#consider this a reaction image xoxo

[treasureswordsgirl55]

Pilot Proof

Character: Poe Dameron

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Fem!RebelReader

Inspired by: You Can Leave Your Hat On - Joe Cocker

Warnings: Nop. Fluff Fluff. Funny. Post!TROS. Leia and Ben are alive. Alternative final of the movie. Fluff. A little bit spicy. Mentions of war. TROS spoilers.

Author's Note: Hello! hello!

I'm here with one of all of my fic that I've written with Poe in the past years, 2021 especially and that was a something that I write with that melody in my head.

It's a pleasure for me write with Poe. By the way, I'm ending the novel that I write with him, so... If you wanna be tagged or something, just let me know in the comments!

Thanks for reading! XOXO 😘 Noe!

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

- Are you sure you're doing this? Do you think it's a good idea? - I ask while Rey and Rose walk me to my room. The corridors of the resistance base are quiet, there are no wars to end, no problems to face. The three of us walk in silence as we greet those who pass us with a smile, and just thinking about what is about to happen in less than an hour makes me nervous.

- This is the most important thing for you, you should be happy with it - The smile that Rey gives me gives me peace. I need much more than that right now.

- I'm not talking about that, Rey. I'm talking about the other - She nods without saying a word although she knows that inside she is smiling.

- Did you tell him? - I know what Rose means as soon as the question leaves her lips and I shake my head. As soon as the door to my room opens, both pass by and the image of the orange suit placed carefully on my bed makes a chill take over me, as well as the sensation of carrying a stone in my stomach makes fear want to take over. me, and not because of the idea of ​​having to present myself in front of the entire commission with one of them, but because of the fact of thinking about what Poe's reaction would be when seeing me wearing one of these - He will not believe it when he sees you with this.

Rey sits on the edge of the bed and gently touches the suit as if it were something that would break at a single touch.

- I can tell you something? - I shake my head, nodding as I tie my hair into a ponytail and take a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully not to let my emotions overwhelm me. - I think he's going to go crazy.

- Because what you say?

- Look, it's awkward being in the same room with Poe without fighting, but it's much more awkward when you enter it - She smiles and I can see her roll her eyes as she lies on my bed, next to the suit as if it were a person who occupies the place - The air becomes heavy around him that sparks fly. I could even swear I've seen them.

- Don't exaggerate - Rose lets out a laugh and exchanges a knowing look with Rey when they notice that Poe's jacket and helmet are on my desk - Before they say anything, it's not what you think.

- Is there something you haven't told us?

- The only thing that happened was that Poe asked me if he could sleep here for a while after one of his flights, because he was too lazy to walk to his room - I take the suit and for a second I regret my decision. A few months ago I had discussed it with Leia and I expressed my desire to join the squad, so as soon as I accepted, I asked for one condition: Not to be in the same squad as Poe and not to know about this until I finished my training.

It was hard not to tell what I considered my best friend about the adventure I was about to undergo, but part of me wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted him to be proud of me.

It didn't take long for Leia to realize that my feelings towards Poe were different, and with much more reason she understood my request: I didn't feel capable of keeping an eye on a battle if he was by my side.

- Let him know and ask him to wear his jacket.

- I don't have to do that.

If they knew I even have access to his room when he's not there, they'd scream like 10-year-olds.

- Do it the same, so at least he gets a wrong idea of ​​what he thinks he will see. If we are going to made crazy the General, we are going to do it right - She hands me the small communication device that Rose had created for the five of us as a prototype of a terrestrial "cell phone", with a smile and I send a quick message before the attentive gaze of my companions .

"Poe, will you let me wear your jacket? You left it here in my room"

I wait for a few seconds and the screen turns blue as soon as the response arrives.

"You don't have to ask me, everything I have is yours, love"

I smile as I feel Rey's face resting on my shoulder, reading the messages in silence.

- It's so cheesy...

I walk away for a moment as I listen to them mutter something about Poe and see that Rey has her helmet in her hands. I really like the cutesy, laid-back way he has when there's no danger around. It makes him look more human and less "hero".

"Does that include you too?"

I write in a rush of thought, trying to play on the tension between us, and I send the message before I regret it. There's no answer, so I figure he must be with Leia or in some important meeting. His new life as a General left him exhausted in ways he didn't think possible, but in those where he had to use his brain and leave his emotions in a drawer. As soon as I turn around, the flash on Rose's cell phone lights up and she smiles as she looks at the photo.

- I'll tell BB-8 to record his expression - Rey's teasing makes me sit close to them and Rose helps me put on the suit.

- What's the matter with the jacket? - I ask while I see her holding the jacket as if it were a relic.

- A man is very excited when the woman he is attracted to wears his clothes. It's like a territorial mark. It's not the same for Finn to wear it as for you to wear it - Poe being territorial about Finn? I dismissed that thought the minute he arrived with a smile and I was reminded how territorial Poe is with all of us, but he's even more so with BB-8 - And coming from you it will be a blow to catch him off guard.

- Did you deduce that when Kylo Ren wanted to rip your head off or when you kissed Ben in Exegol?

I laugh as Rose buttons the top of the suit and Rey frowns, trying to look annoyed.

Despite everything they went through to get here, Rey and Ben were the perfect match. I aspired to have such a love.

- I reaffirm my opinion: He will go crazy - The idea of ​​driving Poe crazy was never in my plans since it was more likely that the one who would go crazy with him was me, but I decided to play along, how bad could it be to provoke him? little bit? - How much do you want to bet that he will be speechless as soon as he sees you? - I roll my eyes and try not to think about the different images that appear in my head and make my heart race even more.

- To all this, what will Leia say? I don't want her to think that I'm not committed to this - I ask while Rose adjusts my neck and the minimum details - One of her new pilots trying to seduce her second General in command?

The two women exchange a look and Rey takes my arm, slightly calling my attention - And whose idea was it? - I'm speechless. I knew that Leia was a very funny person outside of her role as head of the Resistance, but I never thought that she would conspire with two girls to try to derail the integrity of her favorite pilot.

- Whoa. Even I would go out with you if that were the case - Rey murmurs short at the same time that he lets out something similar to a whistle. I blush at his words and even though the jacket was a bit too big for me, it was too warm and comfortable to turn down. Now I could understand the "Territorial" it seemed that he was with me.

- Rey!

- Don't tell Ben that I said that - He indicates to Rose and she raises her hands smiling, while we hear the footsteps in the corridor become louder, indicating that the meeting was just a few minutes away from starting. As I walk to the door, Rey pulls the band that holds my hair and my waves fall due to the effect of gravity between the constant fight of frizz and neatness.

- You look really good - A "Thank you" leaves my lips while I feel too comfortable with the outfit. I hold out my hand for her to hand me the hair tie but she shakes her head.

- I'm afraid he'll have a heart attack - I hear the concern in the Jedi's voice and I know it's sincere - I'm afraid his heart is too fragile to bear it.

- Did you know? The only thing I'll get once he sees me come in is the longest, most complaining talk of my entire life about why I didn't tell him about this. Also, he's not as fragile as it looks.

- You're not exaggerating, Eileen. You'd need red lipstick and you'd look amazing for a calendar photo, the kind used to raise funds for worthy causes - Did she just call me a model? Before I can even think to answer him, Rey reaches across the bed and opens the little drawer that's on the side of the nightstand and pulls out that red lipstick he had given me for last Christmas. He extends it to me with a smile and those sparkling eyes that we all loved so much.

- Do it for us - I look away to try not to fall for the trick of those abandoned puppy eyes with which she sees me and knows that I will end up giving in, but that's Rey, she gets what he wants, by hook or by crook - Just once?

- Only one photo and I take it off - They applaud and I paint my lips in front of the full-length mirror, and I let them take a couple of photos of me, until the three of us take one together. When I go to remove my lipstick, it doesn't come out - Rey?

- Yeah, maybe I forgot to mention that it's not coming out... for a couple of hours. Or more... - A knock on the door makes me jump, I approach the bed and take Poe's helmet. He won't mind if I borrow it, plus the hair band Rey took from me - Looks good on you.

- This is not the time, Rey. We have to go - I open the door while wearing Finn, who walks away holding me by the arms and looking at me as if he had seen a ghost - I'm sorry Finn.

- Eileen? What the...? You look... Whoa - She glances between us a little surreptitiously and looks at the helmet I'm holding in my hand - You know that she's going to kill him with that, right?

