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thirst2 · 1 year

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‘Had a weird dream.

‘Was back in college; Dodi was there, possibly planning/involved-in something. And Tori was running for something like class president; which, like…Williams didn’t have. If I remember, they had something called Student Council but my dream apparently decided she wasn’t going to be running for that.

For whatever reason, all of us were very intent on supporting her in this; “for whatever reason” not because Tori doesn’t/didn’t deserve support but because, like, my mother and brother was there and we were all getting ready and dressing up for the speech she was going to give. It was a whole thing.

And, while not realistic, it makes sense for a dream: people getting together and preparing for a big or formal event shows up often. I think it’s my brain dredging up my many memories of getting ready for events like these and, while a lot of spoons, they’re exciting – just the anticipation throughout the day – and there’s a sense of duty and support for those you care about and, you know, formal events are often, in some capacity, a party.

It makes sense that my brain, in dreamland, might take this scenario and presume, “Why not make this a family event?”

Anyway, there was a lot that happened and it was the type of dream that processes entire concepts in great detail – as if awake – but, because it’s a dream, they all dissipate shortly after waking.

But the climax of the dream was, after we’d all finished getting prepared, I was going to text Tori some message of support and encouragement before her speech and this resolution to start writing posts like these, again, because too much time has passed of not bothering to keep developing/working-on myself. There was more; I had organized my thoughts really well and it was important and I was excited about starting it; but I don’t remember, anymore.

I think it’s tied to the new year, that urgency.

But, in the cold light of waking, there’s a…processing, maybe.

Social interaction (of any degree or capacity) has always been a spoon-heavy activity; much of it stemming from my latency in processing but I’d like to think I’m, at least, baseline adequate at reading facial expression and tone, by now, and I just have to cop to the fact that it’s…always going to take a lot of spoons. That’s the nature of the activity, for me. So ist das leben.

I remember, in college, remarking to Dodi about trying to reach out and be more social and how I was having trouble with it; I think more so the effort of putting myself out there than the success of that endeavor because I remember remarking that I found myself finding that initial step difficult to which I rationalized, “Which makes sense; people can't respond to you if you don’t give them anything to respond to,” and Dodi agreeing along the lines of, “Of course; you have to put yourself out there.”

I don’t disagree with that sentiment, still; it’s a very human response and, Void knows, no one owes you time or attention. But it also strikes to the core of making connections, right? What is a friendship but a mutual reaction to shared interest in qualities both possess? Alright; that’s a simplification via flattening but…you know, I think it’s an accurate element of the core of things.

It’s part of what makes friendships (and humans, with our weird convergence with free-will) and social networks, well, what they are; you sacrifice them if you sacrifice free association.

But Void – is it so many spoons.

And I think part of my sheer excitement in the dream (beyond being able to support a friend and the general excitement of the moment) was being back in a controlled environment that made socializing so much easier.

And, after waking and trying to cobble together some understanding of what I’d just experienced, there was the realization of how much it wasn’t that it was just an experience I’ve had in the past and may not come again but how fundamentally it is not repeatable.

I’m not entirely sure how even I got from one to the other but the deterioration of my social network over the past decade has made it painfully clear how much I…didn’t need it? Like, – if my comfortableness with isolating at home throughout the pandemic (an activity which hasn’t ended as there’s still an ongoing pandemic) stood in contrast with how much everyone else has not done well with such isolation – I’ve, further, discovered that I seem to do alright with, in large part, very weak connections to others. Like, – so long as I’m self-sufficient and have access to the internet – I think I’d be fine…; I probably wouldn’t do well with utterly no human connection (hence the internet or the need for a remote job) but a severance of anything resembling friendships seems perfectly livable, so far.

Which – and this is desperately important – isn’t me saying, “Fuck all that noise; I don’t need any of it and I’m better off without it.”

I’m neither trying to be a misanthrope nor finding any source of annoyance with anyone I know; I adore people (probably too intensely) and have loyalty from the most threadbare of associations; it is not, by any measure, difficult to wring affection from me.

It’s just…something I’ve noticed, about myself.

And there was this realization that, whether desired or not, this made sense; in a truly utilitarian way, I just…don’t have the mental capacity to keep up enough to form lasting bonds; I think.

Actually, – saying it aloud – I feel worse about that than I originally thought.

But, like, what’s to be done about it?

