are too hungover or are still asleep.”

“Okay, just give me a moment to get sorted.”

“Wear something instead of pants.” She ordered before walking off.

I did as instructed, donning a simple collared white blouse, sleeves stopping just past the elbow. Blue skirt and blank belt to tie it all together as one. Meeting Karen at the horses we decided to take Arthurs and Lennys horses, given that they chose to walk to Valentine last night.

It didn't take long to get to Valentine, the town quickly waking up and going about its usual business. Men tending to their livestock and other men drunkenly stumbling home, or wherever they went to sleep off the alcohol. We made our way through the mud ridden street, stopping outside the Saloon to hitch the horses.

“You a good lier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to risk the Sheriff or a Deputy noticing me. You go in and pretend you're a close relative of those fools. Flash that smile and flutter your eyes at the guy. Persuade him to release them for little to no cost.”

“Would he really fall for that?”

She began to ponder for a few seconds, thinking of something that will be easy and would with minimum effort“Do you have a ring?”

“No. I sold mine.”

“Here, take one of mine. Play as a disgruntled wife that is getting sick of her husbands' shenanigans. Sweet talk him.” She said, removing one of her rings, a dainty gold band and handing it out towards me,

“You mean flirt with a lawman?”

“Sure. He's a man it will be easy.” She could see I wasn’t unsure about this whole thing. Sure I know how to lie. Quickly learning a few weeks after being married then keeping it up for months. It was one thing to lie to that bastard and random people that didn't matter, but to lie to the law, well, that's something I didn't want to involve myself with.

“If he somehow finds out who they are and the bounties they have it will take a lot more than this to get them out.” With that I took the ring from her that was still in her outstretched hand, fitting it snugly onto my finger before turning away towards the Sheriff's building, leaving Karen with the horses and without another word. Seems like lying to the law is just something I'm going to have to get used to. Lucky for them I'm a good liar.

Standing outside of the door I inhaled deeply, putting on a slight scowl and pushing the door open. I didn't pay any mind to the man sat at the desk, instead making my way to the cells. Arthur and Lenny were in separate cells, the latter awake and looking very sorry for himself. He looked up, blinking a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly, shaking my head at him before turning to the man that was trying to get my attention while still sat at the desk. It wasn't the Sheriff, just a Deputy, a young one. This should be easy.

“I can only apologise for whatever trouble my husband and his friend caused Deputy”

“A pair of drunken fools starting fights they are.”

“It seems my husband won't accept that he has a low tolerance when it comes to whiskey. I hope it wasn't too serious.”

“We have a low tolerance for violent drunkards in this town miss.”

Placing my hands onto the table and swaying myself towards him slightly to minimise the distance between us and ignoring the chatter behind me as I looked down at my hands “I’m really at the end of my whits with him. Why couldn't I have married a decent man? I hope he didn't cause you trouble when bringing him in. Although... he might be a big oaf I’m sure you would have no trouble against him”

“Well, it didn't take much to fling him in that cell.”

“I bet you're used to more dangerous and violent bad guys huh? Your girl must get so worried knowing what sort of monsters you have to deal with.”

“I have no girl to call my own miss.”

Moving to sit partly on the desk, giving him a delicate smile and keeping my attention on the boy below. “Really? Any woman would be lucky to have a brave, principled man like yourself. Instead of a fool that spends all their money on drink and can't even handle it. A man that can take care of a town knows how to take care of his lady.”

“Bella” Arthur calls

“I’m not speaking with you!” I didn't look away, keeping my eyes locked with the young deputy, faintly trembling in his seat. Leaning over towards him, now peering at him through my lashes and lowering my voice for just him to hear. “I promise these idiots won't be any more trouble for you, But if they even cause the slightest disturbance...I'm willing to be punished personally for it.” I smirked at him then licking my lips and leaning over his desk to the point I could feel his quickening breaths on my face. He was frozen in place, looking to me like a cornered doe. Without faltering eye contact I shot him a wink, breaking him out of the trance. Breaking away from the intense eye contact he fumbled with the keys attached to his belt.

The keys rattled in his hands faintly as he went to open the cell doors. I blessed the stars that it was a naive deputy I faced instead of the Sheriff. It could have gone completely different and not as smoothly if it had been.

Leading the boys outside without a word to them, I turned to the Deputy as I approached the door, fiddling with the knob so plainly with delicate fingers. “Thank you. I will remember to hopefully repay you some time.” Shooting him a wink I walked out the door before he could say a word.