I let out a sigh as I listen to the beeps of BB-8, who stops as soon as he sees me and lets out a beep that seems endless. - Thanks BB, you look good too - I blush and listen to Finn's murmurs that he's scared for his best friend, Rey's excuses about Leia and Rose's idea, and BB-8's beeps that fill the air about the number of people in the meeting room.

- It's time BB-8.

...

General Organa smiles at the arrival of the new pilots who join the new ranks of the Resistance.

As soon as his eyes detect the young men who faithfully fought at his side, he automatically turns, looking for that brown-eyed boy who has been anxious all afternoon to know where his best friend was. Her brow furrowed at not finding him, so she turns to her loyal droid who does nothing but enjoy the murmurs around her.

- Treepio. Have you seen Poe?

The droid turns as she looks for her grumpy commander but finds no sight of him. She knew that the Commander used to get overwhelmed on certain occasions so she assumed that he would be out of the room.

- He was here a moment ago - Leia looked back at her second in command and she didn't find him, which made her worry, but she knew how important this moment was to Poe.

As if by magic, the two pieces of the puzzle they wanted to put together appear along with a fluctuation in the Force that made her smile: Poe's passion with

Eileen's Shyness were complementary opposites that were meant to be together. She knew it from the moment she saw them, but she didn't feel so confident about intervening. Until her dear King of her talked about it.

She felt like Cupid, but she knew if Poe didn't get a push, he wouldn't do anything about Eileen.

On the other hand, Poe greeted everyone in his squad with hugs, nodded politely to his superiors, and smiled at the new recruits who would likely be part of his squad. As that insecurity washed over him, she took a deep breath and thought of the only thing that could reassure him: Eileen's voice.

A silence accompanied his words about courage, loyalty and the search for the Freedom they so longed to protect. Poe was still trying to make her voice convey experience and wisdom, which he had acquired in part from her various mistakes, but which was nowhere near Leia's. His dear General saw him with pride, since the Raddus he had tried to be better, to be everything Leia needed: He wanted to win her trust again, and even though he had already done it, he still felt guilty for his bad decisions.

And that is what he wanted to convey to those new riders, that emotions were not always the best allies at a time that could be decisive for everyone.

- I want you to record this in your heads: Here, we are all a family. We protect each other and we are willing to give up our lives for it. And if you decide to do something, that will stay with you until the last day of your life.

Leia smiled as she watched as her second-in-command watched the pilots intently as she spoke but suddenly she fell silent and knew he had seen her.

Poe felt his heart stop as soon as he saw her standing there among the new pilots, in that orange jumpsuit he had grown accustomed to wearing when she was still flying. She made her stand out among the others even though her outfit was the same as everyone else's, the only thing that differentiated her from them was that she was wearing his jacket. And a feeling of belonging took over him at the same time that he looked for his words to come out and no word formed in his head. But he was proud that they understood that she was with him, implicitly, of course. But he liked the idea more than he wanted to admit.

She was so beautiful that she had put him out of business. Leia noticed her nervousness and took charge of the rest of the speech - I'm sorry but General Dameron is speechless with the emotion of seeing you here.

Poe silently thanked the intrusion, knowing that Leia did not miss any detail and when he wanted to go down the small stairs where they were, the Communications alarm sounded at the same time that Jess entered the room quickly - Sorry, General But there's trouble on the outer edges of the Galaxy, they say a faction of the First Order is trying to kidnap children.

- Unfortunately this will be the first flight, go and may the Force be with you - Everyone began to disperse before Poe's gaze and he lost sight of Eileen without taking his eyes off her. He looked around her and didn't find her, tried to spot Finn or Rey in the crowd and didn't either. He let out a heavy sigh as he thought about running to the hangars, where she might be.

- Poe? - The young man turned at the call of her General and she threw him from her side with little delicacy - What the hell are you waiting for to go after her? She is in the hallway on the way to the hangars. Get out Poe! It's an order.

...

As soon as I left the meeting room, I ran into Jess, who told me that I should use the first X-Wing that was available. BB-8 lets out a few beeps telling me that he can accompany me on this first mission, but that I should talk to Poe first. I frowned at the droid's words and didn't have to wait long, because in all the crowd of people rushing towards the hangars, a hand grabbed my arm and pushed me against the nearest wall.

- How the hell are you wearing that? - Poe's agitated voice made my body turn like jelly. The closeness of him and the heat that his body gave off made him not think clearly - Why didn't you tell me?

- I didn't want to worry you... I wanted to surprise you - he moves away enough without letting go of my arms and releases a heavy sigh, as if he had trouble breathing. I let go of his grip and I get a little closer, moving my hands up his arms and taking his face, looking for him to look at me - Poe?

- Well, you gave it to me, little one. You look amazing in the suit - his voice starts to sound breathy and his breathing becomes more ragged. I notice him nervous and I smile, I like to think about the effect I have on him - I wish we weren't doing this here, but if it wasn't for the emergency call we would already be talking about this.

- I don't like the idea of ​​talking - I blurt out as I push him away and hear BB-8's beeps in the distance telling me that I should go - Maybe, when I comes back, we can do something about it.

Poe moved away when he understood the meaning of my words and smiled, blushing. - And what do you suggest?

- Perhaps, if you want to wait for me when I return, we could take this to a field that we both know.

- You're not helping, Eileen.

- Are you nervous General? - He shakes his head and brings me a little closer to the wall, leaving a minimum space between them. R2-D2 walks past us and his sounds let us know that Leia is on her way, looking for Poe.

- I will go with you. It's the only way I have to make sure you come back here with me - I lift his helmet and move it away, leaving it behind me, while I take him by the waist and bring him a little closer - Eileen... Don't made me get down of that ship.

- I'm sorry, but this time you have to stay on the ground, Flyboy - Look at my lips and sigh again. That was going much further than I expected - I like that you are aware of me.

- I like you so fucking much, darling. You don't have an idea that what are you making me - He admits as he pulls away and looks in the direction of the meeting room - Damn, why now?

He cursed the emergency, the First Order, and everyone involved in it. I let out a laugh calling his attention and I move away a little placing my hand on his shoulder - Stay calm, I'll be back when you least realize it.

In a moment of distraction, he wanted to take off my helmet but I move away enough so that it is not within his reach - Stop there, Dameron. This time it's my turn to have fun - I take him from the lapel of his jacket and press my lips against his, trying not to sound like a goodbye but a promise. I pull away as soon as I feel him try to intensify the kiss and I already miss the softness of his lips - You must stay Poe. See you in a bit.

I walk away with a smile as BB-8 lets out a variety of beeps where he talks about Poe, the First Order, and Leia as I put on my helmet and my nerves take over again. The green screen lights up and points me the way under the coordinates sent to BB-8.

- Are you ready, BB?

A beep fills the cabin and we are ready to go

"Lieutenant Barnes, are you ready to take off?"

- Ready

"Authorization granted. Good first flight and may the Force be with you"

I smiled at my communicator's words and went out into outer space. I prepare to jump and communication is enabled again, this time through a private channel. I didn't have to wait for him to speak to know it was Poe.

- What do you want Dameron?

"Wish you good luck, you'll do great out there"

I blush at his words and look at the space around me

"Just breathe and let the Force guide you"

- You always know what to say and when to say - BB-8 indicates that he is ready to jump and I see that the others begin to enter Hyperspace - I must go.

- I know. Take care of you because I want us to clarify to what extent we are involved in this, because I told you that everything that is mine is yours, including me whenever you want.

- At your order, General - Before cutting off the communication, I let out a laugh - How involved would I be in this if I let you take my suit off when I return?

The last thing I hear before jumping into Hyperspace is a curse on the other end of the comm.

#star wars fandom #star wars fanfiction #star wars fluff #star wars fic #post tros #the rise of skywalker #poe dameron x ofc #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #poe dameron x oc #star wars sequels #star wars sequel fic #i write for myself but you can read it too

[ahopkins1965]

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7 Deadly Relationship Sins to Avoid at All Costs

These behaviors can ruin an otherwise healthy partnership





Feminista Jones

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ZORA

5 min read

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Feb 25, 2020

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Photo: Strauss/Curtis/Getty Images

Real talk: Humans mess up, and regardless of whatever spiritual faith or religious tradition you adhere to (or don’t), some behaviors are almost universally understood as more intense in their severity. You may have heard of the “seven deadly sins” as part of the Christian tradition — the cardinal sins are considered more serious infractions than other wrongdoings. According to tradition, lust, gluttony, pride, sloth, greed, wrath, and envy are the main “sins.”