As I was thinking things over, I remembered various social events from high school, things like meeting up with friends for breakfast at a local restaurant or heading over from band camp to a hang-out location.

And, in the reflection of the last 10 years, I felt, this morning, a sort of emptiness about them. Don’t get me wrong, they were fun; time spend with people I was (and am) fond of. But, like, also kind of empty? By which I mean, they didn’t result in anything other than a fond memory. No strengthened ties or connections; removing them would probably alter a part of my development but, otherwise…just pretty inconsequential (in the grand scheme).

I don’t think I’d approach it that way if it weren’t for the general…inevitable marching towards the current predicament? My eternal sentimentality always found that an event – even if passing – was important if it meant something, even if only in that moment. It happened and that’s not something you can ever have any guarantee of, in life. Isn’t that meaningful? Why shouldn’t we create and draw meaning from it? Yet, being unable to more easily make acquaintances and friends without sacrificing mountains of energy and mental well-being – I think those memories feel inconsequential because they don’t affect my current outcome; I’m not sure much of anything could affect it.

Which – to be fair – it’s not like people didn’t reach out to me, over the years. I had two friends who sought me out, specifically, when they ran head-first into depression at life-altering moments; but, nursing my own depression (and discovery, by trial-and-error, that I have anxiety), those relationships fell through, as much as I wanted to be there for them (and appreciated that I was one of the people they felt they could lean on in those moments; if only their instinct had actually been correct).

And (again, putting yourself out there…) there’s nothing stopping me from reaching back out (or could have done, in the past); maybe I’d just be frank and explain things and why I was the way I was.

Maybe; there’s vulnerability, in that. As earnest and forward as I prided myself on being in childhood, adulthood has exposed that it may’ve been just that I was comfortable with certain kinds of vulnerability and there’s a whole treasure-trove of those I’m not. Something, something, childhood, abuse, character building…

But it’s not what I’d imagined; I was relatively social, towards the end of high school, and I enjoyed it a lot. I like being there for people and I like getting to know people and getting to listen to them and I like people, period. I was strongly impacted by the closeness and frequent seeing of my uncles and aunts and I wanted that closeness for my future relatives; I imagined constantly popping in to see my niblings and second-cousins. I imagined a sprawling network of friends that I’d frequently be involved in, frequently there for, frequently connecting and reconnecting with, dynamic and alive.

I think a small network would have still made sense, to me.

An incapable one is…well, an antithesis (life has a sense of humor); I don’t think I was expecting that.

And, I guess, my point of the above is that I can adapt; I can do it (depression, if nothing else, has taught me I’m quite adept at creating a meal out of sticks). It wasn’t the choice I’d’ve made but I’ll be alright.

Because, again, what can you do? Like, I can’t (and wouldn’t) blame anyone; the faults are a byproduct of the requirements. I can’t possibly blame anyone who didn’t see the point in keeping up with someone who doesn’t reply for 2-weeks-to-a-month. I think what I was going through makes it understandable but can I really fault if someone felt abandoned by my not being there during their incredibly dark and isolating time? Maybe they resent me, for it, or no longer possibly feel like they can put their trust in me; that’s understandable.

I don’t know if I’m capturing it but there’s a…neutralness about it. I don’t know if I have the capability of keeping friends; that’ll have to be O. K. I’m not sure I know how to do it – anymore – at this point, anyway.

#About Me #About Me Retrospective #Tori Borish

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civiluz · 1 year

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Notarius fuqarolarning qanday turdagi nizolari boʻyicha mediativ kelishuvlarini tasdiqlaydi?

Oʻzbekiston Respublikasi Adliya vazirining 2019-yil 4-yanvardagi 2-mh-son buyrugʻi bilan tasdiqlangan “Notariuslar tomonidan notarial harakatlarni amalga oshirish tartibi toʻgʻrisida”gi Yoʻriqnomaning (04.01.2019-yil, roʻyxat raqami 3113) 1453-bandida notarius oilaviy nizolar (er-xotinning mol-mulkini boʻlish), meros bilan bogʻliq nizolar (meros mol-mulkini taqsimlash, merosxoʻrlar oʻrtasida…

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#Er-xotinning mol-mulkini boʻlish #Mediativ #Meros bilan bogʻliq nizolar #Meros mol-mulkini taqsimlash #notarius #Notariuslar tomonidan mediatsiya faoliyatini olib borish #Oilaviy nizolar