What a sad site they were. Lenny vomited on himself once outside and Arthur was sat leaning against the post. Both unable to open their eyes properly as the morning light burned and made their heads throb.

“I’m just gunna have a little sit-down and...feel sorry for myself”

“Oh no you ain't. You and a few others have to go rescue that Sean fella.” He grumbled as I stood beside him, waving off Lenny who had been found by Karen, both of them setting off back to camp.

“What happened last night?”

“Don't remember.”

I huffed at that. Alcohol does one hell of a job on folk. I pulled him up, steadying him on his feet before practically dragging him to his horse, deciding that I would sit up front to take us back to camp.

Javier, Charles, Arthur and Trelawny were the ones going to rescue Sean, who was being held at Blackwater. Everyone was on edge for their safe arrival, none of them wanted to be anywhere near Blackwater right now. It was late afternoon before the beat of hooves could be heard coming up the path. Javier had returned with a loud Irishman at his back. The camp ran to meet the two, thankful for Sean's safe return and Sean replied with a shout about needing a strong drink or five. The camp's whole demeanour was flipped on its head in a matter of minutes with crates of beer and whiskey being pulled from Pearson's wagon and placed around the fire. It was time to celebrate. Arthur and Charles arrived as the first bottles were being passed around and opened, everyone collecting around the fire. Dutch gave some words on how happy he was that Sean was finally back and safe and everyone was soon talking merrily. Javier retrieving his guitar and some joined in on his song. Sean shared stories of his capture, though obviously exaggerated. Hands waving in the air for dramatic effect. Karen sat closely by his side. Arthur came to sit in the space between me and Sadie with a bottle in hand. Looking between him and the bottle he just shrugged. It seemed the rescue mission helped him get over his hangover.

“And who is this lady?” Sean bellowed as he approached.

“Annabelle, but you can call me Bella.” I smiled up at him, raising my hand for him to shake,

“Well, well. It is my pleasure miss Bella” He took my hand but instead of shaking it as I expected he pressed his lips to the back. “Where did they find you then?”

“Long story. Arthur helped me escape a less than ideal situation I would say”

“Swept up another high society lady hey Arthur”

“Shut it, Sean” Sean raised his hands in mock defeat at that.

“Just jesting Englishman. But I would love to know how you do it. I'd say she's prettier than the last. Hopefully a bit wilder.” Sean began to back away, hands still in the air but with a grin on his face.

“I wish I left you hanging from that tree.”

I couldn't help but laugh slightly, pursing my lips together to stop as Arthur looked at me with disgust that I would even entertain the Irishman.

The drinks went quickly throughout the night. Everyone singing, Uncle breaking out his banjo and others got up to dance. The alcohol was starting to take effect on me too, despite telling myself to only have a couple. It was obvious that everyone needed this. Needed some good news and a reason to celebrate.

Abigail and Jack were the first to leave even though Jack was very much awake and enjoying the liveliness around him. As the moon got higher and the night was truly set, one by one people stumbled to their tents or bedrolls. Leaving only a handful of us around the fire, sharing stories of alcohol-fueled shenanigans they got up to over the years. I had none to contribute, seeing as this was the drunkest I have ever been. I was dizzy and euphoric at the same time. My balance was unsteady and I felt like I was spinning even while seated. My body felt lighter, more at ease. Any worries I had were gone and buried. Living in the joy of the moment. Arthur and Sadie and I sat in front of the log instead of on it as we all progressively got more inebriated. The log keeping us upright and more stable. The fire before us began to die down as the celebrations did, the rest going to bed. Just Arthur and I left around the dying fire, still supping what little was left of the bottles in our hands. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted the celebrations and singing to carry on till daybreak. But my eyes started to feel heavy.

“How was the rescue?” I slurred, turning to Arthur

“Fine. Didn’t die.” His accent even thicker thanks to his drunken state.

I exhaled a laugh and a loud snort followed. My hand shot up to cover my mouth, basically slapping myself in the face, eyes wide at the noise I just made. Arthur looked at me wide-eyed also, equally taken back. He began to laugh, I soon followed. The two of us giggling into the night. My eyes were getting heavier and heavier by the minute, along with my body quickly losing its feather-light feeling. Moving myself I leaned into the log, resting my head on my hands upon it. In my current state, this was more comfort than any plush bed could provide. Before I knew it my eyes were closed, sleep overtaking me.