I thought it might be interesting to apply them to intimate partnerships. When you think about it, these things can be severely detrimental to the overall success of our partnerships, and if we’re not careful, they can ruin the otherwise happy, healthy life we’ve built with someone special. Let’s consider each one, look at some examples of how they manifest, and talk about ways we can avoid succumbing to them.

Lust

Sexual desire is healthy within a relationship and arguably one of the defining connectors in intimate partnerships. With the exception of asexuality or other health-related limitations, most people revel in the lust they feel for their partners. However, lust can be misguided and even weaponized. If you’re in a monogamous relationship, your sexual desire for your partner should be your primary focus; don’t succumb to the temptation of acting on any desires you may have for others. If there’s something lacking in your sex life, it’s your responsibility to communicate that to your partner and make every effort to improve it. If you do end up cheating, whether because you’re unfulfilled at home or you simply can’t say no, own up to it, and don’t blame your partner for your infidelity. Maybe try ethical nonmonogamy in your next relationship if you need more sexual variety.

Gluttony

Though often used in the context of dietary matters, gluttony also speaks to being habitually excessive in your behaviors. One way this shows up in relationships is in what we now consider to be “toxic” behaviors, like being controlling, possessive, and demanding. Wanting to monitor your partner’s behaviors online, over-the-top reactions to them receiving compliments from others, and making demands on their time are all behaviors to avoid. It also looks like being fiscally irresponsible just to put up a good front and convince people your relationship is better than it seems. Expensive trips, lavish gifts, and overspending isn’t a good look for people living paycheck to paycheck, so who are you trying to impress? Don’t let “doing it for the ’Gram” leave you broke, busted, and miserable with each other.

Pride

Pride is tricky, because in some ways, having pride in oneself is a good motivator and confidence boost. There’s nothing wrong with being proud of yourself and your partner, your accomplishments, and the people you’ve become. The problem is when you become so proud that you’re unable to be vulnerable with your partner or open up to them when you’re struggling and need support. I admit that this is my greatest “sin” and why I wrestle with intimacy even at my big age. If you’re too proud to open yourself up to the person you’ve committed to spending a significant amount of time with, maybe it’s time to admit that you’re better off alone.

Sloth

Sloth or laziness is the silent relationship killer. When you get comfortably situated in your relationship, it’s easy to slack off and become lazy with the effort you initially put forth to attract them and connect with them. Relationships take work! You have to work on sustaining a loving, healthy relationship every single day. You don’t have to be grandiose in your gestures; the little things really do matter. The minute you become settled into doing less and letting the relationship drag on is the minute you’ve delivered its death sentence. Show up. Show effort. Show your lover you still care enough to devote the loving energy they deserve from you.

Sloth or laziness is the silent relationship killer.

Greed

Greed has no place in any relationship. The best relationships are guided by a give-and-take approach where each partner contributes as much as receive. Reciprocity is so important to maintaining healthy relationships that when greed shows up, it becomes one of the quickest ways to extinguish the fire between you. Greed and selfishness often go hand-in-hand, so beware of people who make everything about them while offering nothing in return. Your partner(s) should pour into you as much as you pour into them. As a good friend of mine always says, “Be a fountain, not a drain.”

Wrath

The moment you begin plotting revenge on your lover is the moment you have lost your relationship forever. Yes, people hurt each other in relationships, and if the love is strong, they try to work through their problems. Seeking to hurt your partner because they hurt you first is as toxic a behavior as one can imagine. There is no “get back” when you’re working on building a healthy, sustainable relationship, so let that go. If she cheated on you, you’re not going to repair the relationship by cheating on her with her best friend. And if you even consider it, you’ve got more problems than you know.

Envy

Probably the most relatable issue in the social media era is envy. With every post tagged #RelationshipGoals and every couple showing only their highlight reel, it is easy to fall into a negative space where jealousy and envy take over. You want to go to Bali with bae, but y’all can barely afford Burger King on Thursday night. You wish your body looked more like the dudes she is liking on Instagram. You want to wear matching Old Navy pajamas with your children and post pictures on Facebook Christmas morning, but he doesn’t want children for another five years. When you spend more time being envious and coveting what others have in their relationships, you lose sight of what you already have right in front of you. Remember why you chose your person, and focus on what about them brings you the greatest joy instead of wishing they were more like the couple of social media who’s secretly living apart and really only speak for the sponsored pet-food ambassador pictures with them and the dogs.

For relationships to be successful, you have to do the work to maintain them. A successful relationship is loving, supportive, fulfilling, enjoyable, and healthy. All relationships have their ups and downs, of course, but one key to relationship success is open communication about how each partner can have their needs met and give of themselves to meet the needs of their lover. When you indulge in these “sins,” you set yourself up for failure and can do serious harm to someone you love.

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Written by Feminista Jones

21K Followers

·Writer for

ZORA

She/Her | Author, Activist. Philly-based, NYC-bred. #ReclaimingOurSpace Twitter/IG: @FeministaJones FeministaJones.com/contact for inquiries

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[mjpens]

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian art #the mandalorian fanart #the mandalorian fan art #GAAASSSPPP #consider this a reaction image xoxo #maia draws

[helahades]

PETER P. + PILLOW HUMPING

CONTENT: 18+. gender neutral reader. Peter is 20. desperate. pillow humping. sexually frustrated, fantasizing, hella horny peter. lusty boy stupidity. peter with a crush.

NOTES: inspo from this gifset. here’s an audio of peter moaning, and heres a porn rec of a guy thats vaguely like him in my opinion xoxo

WORD COUNT: ~1.4k

—

After a day with you (his favorite trainer)  has thoroughly kicked his ass, Peter is many things, but most of all, he's worked up. He needs his brain scrubbed clean of your encouragement and light laughter. Your fiery eyes raking over him, your soft taunts still ripple over his skin in waves. As it has been since the arrival of his powers, his physical condition is quite...changeable. Reactive. It’s most obvious on days like today, when his physical responses are heightened, and every hint of you gets him overexcited.

Today, he was taken down. A hot blooded, magic-infused unstoppable superhero boy was stopped by the skillful strikes and energy redirection of a knowing—and very human trainer, and hours later, he's still hot about it. As he arrives back to his room in the tower, he peels off a shirt thick with your scent, and jumps directly into a burning shower that is a welcome balm to his fiery heart.

Muscles flex as he scrubs at sweat, at hairs that stand on end, and nerves that make him aware of each droplet impact that clings and falls. Dialed to 11, he once said of his senses, and he regards that fact with an exasperated sigh as one hand pushes suds through his hair...the other down to squeeze his cock, half hard and ignored for hours. 

It was just training. He tries to keep his thoughts innocent. Tries to reason he’s just rubbing himself clean despite slowly fucking a loose fist, and images of you in your dry fit tank and workout pants only flash by because he is processing the day. Remembering...that move...to be prepared for the next time...your thighs around him...

He opens eyes he doesn't remember closing as his hips jerk into his fisted hand, clasping the free hand over his mouth when he cries out. The soft white lights of his bathroom seem to glow like the sky and just as he considers them, they fade to a pale clementine… as programmed by Mr. Stark to indicate that he has been using up hot water for far too long. 

In the next moment, he taps the water control off and is surrounded by steam and silence as he towels off under the glow of the room, watching it lighten to normal. Once in his bedroom, he inhales lungfuls of cool air, groans soft as he squeezes his cock through the towel around his waist. Bouncing where he stands, he finds himself again in the moment when he’d hit the floor, trapped by the heat where your thighs spread over him.

C’mon. Don’t be a creep, Peter

…And yet, his temperature climbs again as images of sweaty skin push around in his mind… he thinks about being pinned down on a mat in the gym where the fans turn icy air over warm bodies. He thinks about pushing his pants down right under his ass in all the excitement, just enough to let himself out so you could ride him--use him from the top.

Some lotion and a lounge outfit later, a pressure deep down makes it harder to deny his lust… he lasts about fifteen seconds into a Rubik’s cube--an attempted distraction--before flinging himself into bed, pushing a large hand under his pants to grip himself where he's desperate. He thinks about the smell of your skin, the way it turns sweeter when you start sweating...the way he wants to witness that flip of your pheromones in bed, where there would be no interruptions from the input of other smells or racking clang of weights.

No...only your grunts, whimpers as you push yourself down on his length, hands all over. He imagines you on top, using him to get off, riding hard, leaving him breathless. One of his own hands is tight around his cock while the other rubs over his skin...chest, stomach, down to his balls. Pumping himself hard, he feels good. It’s so good. It’s...not enough. 