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shakawat-opu · 2 years

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#photographeropu #mobilephotography #nuturephotography #nuture #nuturelovers #feniyan❤️ #fenitown #dhaka #bd_clicks #bdphotographer #noakhaliphotography #noakhali_clicks #chottogram🇧🇩📍 #borishal #chandpurphotography #bdphotography #travelphotography #flowers #flowersphotography (at Feni - Town) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ciz4x6OJ1ND/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#photographeropu #mobilephotography #nuturephotography #nuture #nuturelovers #feniyan❤️#fenitown #dhaka #bd_clicks #bdphotographer #noakhaliphotography #noakhali_clicks #chottogram🇧🇩📍#borishal #chandpurphotography #bdphotography #travelphotography #flowers #flowersphotography

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banglaislamicpost · 2 years

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🛑🚧🚨Please Ignore the hashtag 🛑🚧🚨 ................................................... ................................................... #banglaislamicpost #bangla #banglahadisandalquran #banglaquran #banglaislam #banglahadith #banglahadis #banglaislamicquote #banglaislamicreminder #banglawaz #banglaquran #bangladesh #bangladeshi #banglaquotes #sylhety #sylheti #sylhet #borishal #moulovibazar #dhaka #comilla https://www.instagram.com/p/Ce1kHJkLneJ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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globalcourant · 2 years

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Boris Johnson to remain UK PM, wins no-trust vote over partygate scandal

UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson has won a no-confidence vote in the Parliament. The no-confidence vote was moved by the conservative party which PM Johnson leads after the Partygate scandal. File photo of British Prime Minister Boris Johnson. British Prime Minister Boris Johnson has won the no-confidence vote by 211 to 148 votes. A total of 359 votes were cast, of which 211 MPs expressed…

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mysharona1987 · 2 years

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#nadine dorries #politics #borish johnson #lol #uk politics

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o-kurwa · 2 years

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I don't think even Trump could've come up with such dirty scheme 😂

#borish johnson #ukrainians #immigrants #rwanda deportation

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cod-dump · 9 months

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I come back with another TV series quote, Stranger Things addition. I've been seeing all these posts about how done Gaz is with Soap and Ghost, so I thought I'd contribute.

Ghost, driving to the rendezvous point: *Arguing with Soap* What are you gonna do, walk to the extraction point?

Soap: I will do anything if it gets me a way from you!

Gaz, very tired and very done with this bullshit: Children! Children! Children! This interminable bickering was amusing at first, but it's getting stale, and we've got a long drive ahead of us.

Gaz: So why don't you two cut the horseshit and get to the part where you admit your sexual feelings for one another.

Ghost, almost stearing into a ditch: Woah!

Soap: You are way off base, buddy!

Gaz: Oh, spare me, spare me, spare me! *Leans into the middle concel, looking at Soap*

Gaz: Yes, yes, hes a brute. I know. Probably reminds you of a bad relationship, and gosh, you'd really like a nice man to settle down with, but admit it, you're real curious to know what he's like I'm the sack!

Gaz, turning to Ghost: And you! Hah! Well, you're just a big man baby who'd rather act tough than show his true feelings because the last time you opened your heart, you got hurt. Owie.

Gaz: And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly borish mating ritual. So please, for my sake, either quit

Gaz: Or pull over, tear off those clothes, and get it over with!

Ghost and Soap: *Silence*

There was a period after all that was said that Gaz was sure that he was dead.

The silence was loud, suffocating. Nothing was said for several minutes and that gave Gaz plenty of time to think about what exactly he had said and to who. He’s known Ghost longer, he knows how he feels about being confronted with his emotions, his humanity. Gaz felt comfortable with Soap but he knew the man sometimes had a explosive temper. So the silence, the silence that would not exist if it was just one of the men instead of both, was very nerve racking.

The fact nothing was said the rest of the drive said far too much, that Gaz said too much.

They made it to the extraction point where Nik was waiting. Again, nothing was said that was strictly business on the flight back. It was obvious that Nik picked up on the tension and quickly figured it stemmed from Gaz. Man had always been observant so Gaz was hoping he could rely on him for protection if it came to that.

They made it back to base and thankfully Price was there, waiting for them in a professional yet relaxed pose. Silently, the three climbed out and Gaz hung back to avoid walking between the all too quiet Soap and Ghost. He felt Nik’s gaze on him and then Price’s, the man quickly picking up on whatever Nik and felt/seen. Fortunately the man didn’t say anything about it and just walked them inside to debrief.