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn  Pt.2 Ch.17

A/N - Will get the final chapter up this week. Previous Chapter 16 . Before starting this story, I read that the real Aethelswith was so little, that when she passed away in Italy, they used a child’s coffin as she was well under 5 feet tall. She was described as being built like a sparrow.  I always picture them with this massive height/size difference as the stories say the real Ivar was over 7 feet. 

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith   Words - 1,500  

Warnings - Angst, human sacrifice, death, sorrow, mentions of rape, true love. 

Standing in the hall, Aethelswith clung to Ivar's arm; Hvitserk, on her far side, stood with his hand subtly outstretched as if she might, at any moment, lose her balance and tip over. Back straight against the wall, Brana waited near the entrance to the corridor, her expression was rigid, and her cold eyes stayed fixed on the hall doors.

Angling down, Ivar pressed a kiss to the top of Aethelswith's loosely braided hair, murmuring quiet praise and soft encouragement. Letting go of his arm, she adjusted the ties of her green dressing gown around her spare waist. The way the fabric draped from her weak posture gave her the appearance of a starved child; evidence that restored health was still a ways away.

At the sound of approaching voices, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin, as Loni and Ruud shoved Freydis through the doors. Still wearing her beige dress, her hands were shackled in front and at the sight of Ivar, her eyes bulged with fear. Pushing her onward, they stopped a few meters back and she lowered her face in a futile attempt to avoid his scrutiny. Instinctively, Aethelswith reached back to Ivar and squeezed his arm, feeling his body tense and sensing his desire to drive his blade into the top of her skull.

Opening his mouth to speak, Aethelswith tightened her grip and glanced up to him, wordlessly conveying her insistence.

"You do not need to see any of this," he spoke quietly.

"But I do."

Looking back to a cowering Freydis, Aethelswith squinted, her sensitive eyes still adjusting to the return of her sight. Even with the glare of the sun streaming through the open doors, she could see the filth on Freydis' dress and hands and caked under her nails. Her skin looked grimy and her previously shiny hair was dull. Aethelswith wanted to laugh, cackle like a witch, noticing Freydis' dry, chapped lips, perhaps even offer her a damp cloth to suck water or poisoned milk from. She should take mercy, attempt to understand and possibly forgive but none of that felt brutal enough for a girl who had been working her nocuous plan from the start.

And yet, nothing about Freydis rotting in a dingy cell for weeks while Aethelswith recovered enough to attend her hearing, pleased her. She felt no satisfaction or sense of peace, only rage so rich, at times, it took her breath. The image of Ivar sitting on his throne moments from giving his life plagued her sleep. Even awake, it seemed burned into her mind, visible still when she closed her eyes.

And Freydis had done that; spoon-fed sadness and devastation to all those Aethelswith loved and as a result, forced Ivar to place a blade to his throat. Blinking away the image, she steadied her thoughts, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Letting go of Ivar's arm, she straightened, clasping her hands in front, her face entirely void of emotion.

"Please, my lady," Freydis whined, "I could not explain this to anyone but you. I did not want to do this; any of this. I was forced. I had no choice."

Air shot out of Ivar's nostrils and his body vibrated, holding back by only a thread. Frowning, Aethelswith stepped closer, uncertain of her meaning.

"He forced me!" Freydis squawked. "He made me do it."

"Who?" Aethelswith narrowed her eyes.

"Burgred!" Freydis cried.

"That's it!" Ivar roared, reaching for the ax on his belt.

Eyes flashing, Aethelswith's hand flew out to stop him, latching onto his wrist and pulling him closer to calm him. Grunting with both frustration and resignation, he stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Nodding, she squeezed his hand giving assurance that she was not phased.

"My lady," Freydis pleaded, lifting her shackled hands as if in prayer. "He threatened the life of my child sister. Keeps her like a whore...his carnal slave. Does all sorts of depraved things to her. Promised to release her if I did this, otherwise, he would kill her. She is only fifteen-years-old!" Freydis cried again. "You would do the same for your own flesh and blood, I know you would. You would poison anyone if it meant saving the life of someone you love. She is only a child!"

Horrified, Aethelswith covered her mouth, "I have known the brutality of that man," she nodded, lowering her hand, "I do understand the lengths a person would go to to escape it, I do," she nodded again.

Closing her eyes, Freydis shoulders settled with relief.