The pleasure churning within him is low burning, but nothing is quite enough to get him right to the edge, or match the intensity of the energy that has his legs near shaking, needing to be released. Flashes of your heaving chest, huffed out breaths...

He tries porn. He ignores the fact that he finds some sort of sexual wrestling, and ends up on some role play of a yoga teacher getting fucked...or that he finds himself annoyed that the instructor does not look similar enough to you for him to pretend it's satisfying. Phone in hand, the high and sharp sounds of fake pleasure and skin slapping ring in his brain--it’s all repetitive and none of it is enough.

Tossing his phone to the side, he pulls his pants back up, rolls face down, ends up squeezing the pillow there between his thighs. The light pressure seems to corral small bursts within him, at the base of his cock, and pull it into something broader--a pleasure that wraps around his lower half. It's… new. Shifting languidly into a lazy plank, his arms support his upper half while he pulls the pillow further between muscular thighs and rucks the weight of him right up against it through his hips.

In the deep parts of him, he feels the pleasure of his past efforts, feels his cock full and hard and hot under soft fabric. Shifting his hips back to a better angle on the fluffed mound, the thickness of the sweats run silky over where the boxers have stretched to  the form of his hard length and he gasps at the sudden sensitivity, hips bucking in an instinctive response. 

He continues these curved strokes, panting as the drags catch onto each possible angle, pressure pushing onto him just right. He’s seeing stars, it's never been like this before. Heart in his throat as he shivers with the pleasure, he adjusts his angle slightly, flinching in reaction to the pressure on his sensitive head.

His brain is already hazy, lulling lazy as a cloud, yet flashing quick in high color images of you. From where he holds himself up, hips curving in full strokes, he imagines you under him, the sound of his hips smacking your ass as he gives it to you just the way you need. He remembers you musing to a friend about a hookup, eyes light in recollection of how they’d taken you rough. He could be the same. He could do you better. 

Smoothing deliciously over the underside of his shaft, the pillow begins to sink shapeless under the quick rhythm he sets with the force of his hips, and large hands splay over it, pulling it into him, reactivating the mind blurring friction. He is practically fucking it, holding it down tight, and he imagines handfuls of you… imagines squeezing the flesh of your ass before slapping it. Hard. 

You would squeal an innocent little thing. You are far from inexperienced. In fact, he has never seen you anything but sure. Sure of where to strike, sure of what to say, you are well versed and never caught off guard. He just wants to be the one to surprise you, just once.

Wants to make you feel good. Wants you to make him feel...whatever that was before. When the head of his cock drags with a smooth friction, his hips stutter at the thought of your pretty lips rounding the shape of breathy moans and high praises. Your hands on him, playing with the holes in his foresight and his back hitting the mat. The thick squeeze of your strong thighs around him. 

Your lips. Your pretty, pretty lips. He thinks about them sealing a bruise on his collar, hot and hard, and that does him in. A couple drags backward, and his whole body is warm, desperate grunts fading into moans that sound something like your name. His hips begin to stutter as he whimpers, built up heat rushing through him, but he squeezes the pillow with his thighs one last time before pulling it back under him with the thick muscles.

Body exhausted and overstimulated with new pleasures and pressures, he only lasts a few more strokes before he falls into the mattress, practically shaking with his eyes squeezed shut as his hips move on their own before his release shoots out of him, making a mess in his pants, also slightly smeared on his stomach where the tip peaks out of his waistband. His face flushes even more--if possible, as he realizes he has never cum so hard… or so much in his life. 

Just then he gets a text.

Hottest Avenger: Hey! You did so well today. Hope training didn’t take too much out of you!

You have no idea. 

—

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reblogs appreciated!

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tags: @cocoamoonmalfoy @limenlimon @cherienymphe @fvckingavengers

#peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #peter x reader #peter x black!reader #peter smut #peter parker smut #peter parker drabble #peter parker smut drabble #drabble #smut #marvel smut #writing tag

[ecrivant]

on intimacy pt. 2 | levi ackerman

(levi ackerman x reader)

a collection of touches shared between you and levi.  read pt. 1 here

word count: 1.3k

You laid in your bed, haunted by ruminative wakefulness.  Stomach flipping between pleasant warmth and anxious throbbing, made worse by the fear of what you may dream.  A disquieted mentality which only fed into physiological anxiety.  A weight on your lungs.  You took deep breaths, trying to reclaim some semblance of control, too focused on your own respiration to notice Mikasa rousing and padding over to your bed in the dark.  She softly called out to you, kneeling beside your bed.  Her hair fell over her face, shrouding her eyes.  A palm came to rest on your face, and came too a familiar bloom of warmth emanating through you.  Still, panic rose.  You seized. She began to exaggerate the movement of her chest, pushing it up and letting it fall as she breathed slowly, silently encouraging you to mimic her.  You followed her gentle inhalations and exhalations.  When she noted your breathing had steadied, she nodded, asking if you needed more; you nodded back to reassure her you didn’t.  Her soft footfalls against the ground as she walked back to her bed, rhythmic and palpable.

Your dreams were pitch, but contorted cries, aural perversions of your friends’ voices, filled your ears within the darkness—image only manifested once you were submerged in the feeling of falling.  Your bottom half hung from a gaping mouth, and sinew and cochineal viscera poured out of your stomach as you fell headfirst to the earth.  Fulminations of gore erupted around you.  The maimed bodies of your friends suspended in the air, blood viscous, expressions malformed.  You woke as your spine shattered against the ground.  

—

Embarrassing, maybe, that you found yourself outside of Levi’s office.  You contemplated abandoning whatever subconscious agenda you sought to fulfill, but you could only watch as your hand rapped at the door on its own volition.  A three-count, and the door opened.  Close to immediate.  You indulged the idea that he had expected you to come, maybe even hoped for it.  Stepping back, widening the opening, he wordlessly ushered you in.  You were struck by a futile hope that your trembling legs went unnoticed.  Speaking in hushed tones:

“Would you like the bed?”

You considered refusing, either out of politeness or self-consciousness, but you understood Levi’s equivocation—a question implied a suggestion implied an order—and nodded.

His bed, centrally placed in the small bedroom adjacent to his office, was made immaculately—sheets crisp, corners folded, pillows fluffed.  More than picture-perfect.  You were reluctant to sit but acquiesced under his expectant gaze.  Eyes exploring the room, you noted everything was in its place; and then you asked yourself how you would know what ‘in-place’ was.  You had never even considered the room’s existence before this very moment.  You thought on the inherent vulnerability of the bedroom—it was not more than a person in objectified microcosm.  You were suddenly self-conscious, aware of your invasion.  You could sense Levi in every aspect of the room.  It was a sort of omnipresence which, admittedly, disquieted you.  A strange form of pervasive and ubiquitous comfort.  

He stared at you through the doorframe, arms hanging by his sides.  Neither turned away when you confronted his gaze.  You searched his face and found him unreadable.  His form tenebrous against the dark backdrop of his office; in the shadows, he showed his age.  You were reminded that while you watched him, he watched back.  Again, you were self-conscious; aware of his scrutinizing gaze, of the space you occupied.  A habitual comfortable silence this was not—the air felt suspended, heavy with potentiality, about to drop.  Or perhaps it was already in freefall.  

He was crossing the room, his steps reverberating through you.  Atmosphere vibrating.  The bed dipped as he sat beside you.  Who else had shared this experience, seated next to Levi in his bedroom?  You wished yourself to be the first, a pioneer.  Something about it gave you a headrush—was it the intimacy of something shared by only two, or the excitement of exclusivity?  You decided it didn’t matter.

He still sat before you, deciding what to do, calculative. You forced yourself not to move.  You wanted him to initiate.  

When he finally did, you had settled so far into the stillness that his movement startled you.

His hands dragged over yours, slowly, achingly so, lingering on your digits, your wrists.  Slipping under, his fingertips found your palms, tracing along the creases, pressing into the pads.  The spaces between fingers, the dips in your knuckles.  He found it all, left no place untouched.  Nimble fingers pushed up your sleeves, cool air raising goosebumps.  A touch, barely perceptible, ghosted over your arms, grazing hair more than the skin, tingling trails left in its wake.  Your eyes flitted up from his hands; his face was firm, his brow furrowed in concentration, gaze focused on his own movement.  