Everything after that point would just be too quiet. Even with the regular chatter of the soldiers, everyone moving and working as normal, it was too fucking quiet. Soap and Ghost went their separate ways after the debriefing and just disappeared all together after that. Gaz was terrified to go to his office or room so he chose to stick next to Price.

“Sergeant… dare I ask what the hell happened on that mission?”

Gaz just sat silently next to him, eyes flickering to the door of the room, as if expecting someone to come barging in and attack him. That might’ve been Soap’s approach, Gaz has never seen Ghost go in guns blasting unless there was no other option.

“More like what happened afterward… I think they’re going to kill me.”

“Why would you think that?”

Price was definitely showing more interest in whatever was going on with Gaz over the paperwork before him. Man loved to hear gossip even though he would rather eat straight coffee grounds than admit it.

“May have overstepped with Soap and Ghost.”

Price was laser focused on him and it made Gaz shudder. He tried to avoid looking at his captain and just focus on the door completely. Gaz knew he couldn’t beat around the bush forever (Price would beat him if he did) so he just took a deep breath and told him everything. He explained their argument, what lead to it, and what Gaz had said to them on the car ride to the extraction point. Gaz took a breath after the final word, leaning over the table and closing his eyes to avoid looking or perceiving anything.

Price laughed loudly and Gaz just hunkered down more. Price tried to say something throughout his fit of uncontrollable laughing fit but was simply unable to get anything out. Price wasn’t the type to laugh at someone’s misery (though it has happened) so Gaz was hoping the situation was just too ridiculous and Gaz’s worry was purely irrational.

Finally, after Price laughing long and hard enough for him to be out of breath, the man calmed and pat Gaz’s shoulder.

“I wish I could’ve been there!”

“Cap-“

“You’re fine, Kyle. They’re not going to do shit.”

Gaz relaxed at Price’s certainty. Price was right, he was fine.

Gaz would stay fine until the next day early in the morning. He would be at breakfast in the mess, attempting to chase away the grogginess with coffee when he noticed someone sit at the table he was at.

“Hey, Gaz. How’d you sleep?”

Gaz was surprised to hear it was Soap, “Fine. You losing your voice, mate? Sound like- OH MY GOD-“

Gaz had opened his eyes to see Soap and the absolute murder scene that was his neck. It looked like someone strangled him then bit him to hell and back. Gaz gawked, Soap avoiding looking him in the eye like he was Medusa. Gaz struggled to say something, anything.

“What the fuck happened to you?!”

Soap was red in the face, turning his upper body away from Gaz. Gaz was going to push more but then Soap muttered, face practically on fire.

“Had a… ‘talk’ with Ghost about our feelings yesterday.”

Gaz gasped louder than what others would’ve deemed necessary, but to him it was very necessary. Soap decided to leave quickly, Gaz just staring after him with his jaw hanging open. Soap disappeared out of the mess and Gaz didn’t know what to do other than grab his phone and immediately text Price what he had just learned and seen.

#first bigger thing I’ve written in forever! yay!!#cod mwii #call of duty #modern warfare ii #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #drabble #ficlet #fic

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beansmack2021 · 10 months

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Golden Era w/ Prompt 14

Now in their Fifth Year at Hogwarts, Mattheo and the Reader are in a happy relationship. Of course, with Professor Umbridge as the new Headmistress, they can't show it. They resort to longing glances in the halls and passing notes in their classes. They can get away with it in most other classes, but Umbridge still teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts...

TW: mentions of blood, open wounds, torture.

"Hold my hand. You're going to be fine"

Mattheo and Y/N had more or less mastered the art of discretion. They had to if there was any hope for their relationship with Dolores Umbridge around. She'd gone on a power trip, her Educational Decrees posted all around Hogwarts.

Number 31 said that boys and girls could not be within 8 inches of each other. Y/N had found that decree to be particularly ridiculous, especially when considering Quidditch practices and games, the teams being comprised of both girls and boys. Speaking of Quidditch, they also weren't allowed to fly unless at an official, authorized practice.

There were ways around the rules. Mattheo had managed to successfully sneak Y/N into their common room in the dungeons on several occasions, and nobody in Slytherin or Gryffindor dared to report them. Especially not since Draco was a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, and one of their best friends. He'd threatened members of their own house with telling Umbridge about their rulebreaking if they said anything about Mattheo and Y/N (on several occasions).