"Freydis, look at me?" Aethelswith called in a gentle tone. "Do I look stupid to you, though?" she lifted her brows. "Hmm?"

Frowning, Freydis shook her head, panic creeping back into her eyes.

"There is no question in my mind that you conspired with Burgred, and that you are, in fact, Saxon but I do not believe he has your sister." Lowering her chin, Aethelswith's expression hardened. "You are a power-hungry liar."

Disgusted, Ivar let out a threatening growl, the sound rumbling through Aethelswith's back. Stepping forward, Freydis lifted her hands like a beggar making Loni yank her back with a tug of the chain fastened to her cuffs.

"It was your husband's doing!" Freydis shouted, lifting her face in defiance.

"He is not my husband!" Aethelswith screamed. "You are standing in front of my husband. In fact," she pointed at the floor. "Kneel! Get onto your knees before the king."

Grabbing her shoulders, Loni shoved her down, Freydis squealing as she landed hard on the floor.

"Please," Freydis whimpered, looking back up.

"Further, Burgred does not care for little girls," Aethelswith sneered. "Does not care for girls at all," her eyes bore into Freydis, "As I learned on my wedding night when he took me like a man would take another man."

Freydis' eyes flashed at the revelation and every person in the room shifted on their feet. Hugging Aethelswith tighter to his front, Ivar leaned in pressing another kiss behind her ear, whispering how strong she was.

"Your stories fool no one." Aethelswith continued, her voice growing steadier. "Burgred wanted me dead and you wanted to be a queen, you stupid, stupid girl," she shook her head. "Did you truly believe you could take Ivar from me?" Raising her hand, she touched the faint scar across the top of her temple. "This will remind me, each day, how close I came to losing everything."

Turning her head, she pressed her face back against Ivar's chest.

"You are certain?" he asked in a low voice, his lips still touching her hair. At her nodded reply, he reached to his belt and withdrew the gold and ruby dagger from his scabbard, offering it for her to take.

"Hold her," Aethelswith ordered the men, taking the knife and stepping forward out from the security of Ivar's arms.

Panic struck and Freydis jolted forward, thrashing against Loni and Ruud's grip. Fighting, she spat and shrieked like a frenzied animal being pulled under water. Cinching up the chain, Ruud and Loni grabbed her under her arms, bracing her in place.

"Last words?" Aethelswith's asked staring down into her wild eyes.

"I ask our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to receive me," Freydis spat, out of breath from her struggle.

Reaching down, Ruud grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her head back so she could not look away.

Pressing the edge of the blade to the skin of her taut throat, Aethelswith leaned closer.

"You have no god," she whispered, "and now you will bleed like the sheep that you are."

In one swift sweep, Aethelswith cut the width of her pale throat; Freydis' eyes flashing wide as dark blood spewed out, streaming down her front, the faintest sound of air rushing from the slit in her skin. Silently, Freydis' body sagged as her blood drained and her round blue eyes lost focus.

Grabbing Aethelswith from behind, Ivar spun her away, wrapping his arms around her, and hugged her to his chest. Collapsing against him, she let out a choked sob with the dagger still dangling in her hand.

Thick blood began to pool on the floor and Ivar led her away back to the base of the thrones. Without a word, Aethelswith stopped and turned to face him, peering up into his worried eyes. Clutching her arms, he leaned in, studying her shocked face, the colour now entirely drained from her cheeks. His eyes flitted down to the dagger she held in the palm of her bloodied hands.

"I used this knife in the way my grandfather intended, defending what is mine," she too glanced down at the blade. "I think he would be proud of me today. Are you proud of me?" she looked back up, searching his face, his bright eyes marveling down at her.

"Always."

Lifting the knife higher, she cleared her throat, "I give you this family knife...my grandfather's knife as a martial offering, stained with the blood of our enemies. I pledge my life and heart to you and promise that I will allow nothing to part us. Ever."

Leaning closer, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes alive with adoration.

"Ivar Ragnarsson, will you marry me?"

.

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[omniswords]

We Were Never Different [Sylvain Jose Gautier/Dorothea Arnault]

According to the books, it took Sylvain upwards of ten proposals before Dorothea agreed to marry him.

The eleventh time, she said yes.

(happy birthday @trebuchials ! and cheers to my first?? ever???? FE3H fic! signed, the fool who hasn’t beaten Azure Moon OR Crimson Flower yet. oops.)