You wanted more.  You found your skin to be shell-like, an epidermal barrier, and wished to shed it.  To rid yourself of that cursed, fleshly mediator, and to feel his touch directly.  Not on your skin, on you.  No longer a timid interest, but a primordial need to feel a connection between two innate unknowns—a need to be touched, held, until you were nothing but one nebulous silhouette.  

You sat, absorbing his touch, emitting waves of feverish air.  Reluctant to breath.  One hand intertwined with yours.  The other continued on, trailing over your features.  Fingertips on your ear.  Your cheek. The ridge of your bottom lip.  Your cupid’s bow.  The bridge of the nose.  Browbone. His touch, a fomentation of something long smoldering within you.  A corporeal glow, burning, blistering.  

Levi stopped.  He met your gaze.  His eyes said, “Now you.”

You reenacted his motions in tender emulation.  His eyes on you as hands shakily grazed his skin.  Barely-there tremors under your fingers—insuppressible reaction.  His hands, arms, still and there for you to feel.  His sharp features softened under your touch. Eyes, attentive, never drifting away, lucid and drinking in your movement.  You savored each other.  

Levi was the first who dared to speak: “I would like to kiss you, now.”

You reveled in the quiver of his voice.  Nervousness. So open, so clearly stated. 

You liked the way he felt against you—his lips were warm and satin-like.  Exploratory, sentient.  They modulated slowly, subtle movements fading into one another, an amalgam of quiet, labial gesture.  Your hands came to rest on his wrists, and he gasped at the contact.  Everything hyperaware, hypersensitive.  You swore you could feel his heartbeat in your chest. You liked the shared, languid sensuality—quietly seductive but imbued with innocence.  Levi loosed his hands from yours and moved them to your face, cradling it.  You could feel the rough callouses against your cheek—the hands of a soldier.  You gripped at the sheets.  Cloth massaged between your fingers.  You liked the way he pulled away from the kiss, and his breath blew, hot, against your lips.  You had never seen him winded before.  

“You feel nice, Captain.” Head light and floating high above the room, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed by the way you slurred your words.

He shared the bed with you that night.  Face to face, his hands roaming your sides, indolent.  Silently awake, resting in the other’s company.

As a child, awake at night, lost in that pervasive nocturne, you would dream of a feeling: an ineffable intimacy, something you dully craved but never found.  Had you loved this moment since you were a child?  This untroubled moment, secluded from the collection of cruel and terrible moments that defined and would come to define the remainder of your life.  You memorized it, writing it in fleeting senses and images.  

One more indulgence. You wrapped your arms around Levi, holding him close, tight, and breathed in his scent, reminded of your minority: you saw your childhood home, the kitchen window.  The quiet warmth.  A memory enveloped in closeness.

—

hey!  i hope you enjoyed this two-parter!  thank you for reading, it’s always appreciated!  also, throw a lil feedback my way if ya feel like it!  more writings coming soon (?)  i’ve been shockingly prolific in the past few days, let’s see how long it lasts.  i’m feeling... a mr. jean kirstein piece coming soon.

below are the beginnings of a taglist, so if you’re interested, drop a line and i’ll tag you in my writing posts!  xoxo

taglist: @flam3bird​

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman imagine #writing!

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (19/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~7400 words, teen

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

James couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked hard, thinking his exhaustion had caught up with him. No, the blonde woman on his porch had to be the night-shift nurse who lived across the street—she often liked to indulge in late-night baking on her nights off, and there were times she would come to James for an ingredient she was missing, or to give him a small sampling of her confectionery creations.

(He had the sudden, jarring, embarrassing realization that she may have been flirting with him the whole time… Is that why she hasn’t come around in months?)

“Rose,” he said again when blinking stupidly for at least ten seconds didn’t transform Rose into anyone else.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She looked exhausted; there were prominent shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders drooped like a heavy weight sat upon them.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, and her face fell. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t realize you had company. I’ll just…” She thumbed behind herself to the dark road. How did she get here? “Sorry.”

Before he could protest, Jack clapped James on the shoulder and announced, “No, no. I was getting ready to head out. Come on, get in out of the cold.”

Jack pressed a smacking kiss to James’s cheek, then muttered, “Talk to her,” into his ear. He then stepped forward and gave Rose a loose hug and kiss on the cheek before he walked to his vehicle that was parked on the side of the street.

They turned to watch Jack start his car and drive off into the night. James looked at Rose, then at the squarish plastic Tupperware container she held. She was absently flicking her thumb nail across the tab on the lid.

“What’ve you got there?” he asked, nodding to the container.

Rose chewed on her bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Well. We’ve been playing a game all month, haven’t we? Time to celebrate.”

She popped the lid off the container and handed it to him. In it were half a dozen large, muffin-sized chocolate cupcakes, frosted in vanilla icing and decorated with pink and yellow star sprinkles. The words “Happy Birthday” were written in small, neat, glossy red letters across each cupcake. His stomach sank.

“It… it’s your birthday?” he croaked. Of course—of fucking course—today had been her birthday.

Rose nodded. “I… I didn’t want to let my entire birthday pass without spending some time with my favorite person.”

James nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hope you had fun.”

Rose raised an incredulous eyebrow, and the penny dropped.

“Me?” he squeaked, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Yes you, you numpty. Just because I’m angry with you doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Do you not love me anymore because we fought?”

James’s knees weakened at the ‘l’ word. He took a step towards her, the arm not holding the cupcakes extended. Her face softened and she stepped into his proffered embrace. Her body was warm and solid against him. Heat prickled behind his eyes as he wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he could without upending the Tupperware container.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I…”

“Can we not do this on the front porch?” she asked, voice muffled. “S’cold.”

James was loath to let go of her, but he had to agree the night was getting frigid, especially for him, with his bare feet and thin pajama bottoms and t-shirt. With a sigh, he gave her a final squeeze and dropped his arms from around her waist, then stepped back to usher her into his home.

She toed off her shoes by the front door, and he could already predict her questions when she angled her head towards the hallway. “Did you paint something?”

James scratched the back of his neck. “Er. Yeah. Started repainting my bedroom.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the side of Rose’s mouth. “Needed something to keep your mind busy?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

A more genuine smile crossed her face as she gestured to the Tupperware container he was holding. “Y’know, stress baking would've been cheaper.”

James blinked, then gaped down at the cupcakes he was holding. The font of the words was perfect cursive, the spread of the icing uniform and even. He blurted, “You made these?”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” she drawled. “Yes, I made them. Well. Elsa helped. She came over to my flat this afternoon. Bit of a girl’s night. Had pizza and wine, then made cupcakes. She’s actually really good at decorating; she’s got this whole set of frosting tips to make fancy designs. She did the lettering.”

“They look lovely. Very professional,” he said. He jutted his head to his kitchen, motioning for her to follow. She did, her quiet, shuffling footsteps falling into rhythm with his.

Rather than go into the kitchen, Rose peeled off to the living room, where Merry and Pippin were lounging on the sofa together, half-asleep. James watched her squat down in front of the cats and give them a bit of love before she returned to him.

“Should Jack have driven himself home?”

James glanced at Rose and saw her pointing to the kitchen table, where the mostly-empty bottle of wine sat. It had a few mouthfuls left.

“It was only half-full when we started,” James answered, picking up the bottle and hurriedly drinking the last of the wine. “This was from last weekend, when you and I… Anyway, he had one glass. I drank most of it. He should be fine.”

“Tell him to let us know when he gets home safely,” Rose said.

James snapped off a lazy salute then sent Jack a text, passing along Rose’s request. He set the Tupperware container of cupcakes on the counter before grabbing two clean bowls from the dishwasher he hadn’t bothered to empty.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Rose said with a grimace. “I already had one after they came out of the oven. Plus pizza. M’gonna puff up like a balloon.”

She pinched her waist, and James frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flamed pink and she dropped her hand limply to her side. 

“I had a huge, greasy burger and chips for dinner. D’you think I’m gonna puff up like a balloon?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, no. But you’re…” She let her sentence dangle as she waved her hand vaguely up and down his body. 

“And you’re…” He mirrored her gesture. “Rose, I find you absolutely beautiful, and you losing or gaining weight won’t change my opinion. Not that my opinion should matter. If you don’t want a cupcake, or if you’re not hungry, that’s fine. And again, not that you need my approval.”

Rose sighed and twisted her hands in front of herself before she turned away from him and rooted in his freezer for ice cream he always made sure to have on hand.