Sneaking into an out of the common room was risky with Filch and Mrs. Norris prowling the halls, so those visits were few and far between. Since many of the other professors disagreed with Professor Umbridge's crazy decrees, they let a lot slide in their classes. This included note passing, which was Mattheo's favorite form of discreet flirting.

"The whole school should be bowing before your beauty", "Your smile tears me apart in all the best ways", and "Each wait between visits pulls apart at my soul, and your kiss is the only thing that can put it back together" were some of the notes Y/N would open and furiously blush about, even hours after receiving them. Professor McGonagall, who disliked Umbridge more than anyone else, was the most lenient with note passing.

Mattheo got his high from breaking the rules in Umbridge's class. He'd turn from his seat in front of her and give her a peck on the lips when Umbridge had her back turned, earning claps on the back from Blaize every time he got away with it. He'd pass back the sweetest notes, and usually Y/N could read it quickly enough and then hide it under her papers and continue to pretend taking notes while actually writing her response.

Usually.

"I'd love you from light-years away, 8 inches is nothing."

Her wide grin quickly turned to a mask of neutrality as Umbridge called her name. "Miss L/N, while I'd be thrilled if you were to prove me wrong, I'm sure you don't find the Theory of Magic so riveting as to grin like a baboon receiving a banana. Show me what you have."

Y/N picked up the note, knowing well what was about to happen, and held the note out to Umbridge. The moment the borish woman had touched the paper, however, it folded itself into a bird, flitted just above reach, and burst into flames. The ashes fell back onto the table like snow, a red rose resting on top of what once was a love note.

"I'm going to ask you once. Who handed you that note?" Umbridge smiled but it looked more like a grimace. She leaned in and said quietly, "Tell me who it was and your punishment won't be as severe." Y/N locked eyes with Mattheo just briefly enough that Umbridge didn't notice, looked back at her and simply shook her head. Umbridge stood up and brushed some non-existent dust from her dress. "Very well then. Detention! My office at 5 o'clock," she leaned in again to finish her sentence with a wicked grin, "sharp."

"I'm so sorry, love. I didn't think she'd have seen it." Mattheo was groveling. He felt absolutely horrible, and Y/N he did, but it was her own fault for not putting the note down sooner. She'd reminded him of that over and over again, but still, he'd apologized relentlessly. She'd just sighed and wolfed down some ham and a roll before heading to Umbridge's office to serve her time.

Umbridge opened the door just as she was about to knock. "Ah, punctuality. We may just be out of here before midnight. Come in. Sit."

Y/N glanced around the room. The walls were bright pink and there were ceramic plates with cats on them, prowling about, not unlike the moving portraits throughout the halls of Hogwarts. Everything in the room was very... pink. Y/N supposed to woman who lived there was, too. She noticed some parchment and a quill at a small desk in the center of the room. She also noticed that there was no ink pot. She took her seat, and Umbridge sat at the bigger desk in the corner of the room.

"You'll write 'I will not be insubordinate' until I tell you that you may stop." Y/N was confused. "Professor, I don't have any ink." The woman chuckled and it sent a chill down her spine. "You won't need any. Begin."

Y/N picked up the quill and started to write on the paper, instantly met with searing pain. She looked at her hand and gasped. There were deep cuts in her own messy scrawl, reading exactly what she'd written on the paper. They healed over before her eyes, and she glanced at the paper.

"Is this-"

"Your blood? That it is. Neat little thing, isn't it?" Umbridge just smiled and then turned back to her paperwork.

Y/N knew things would only get worse for her if she didn't do as she was told, so she picked up the quill and continued to write, grimacing with pain each time the skin on her hand healed over.

After a few hours, the pen couldn't do much to heal her hand. She was smearing her own blood on her hand before continuing to write. She was nearly numb to the pain now, tears in her eyes as Umbridge asked her a question.

"Do you have something to say?"

Y/N was unblinking as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I will not be insubordinate."

"Good girl. I'll write you a note in case one of our wonderful prefects stops you so that you don't end up right back here," she giggles and Y/N shakes violently. "Go directly to your dormitory, do not make any unauthorized stops along the way, unless you intend to use the restroom. Have a good night, and I'll see you in class tomorrow, Miss L/N."