It’s the end of the world, and at almost thirty years old, Dorothea knows it.

Maybe she should have known it six years ago, when it actually did feel like the end of the world. When she and her professor and a handful of her old classmates seemed to stare Death itself out of existence. Twice. When she trekked through parts of the Empire and the Kingdom that she had only ever heard long-gone suitors try and fail to wax poetic about. When she… when Edelgard…

Maybe that was the closest to the end of the world. That, and the streets of Enbarr.

But as far as she’s concerned, childhoods are never as pretty as people try to describe, and all her life she has been nothing if not resilient. The Mittelfrank Opera Company would have plenty to say about that, and so would Garreg Mach Monastery. And so would her professor, if they could see her now from wherever they are.

And so would Sylvain.

Sylvain, who has made it a point, in these last six years, to offer her marriage ten times.

Sylvain, who knocked on her door tonight for what she presumed is the eleventh. Who’s sitting across from her at a dinner table in Gautier territory, and who opens his mouth to confirm it.

She’ll have to admit, he’s developed a sense of decorum and tact over the years. He’s lost the wiggle in his eyebrows in favor of a gallant kiss to the back of her hand. He doesn’t lean in her doorway, whenever he comes to her home, as though he intends to darken it with some despicable arrogance. No, there’s something noticeably different about him, something that sets him apart from other nobles—and perhaps from who he was when he tried chasing her skirt eleven years ago. There’s a sparkle in his eye that he makes no effort to hide. A softness in the cadence of his voice, the sort that betrays just how deeply they know each other. What parts of each other’s hearts they’ve touched, and cradled, and taken with then whenever they parted ways in the halls of the monastery and in Faerghus terrain.

Things like that don’t just happen to you when you inherit the title of Margrave Gautier.

“Dorothea.” By Seiros, even the way he says her name and keeps her gaze in between spoonfuls of peach sorbet holds a different kind of weight. “I meant what I said before, about… everything. I’m confident you know that much.”

“I know.” They may be in the corner of a local tavern, a place Sylvain claimed as some old stomping grounds, but she’s allowed to hold onto some of her airs. He told her once that it was one of the things he liked about her. He might have said, years ago, that her stone-cold attitude and the way she held him at arm’s length only spurred the thrill of the chase; nowadays, when he rides beside her on horseback or dares to brush her hand on a leisurely walk, something in the way he carries himself tells her she’s commanded his full respect by virtue of existing. “So did I.”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” he says; he must be leaning back in his seat because elbows on the table are unbecoming, but he inclines his head like he means to study her. “But your answer has been the same every time. And you haven’t told me no. All you’ve said is, ‘Not yet.’ So when? When will you say yes?”

She’ll credit him on two counts: that his tone his measured and far from demanding, and that his words are accurate. She never has said no to his proposals. Perhaps she’s had to stave off an onslaught of girlish butterflies, or memories of a hushed, heartfelt conversation in Garreg Mach’s reception hall. But her answer has hardly been more than a faint smile, Not yet, Sylvain, and a closed door.

“Sylvain,” she says almost in the way that she might issue a challenge; an elbow on the table means little to her when her chin rests so delicately against her knuckles. “Why do you think I haven’t agreed to marry you yet?”

He pauses. And then he chuckles. “That’s a loaded question with a lot of answers, coming from you,” he admits. “Maybe you’ve just been waiting to see if I’ve got all the flirting out of my system. I suppose any woman who knew my… track record… would wait for that.”

To her surprise, Dorothea can’t think of any other woman besides herself these days. She’s the only one he’s so much as mentioned in the time they’ve spent together—not counting Ingrid, who’s been steadfastly overseeing Galatea territory on her own, or Annette, who according to him now happily goes by “the Duchess of Fraldarius.” But she is the only one he’s invited to dinner. Written to regularly. Secured land for in Gautier territory, in her name, and given her time and space to tend. All without need for thanks. All without asking for repayment besides a smile and a reply and perhaps, if he’s in good spirits, a song.

That’s the pleasant thing about Sylvain. He’s almost always in good spirits.

“That may be true,” she concedes as they leave their meal behind and he helps her into her cape, “but I have other reasons.”

“And you’re going to make me guess them all, huh?”

“No,” Dorothea says, and when he takes her by the hand and leads her into the cold, she doesn’t quite let go of him. “I trust you enough to tell you.”