“I had a minor eating disorder as a teen,” Rose said quietly, pulling out the ice cream and shutting the freezer. “Nothing too serious. I was obsessed with my weight, and was really careful with what I ate. I counted and logged calories. I grew out of it when I realized watching what I ate made me feel even worse about myself. Of course I still tried to eat healthy and to eat reasonably-sized portions, but I stopped being so strict with it. I obviously started putting on some weight, nothing too drastic, but Jimmy would often tease me and tell me to lay off the chips or whatever, because rock stars don’t date chubby girls.”

James’s ears were ringing with rage and heartbreak, and he was furious with himself for everything he had accused Rose of last night regarding Jimmy.

“Rose, I…”

“As I said, I’m fine now and I don’t really care about my weight or body image as much,” Rose interrupted, setting the ice cream on the counter in front of him. “But sometimes those thoughts pop up without me realizing it. Like they did just now.”

Unsure of how to respond, James instead took a cupcake out of the Tupperware container, unwrapped the paper from the bottom, and set it into the bowl. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. You told me your opinion, but didn’t shove it in my face or try to force me to believe you. And like I said, I don’t often realize when I’m having these thoughts.”

He nodded and forced his lips into some semblance of a smile that he hoped looked supportive. He then returned his gaze to the bowl and the ice cream she’d retrieved.

“D’you want to share this with me?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl with a spoon.

Rose nodded. He scooped several large dollops of vanilla ice cream into the bowl then he went to his junk drawer. It overflowed with a random assortment of objects: scissors, several different types of batteries, notepads, pens, pencils, a ruler, a screwdriver, tape, glue, Band-Aids, rubber bands, paper clips, binder clips, thumbtacks, toothpicks, a ball of twine, a condom, a tampon, and so many other things James didn't remember throwing into the drawer.

He dug through the mishmash of objects until he found a small, half-empty box of birthday candles and a matchbook. He took out four candles and brought them and the matches over to where Rose stood at the counter.

“I would try to shove twenty-two of them into the cupcake, but firstly I don’t have twenty-two candles, and secondly, I’m pretty sure I would end up pulverizing the poor cupcake into a pile of crumbs. So use your imagination; two and two equates to twenty-two.”

He shoved two of the candles side by side into the left side of the cupcake, right before the H and B in “Happy Birthday”. The other two, he stuck into the right side of the cupcake, behind both Ys. Striking the match, he ignored the shaking in his hands as he lit the candles. He then promptly blew out the match and dropped it into the water-filled wine glass in the sink to let it stop smoking. However, Rose must have seen the tremor in his hands, because she reached over and threaded their fingers together.

“I don’t like fire,” he admitted. “For obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t have to light the candles then,” Rose said gently.

“Pfff. It’s your birthday. Can’t have a birthday without blowing out some candles. How else will you get a free wish?”

Rose cracked a small smile and squeezed his fingers. She leaned forward as though she were about to blow out her candles. James cried, “Wait!”

She pulled back with a start.

“It’s your twenty-second birthday. I would think you would remember how this goes by now,” he drawled. He then sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Ro-ooose. Happy Birthday to youuuuu.”

She was grinning by the end of it, especially when he intentionally sang off-key for the sole purpose of making her smile. He’d made her cry too much in the last twenty-four hours; a smile from her was a welcome sight.

“Right. Those candles are all charged up with birthday magic. Now you can make a wish and blow,” he said, bowing and gesturing to her cupcake.

Rolling her eyes at him, Rose closed her eyes and paused for about five seconds, before she blew out a short breath, extinguishing the candles with ease. He applauded her effort, then yanked the candles out of the cupcake and extended two of them to her. They licked off the cake crumbs and icing—cream cheese, he noted with delight—then dropped them into the trash.

“Let’s eat this before all the ice cream melts,” James said, gesturing to the table. “Want anything to drink? More wine?”

“Just water.”

He grabbed two glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge before plopping down at the table beside Rose. He noticed his phone had a new text notification; Jack had replied, letting him know he was home. James relayed the news to Rose, then gestured for her to take the first bite of her birthday cupcake.

For several long minutes, they sat silently together, trading off bites of cupcake and ice cream until the bowl was empty. 

“That was very good,” he praised, swiping his finger through the melted mess of ice cream and chocolate crumbs on the bottom of the bowl and licking the digit clean.

“Thanks. Elsa loves to bake but doesn't get the chance to do it as often as she likes because she lives in the dorms on campus.” Rose ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “When I invited her over to my flat, she said stress baking was a requirement. She didn’t know it was my birthday until we started decorating the cupcakes.”

“Do you have an aversion to people knowing it’s your birthday?”

She snorted. “No. But it just… it didn’t feel right to celebrate. Not when we’d…” She trailed off with a shrug. “All month I’d been looking forward to finally telling you it was my birthday. It didn’t feel right to tell anyone about my birthday if I couldn’t tell you.”

“I really buggered your birthday,” he sighed, chest tightening.

“Nah.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, well, yeah. But it wasn’t just you. I didn’t help. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my birthday today, so I kept it to myself. Anyways. Elsa knocked a bit of sense into me this afternoon. Helped put some things into better perspective.”

“I’m glad you have a friend like that to share things with,” he said.

Rose hummed in agreement. “She also called me out for being an idiot.”

James snorted. “Jack did much the same for me.” He paused, fidgeting uncomfortably for a few seconds before he blurted, “I am so sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry for snooping through your mail and reading that letter, and I’m so sorry for jumping to a conclusion that was absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry for accusing you of not trusting me. I’m sorry I twisted the situation and your words and actions to put the blame all on you. I’m sorry I let my own insecurities warp my perceptions of you and our relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for ever insinuating that you would want to go back to Jimmy.”

Rose was dead silent. When James chanced a peek over at her, he was horrified to see tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and they fell down her cheeks.

Sniffling, she wiped at them and whispered, “That really hurt. I thought I had told you enough about Jimmy to show you he wasn’t a nice person to be in a relationship with. And I thought…” 

“You did,” James interrupted fervently. “You did Rose. You were absolutely correct in saying I had selective memory. You told me more about him than I realized. I was too caught up in my own head last night to remember everything you’d said. I’m so sorry about that.”

Rose waved him off. “Forget Jimmy for a minute. Even if he wasn’t a wanker… It hurt that you would think I would be tempted into a new relationship with someone else when we’ve been so happy together. At least, I’ve been happy.”

“I’ve been happy, too,” James said. He covered her hand with his. “I swear, Rose. I’ve been so happy with you.”

He wished he had better answers for her. He wished he could explain what had triggered him last night, explain how his brain had disregarded nearly seven months of a friendship and four months of a relationship stronger than he’d ever had before. Why had he thought Rose would be tempted by an ex-boyfriend who had treated her so horribly? Why did he have the anxiety that Rose would see through his facade and realize he wasn’t as exciting as she’d thought? Why was he so fearful she would leave?

Because everyone leaves.

The realization crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave, pushing his head beneath the water until he could barely breathe. He was drowning, fighting a losing battle against the current, about to be swept away into the sea when he was thrown a lifeline.

Rose squeezed his fingers hard, grounding him, pulling him back to the moment. His chest was tight and tears blurred his vision.

Everyone leaves.

His mother, who had thought it more prudent to attend to their dogs rather than get herself to safety with her husband and son.

His father, who had rescued him from their burning house only to leave him on the street to go back inside. James hadn’t been enough to keep his dad by his side, and so he had lost two parents that night.

His aunt, who had never wanted kids, had never expected to have kids. She pulled long hours and travelled incessantly, chasing big news stories while James pretended he was fine with being alone, while silently wishing his dad had never saved him from their house. He knew without a doubt that, if his aunt could do it all over again, if she knew then what she knew now, she never would have agreed to be his godmother when he was born. He loved his aunt, and knew his aunt loved him, but he wasn’t so naïve as to be ignorant of the fact that he had upheaved his aunt’s life, and not entirely for the better.

The friends he had left behind in the UK and never heard from again after he and his aunt moved to America. People he had known since childhood who hadn’t bothered putting in the effort to stay in touch, despite claiming they would.

His previous partners, many of whom finding ways to end their brief relationship after realizing he didn’t want to have sex with them. Time after time, he had to listen to them say it was fine that they weren’t being physically intimate—with an unspoken yet dangling between them—only to listen to them make up excuses for why they were ending the relationship. Granted, he had broken off a relationship himself a few times, but over half the time, his partner had been the one to end it.

Over and over, people came and people went, and at the heart of it, James was hardly more than a spectre, unable to be seen or heard as his heart was left broken. And yet when Rose had joined him, had taken his hand and made promises and vows that nobody ever had before, he had jumped at the first opportunity to assume she would leave him, too.