Y/N couldn't find it in herself to go to the restroom, though. She walked straight up to Gryffindor Tower, Godric's painting swinging open for her, with almost an apologetic look. It was like the founder's portrait was saying "I'm sorry for what our institution has turned into." Y/N sees Hermione, Ron and Harry chatting on the couches in the center of the common room. Hermione glances over and immediately stands as she lets out a sob.

"Y/N! You've been in Umbridge's office for hours. She must have been really furious after... your hand!" She scurries over as Y/N looks down and sees the blood still dripping from her hand. "She made you use the quill, didn't she?" Harry doesn't seem shocked at all. She can't seem to make the words come out, so she just nods. "Madam Pomfrey loaned me a roll of tape and some gauze, just in case someone else from our house has to put up with Umbridge's torture. Hermione, do you want to clean her hand while I grab that stuff from my dorm?"

Hermione nods and grabs one of the throw blankets from the couch, whispering Aguamenti and wiping her hand with the wet cloth. Harry is back with the tape and gauze just as Hermione is dabbing her hand to dry it, grimacing each time Y/N hisses in pain. He covers it tightly enough that the bleeding would stop within the next few minutes, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.

"Who passed you the note, Y/N? It was Mattheo, right?" Hermione elbowed Ron. "Ow! What? I was just asking. Quick thinking with the fire." Y/N shook her head. "That wasn't me. We charm the paper we use to pass our notes so that they aren't there in case we're caught. We've never been caught, so I didn't know his would do that. The ink just vanishes from mine when someone other than him and I touches the paper."

Hermione nods, seemingly impressed. "It's very late, I think we should all get some rest. Won't be learning properly if we're all exhausted." She heads up the stairs to her dorm, and Ron and Harry exchange a look before standing, stretching, and heading up the stairs to their own. Y/N just sits on the couch for a while, tracing the words 'I will not be insubordinate' over her bandages.

She doesn't say anything to anyone at breakfast, and is silent in her other classes. Mattheo doesn't try to hand her any notes, but he does cast worried glances and try to make eye contact, but Y/N can't look at him. She can't look at anyone. She's afraid that if she does, Umbridge will accuse her of some other act of insubordination and she'll end up right back in the disgustingly pink office.

She's a model student throughout the rest of the day, hurrying from the room after her last class of the day, Potions. A hand covers her mouth and pulls her through the portrait doorway of the Slytherin common room. She immediately panics, dropping her books and turns to try to leave without them so that she isn't caught somewhere she isn't supposed to be, but a pair of strong arms wrap around her, making hushing noises that are meant to calm her as she sobs.

When she finally calms down enough to stop fighting, Mattheo turns her to face him. He wipes a tear from her cheek, and she looks down. "Oh, baby" he says quietly, heartbreak clear in his tone. He brushes some hair from her face. She starts crying, sobs wracking her body, and he pulls her into his arms. He has one hand at the nape of her neck, the other around her upper back, shushing her once again. When she's calm, he uses his hand to push her chin up. "Look at me."

Y/N forces herself to meet his gaze. Her lip quivers and she sees sorrow and empathy in his deep, brown eyes. He doesn't have to utter a single word for her to know what he's trying to say. He grabs her hand, thankfully the one that isn't wrapped, and walks her to one of the sofas in the middle of the room. He sits down, hand on her hips to hold her close to him, just looking up at her.

Y/N starts to pick at the bandages on her hand, the nervousness from before creeping up into her again. She looks towards the door, expecting Filch to suddenly burst into the room and drag her by her hair all the way up to Umbridge's office. Mattheo pulls her out of her thoughts, gingerly grabbing her wrist to exam the bandages. He slowly and carefully peels them back to look at the damage.

She sees his jaw clench and unclench and then clench again, and there's a dangerous look in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, gently covering the cuts that are sure to scar, and kisses the rebandaged hand. "I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry."

Y/N is violently shaking again as she sobs, and he grabs her uninjured hand. "Hold my hand. You're going to be fine. I'm here. I'm sorry. I love you so much."

He stands, crossing the room to grab something resting on the mantle. He turns, a red rose in his hand. He hands it to her, and as she takes it, he presses a kiss to her forehead. He holds her close as she twirls the rose between her fingers. "That bitch will pay. Someday, she'll pay." It's a promise that he makes to her, and to himself. "I'm sorry. I love you."

#mattheo riddle #draco malfoy #blaize zabini #theodore nott #enzo berkshire #slytherin #slytherin boys #x reader #reader insert #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #golden era

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