It’s a long walk back to her home, where Sylvain’s horse is graciously being fed and watered, but neither of them minds the trip. In fact, she’d like to think they both quietly relish it, especially in the dark, away from the prying eyes of nobility. “So,” he says. “Your reasons?”

Dorothea draws her hood, and even afterwards her hand still looks for his. It feels so distant, gloved all the time. Perhaps once they reach her house he’ll allow her just a few forbidden seconds to peel them away, to feel out the lines in his palms and the calluses from all that lance work. “Well,” she begins with a deep breath and a vague sweep of her arm. “I think the first reason is obvious. You’ve had to help repair so much in the Kingdom, haven’t you? Not to mention all the responsibilities of being a margrave.”

“I can’t tell if you’re saying it like that because you’re respecting me or because you’re mocking me,” he shoots back, like the hard-to-get quips of old times, but the laugh in his voice, weak though it is, makes itself known well enough. “It’s been years since I’ve inherited that title. It’s not exactly new, and neither are the responsibilities of being a noble. No matter how much of a buffer we’re supposed to be for the north.” He shrugs. “You learn a lot in five years. And then six more.”

Whatever he’s learned, it sounds as though he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. “You’ve done good things in those years,” she murmurs. “Maybe I wanted you to see that I see those good things, instead of… what you’ve always thought women saw in you.”

“You can say it,” Sylvain mumbles. “Not talking about my Crest doesn’t make it not exist anymore.”

“Talking about it gives it weight. Relevance.” Dorothea spares him a glance, gestures between them with her free hand. “Whatever this is between us has nothing to do with it, or nobility, or lofty… whatever you want to call it. It never has. We are who we are—together—because of what we’ve done together. What we’ve seen. Sylvain, I’ve told you things, written things, that I never thought I would tell anyone, and your Crest wasn’t even on the list of things I was thinking about when I confessed them.”

“So what was?”

She stops, muscles tense, heart lodged in her throat. All the old symptoms of stage fright with none of the excitement. “How… scared I was. That once you heard them, or read them, you’d… have nothing to do with me anymore.”

In the silence, broken only by their footsteps, Sylvain squeezes her hand. Neither of them has to say, like everyone else. Neither of them has to give any more words to ghosts left over, or walls that haven’t quite crumbled.

“Maybe I was testing you, after all” she admits; the only evidence of her words are the puff of air in the cold. “How long you’d bother waiting for me. If you really did still think there was more to me than my looks or my voice, or…” She shakes her head, locks of hair tickling her cheeks under her hood. “If, at the end of the world, if… you would still want someone like me around. Almost-grandma and all.”

Dorothea’s home is in sight just uphill—the house the men of Gautier built, the stable that shelters Sylvain’s horse—and quite frankly, she can’t tell if it’s relief or regret settling stone-heavy in the pit of her heart. She’s yanked back before she can take a step further, and when she turns, Sylvain is simply standing there, watching her, making her stomach twist all over again. “Do you want to know?” he says quietly. He’s still holding onto her. “What it is I don’t want?”

She nods, but not after a pause heavy with pros and cons. “Yeah. If you trust me enough to tell me.”

Sylvain tugs her close, firm but not forceful, so that she could nearly swallow his words. So that he could feel all almost-thirty years of her. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he confesses, his voice a low rumble. “I don’t want to not take care of you anymore.”

It takes a while for her next words to come out. “Sylvain,” she murmurs, half-shivering. “I think all you’ve ever done is take care of me.”

He squeezes her wrists, and he reaches for her face, and he slants his mouth against hers like he doesn’t want to wait for that anymore, either. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, for whatever impropriety that holds. They’ve stolen plenty in the monastery, when she teased him for his skilled tongue and eager hands and other body parts rising to the occasion, however ready or not she was to indulge them. And however many times the world has almost ended for them both, he’s kissed her just before then, too, as though she was the last thing he ever wanted to remember about his life before he left it behind. Pressure, urgency—there is none of that here. There’s only intimacy, the last dregs of patience, and, if she leans enough into his touch, a promise.

“Dorothea—Arnault—” He’s never panted her name against her jaw before, never pressed his forehead to hers before. She thinks she could get used to both. “Will you grow old with me?”

Dorothea thinks, somewhere between the eleventh question and the first yes and slipping on the ring Sylvain’s been carrying on him for half a decade, that impropriety means next to nothing when she could take him inside and get used to more of him all over again.