Chair legs scraped across the floor a moment before a warm, familiar arm wrapped around his waist. He turned into Rose and rested his cheek on her shoulder, breathing in her scent, the subtle tones of amber and citrus, of warmth and love and home.

Something deep in his chest cracked open, releasing the floodgates. For the past nine and a half years, he had been drifting, trying to make sense of how he could feel so alone when he was surrounded by people, able to make new friends and acquaintances at the drop of a hat. Yet there was always that disconnect, making him feel more like an outsider looking in. Like everyone else was aware of the punchline of a joke while he was left clueless.

Until Rose. With Rose it had been natural. Effortless. It was though his world had shifted into perfect focus, and at the heart of it was her. She had reminded him of what it felt like to belong, to feel perfectly at home with another person. And though he was desperate not to lose her and what they had together, part of him was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet in doing so, he had let his anxiety take control and had hurt Rose badly enough that he had nearly caused her to do exactly what he had been terrified of.

James’s shoulders shook as he wept quietly into Rose’s neck, dampening the collar of her shirt. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she held him closer, rubbing her hand up and down the length of his spine as he sobbed and gasped for breath.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry for everything, Rose.”

Haltingly, through the juddering tears that cracked his voice, he explained his revelation to her. He hoped he didn’t sound like he was making excuses for himself, but he genuinely wanted her to understand the conclusion his big, stupid brain had come to.

“I let my fears take over,” he said, voice raw from crying and talking. “I didn’t realize what they were. And I didn’t realize how loud they’d gotten.”

“I understand,” Rose said quietly. “Believe me. I understand. Is there anything I can do to help you quiet them?”

James rubbed his hand beneath his clogged, stuffy nose and grimaced when it came away wet. He pulled away from Rose and stood, moving to the sink to wash his hands, then to grab a handful of tissues. He blotted his eyes then blew his nose before he sank into his seat beside her again.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I know this is a me problem, not a you problem. You’ve been wonderful, Rose. You and me… our relationship… it has all been wonderful. I don’t know why I was so quick to let ten minutes of screaming insecurities make me forget about half a year of loving you.”

Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating. “If ever there’s a time those voices are getting too loud, I’d like you to tell me. Though I know sometimes they can go unnoticed. But if you realize you’re getting stuck in your head, let me know and I’ll try to help you out of it.”

James flashed her a grateful smile. “Same for you. If there’s ever a time I can help you with whatever’s on your mind…”

Rose sighed. “I need to get better about that. I’ve realized I have a bad habit of telling myself I will deal with something later, but later never actually comes.” She sucked in a big breath and blew it out again. “I’m sorry you saw that letter from Jimmy. Yeah, you were a bit of a twat for reading it and reacting like you did. But I’m sorry you were blindsided like that, and that I ignored how it made you feel. And I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I made you self-conscious for everything you’ve shared with me and that you feel like I don’t share enough with you.” She let out a sad little laugh that twisted his heart. “This is going to sound lame, but I honestly didn’t realize I wasn’t being as open with you as I thought I was. It feels like you know me better than anyone ever has, so I didn’t think to change anything. But now that I know how you feel, I want to work to be better at that.”

James shook his head and covered her hand. “No, Rose. I got caught up in my own head and in my frustration. You’ve shared more with me than I wanted to admit last night.” Jack’s words clanged around in his head. “I shouldn’t have expected the exact same level of sharing from you as I am comfortable with giving.”

“That’s not fair. I am comfortable with you…”

James cringed. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not accusing you of anything, Rose. Merely stating a fact. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or upset, I swear. I want you to be comfortable talking with me, and forcing you to talk about things you aren’t comfortable with is counterproductive.”

“Thing is, I was always going to tell you everything about Jimmy,” Rose sighed. “When he first texted me, it sent me into a blind panic and I sorta… shut down. I wanted to take the time I needed to get into a better place before sharing it with you. But I guess I didn’t realize how long it was since he first texted me.”

James stayed silent, letting her get her thoughts together. He twined their fingers together, happy to be able to sit and touch her like this, when for many long, heartbreaking hours in the wee hours of that morning, he had been sure that he would never be able to do so again. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make their relationship whole again, to make sure he could hold her hand for the rest of their lives.

When Rose began speaking, he gave her his full attention and tried to keep his emotions in check. He listened to her explain how Jimmy had texted her out of the blue, having gotten her number from a “mutual friend”.

“M’still not sure who gave it to him,” Rose said with a sigh. “He never told me and none of my friends claim to have done it.”

James listened to her describe the early conversations she’d had with Jimmy, from telling him that she needed time, to working through her anxiety with the help of Elsa and a counselor, to coming to the decision to let Jimmy say his piece.

“He was very important to me at one time. He was the love of my life. He was my everything. He will always be important and special because I genuinely loved him, and like it or not, my experiences with him shaped me into the person I am today. I don’t love him anymore, and frankly don’t miss him or want what we used to have, but if this would help him and me move on, I really wanted to let him say what he needed to say.

“He apologized to me, and it wasn’t even a terrible apology. Though he did make it sound like we both were at fault, but you know what, it was better than I was expecting, so I sorta took it as a win. I figured we were done, but then he wanted to know if he could repay me for all the debts he’d left me with. I can’t remember if I told you before, but he stopped paying his part of the rent at the end of our relationship. I got so behind on those payments because I had other bills to focus on that by the time I moved out, I was six months behind.

“I refused Jimmy’s offer. Told him everything was paid off and he didn’t owe me anything.” Rose sniffled and smiled ruefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know my money insecurities. I couldn’t stand the thought that he might use this as a way to control me again. So I shut him down.”

“Good for you,” James murmured, his first words in a while. “You don’t have to go on. It’s okay.”

But Rose shook her head. “I want you to know all of this. I want to come to you when—as Elsa puts it—shit ties up my brain. And my brain has been in knots for over a month. I want to be better with being okay about my thoughts sometimes getting tangled; I realized if I waited until my brain was calm to tell you everything, I would never tell you anything. I don’t want secrets between us, and I’m frustrated with myself that I unwittingly kept secrets from you. I can’t promise I will tell you immediately when something is on my mind, but I will make more of an effort to be more open with you. I wish I’d told you all of this sooner, but I can’t go back and change how I handled this, so let me tell you all of this now.”

James nodded and brought their clasped hands to his lips for a soft kiss.

“After I told Jimmy I didn’t want his money, I thought we were done. I didn’t hear from him for a few days, but then I got a text from him, a selfie with some of our old friends. A harmless group photo. Then he started sharing news from home. Or he would send me playlists. Stupid, innocent stuff we used to. He has really good taste in music and I’m always happy to have new songs or artists to listen to.

“We started chatting a little more regularly. Not daily, but a few times a week. A few messages at a time. He shared updates about his life, told me about going to drug and alcohol meetings, financial counseling, and so on. I told him about America and school. I didn’t tell him about you, though. It’s stupid, and I should have because I don’t think Jimmy realizes I’m not single, but you’re mine.” The word sent a thrill up James’s spine, and he couldn’t help but kiss her knuckles again. “You’re mine and I didn’t want to share you with him. I didn’t want anything of Jimmy to touch you. And I wasn’t trying to lead him on or anything. Or keep him a secret from you. But all of a sudden it’s been five weeks since he first texted.

“Then he sent me that letter. It came two days ago. I cried when I got it. I never gave him my address, so I panicked that he had somehow stalked me and found me, that he would be waiting at the university for me. And I was just… so defeated. I thought maybe he’d changed. Grown up or something. Stupidly, I thought maybe we could eventually be friends. But the only thing he wanted was for me to get back together with him.”

Rose’s tears dripped down her cheeks and her breathing hitched. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. She willingly leaned into him and sniffled quietly for a long moment.

“Did you really think that was a love letter?” Rose croaked.

“Pardon?”

“What Jimmy wrote to me. Did you think it read like a love letter?”

James sucked on the inside of his lower lip. He tried to remember the content of the letter, but his memories were all tainted with the pain of their argument.

“I don’t remember enough of it,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Rose lifted her bum off of her chair, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a piece of paper that had been folded into eighths.

“Here,” she said, giving it to him.

Tentatively, he took it. Rose pulled herself out of his embrace and grabbed a tissue from the crumpled pile he had brought over. 

As he reread the letter, his stomach twisted into knots when he picked out several words and phrases.

I’ve found a piece of myself…

I’m not complete…

I hate the person I am without you… 

…happiest of my life… 

…nothing more I’ve wanted…

…(our life?)… 

You make me feel like I can do anything… 

I love how I feel when I’m with you… 

I was scared about how much I needed you… 

…something I always knew would be there for me… 

I know I can make it work this time… 

…enjoy your time there, while you can… 

…we can work harder together to make us work… 

I will do whatever it takes to make this work… 

Over and over, James read the letter, his mind picking up more of the tone and the sheer selfishness in it. Everything Jimmy said was about him, about how he needed Rose, without giving a thought about whether Rose wanted or needed him. He plainly admitted to taking her for granted, and still, after all this time, he acted as though he and Rose were equally at fault for how their relationship had ended.

How must it have sounded to Rose, for him to go off on her about the letter?

“Oh, Rose,” James breathed, “I’m so sorry. God, I was a twat, wasn’t I?”

She let out a watery giggle. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Can I ask…? How did Jimmy find your address? I mean. Do you even know how he found it?”

Rose’s eyes welled with tears again, even as she scoffed. “My mum.”

“Your… mum?” That had not been what James had expected. “But… why?”

Rose shook her head. “Apparently Jimmy went ‘round the estate. Found my mum and told her we’d been chatting. Said he wanted to send me money to help cover the bills I’d paid. He said exactly the right thing—when I moved back home, my mum kept telling me over and over that Jimmy should cough up the money to cover his half of the flat and the expenses that had built up. 

“A couple weeks ago, my mum asked me if I’d been chatting with Jimmy. When I said yes, I guess she assumed I knew Jimmy wanted to repay me but I was being unreasonable.” Rose’s face crumpled. “I know my mum didn’t know how badly Jimmy had treated me, and that's my fault for not telling her. But what if he’d been a murderous stalker? What if he’d physically or sexually abused me? What if he used that information and showed up alone at my flat one night and broke in and…?”

She coughed out a wracking sob and buried her face in her hands. James nearly began crying at the sight of her distress. “How dare my mum give out my address like that? I never thought she’d do something like that. My mum called to wish me a happy birthday and I told her a little bit about why you and I were fighting, and she told me she was the one who gave Jimmy my address. I got so angry with her, and she was gettin’ angry with me. I’ve spent the day crying ‘cos I was fighting with my two favorite people.”

James tossed the letter onto the table and wrapped his arms around Rose, holding her tightly to his chest. He had never been angrier with another person than he was right now with Jackie Tyler. Well. Jackie Tyler and Jimmy bloody Stone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I’m sorry.”

“Joke’s on Mum, though; Jimmy didn’t send a single quid with that letter.” Rose sniffled and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “I hate this. I wish I’d blocked Jimmy from the start, I wish I’d told you when he texted, I wish I’d told my mum not to talk to Jimmy. I wish I’d handled everything differently, and I wish I hadn’t gotten so upset with you last night. I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry for it all.”

James tightened his hold around her, burying his face into her neck while she wept into his. “You have every right to handle situations however you think is best. I should have had more faith and trust in you and in our relationship. I was unreasonable. But I forgive you, love. Of course I forgive you. I love you. I love you more than you can imagine, and I’m so sorry I doubted it last night.”

Rose began crying harder into his shoulder. Her breaths came out in harsh gasps as she managed to reply, “I love you too. I’m sorry for putting the doubt in your head… when you asked if I was breaking up with you and I said I didn’t know. God, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it at all. I got scared too, same as you, and my brain sort of shut down because it couldn’t stop thinking of everything Jimmy had said or done in the past, and twisting it to look like what you were saying and doing. That’s something I need to work on because that’s insulting for me to imply that you’re anything like him, but I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed you out, and I’m so sorry.”

James merely held her tighter, his heart breaking at her agony, yet filling with more love for her than he’d ever felt before.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, Rose,” he murmured into her hair. “The strongest. You’ve overcome so much, and you’re working to make yourself the best version of yourself that you can be, and that’s so admirable. I am here to listen to anything you want to tell me, but I am okay with not knowing everything. I trust your judgement, and I know you’ll tell me what you want me to know.”

He continued speaking quietly, a combination of reassurances, affirmations, and words of love. She shed more tears than he’d ever seen her shed, and he shed just as many. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a very long time tangled with Rose.

When her tears finally dried, he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head before sitting back in his chair. He grabbed a tissue for himself and passed one to her; they noisily blew their noses and wiped their eyes.

“Well. Wasn’t that cathartic?” he said cheerfully, holding his hand out for her tissue to throw in the rubbish bin.

She chuckled. Though her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were splotchy, he didn’t think there was a more beautiful person in the world than her.

He washed his hands after throwing away their used tissues, then he grabbed a few more, just in case. His nose was still a bit runny, and he was sure Rose’s had to be too. He plopped into his chair with a groan.

“First fight,” he mused. “Can tick that one off the list, I suppose.”

“Was it everything you expected it to be?” she drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Admittedly it was a lot more painful than I thought,” he said. “But now we can go back to how we were, right?”

Rose paused. In the silence, his heart sank into his stomach.

“I don’t know if we should,” she said carefully, and his lungs were suddenly out of air. Her eyes widened. “No, not like you’re thinking. It’s just… everything we fought about, everything we talked about, it changed us. It changed our relationship. Not in a bad way, but it’s different now. We’re more aware of some things that we weren’t before. I don’t want to go backwards with you. I want us to go forward. Together.”

James nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. He slid his hand across the table, slipping it beneath Rose’s so her palm rested against the back of his hand. He splayed his fingers, letting hers fall between the gaps. She curled her fingers around his hand.

“You’re right,” he said, caressing his thumb along the side of her pinkie. “Absolutely, you’re right. Guess this means the honeymoon period is over?”

“Probably.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Hopefully we’re not over the horny hump though.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that I said that, are you?” he whined, grimacing.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as he often did. “It was such a dorky thing to call it.”

He pouted. “You never complained about my dorkiness before.”

“I love your dorkiness. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it though.” Her smile slipped until her face turned solemn. “I’m really glad we talked this out, James.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Me too.”

“Any time Jimmy and I had an argument, we never did this. We’d shout at each other, curse at each other, and then ignore each other and not speak for a day or so. Then we’d have angry make up sex and pretend everything was fine in the morning. I don’t want to ever do that again. I want to communicate with you and to compromise with you, then grow with you.

“Staying in love is a choice, and it takes work. It shouldn’t be hard, but it’s not easy either. We need to choose to stay in love, decide that our relationship is worth making an effort for. I want to wake up every day and choose you, to choose us, and I want to put in the work because I wanna enjoy the payoff. Because being in love with you, James… it’s the best I’ve ever felt. You make me feel like I can do anything, like pass a stupid chemistry class or tell my stupid ex-boyfriend to fuck off. I love the way you make me feel. I love feeling like I’m home whenever I’m with you. And though this home we’re building with each other might have a leaky roof every now and then, I wanna fix it with you.”

James’s eyes were burning again. How was anything even left in his tear ducts? “Oh, Rose. You make me feel the same way. And I feel so inadequate because you just waxed romantic poetry at me, but my brain has stopped working. But please know I love you with every cell in my body, and I want to keep loving you with every cell, all the way down to each little organelle contained within, every day for the rest of our long and beautiful life together.”

Rose grinned at him and leaned over to press a light kiss to his lips. They tingled at the contact, and he wanted to pull her close to kiss her again.

“You’re such a science geek,” she said.

“Well. I’ve already shown you I’m rather fabulous with many types of chemistry and anatomy,” he drawled, flashing her an over-the-top wink as he clicked his tongue lewdly.

She burst into a fit of laughter that he echoed, feeling at peace for the first time in twenty-four hours. The exhaustion of all those hours suddenly overwhelmed him. His laughter morphed into a yawn, which spread to Rose.

“I’m knackered,” he announced unnecessarily. “Will you come to bed with me? My bedroom’s a disaster, but the guest bed is made.”

Rose nodded and stood up from the kitchen table. She took their bowl to the sink and rinsed it out before leaving it there for them to clean properly in the morning. She then flicked off the light on top of the stove before she followed him through the rest of the house, locking up and turning lights off as they went.

“Can I see what you’ve done to your room?” Rose asked.

“Sure,” he said, continuing down the hall rather than peeling off into the guest room. When he got to his closed door, he warned, “It’s a mess.”

They were hit with the stench of paint fumes as soon as he opened the bedroom door. He flicked on the light, and the room was bathed in the yellow glow of his lamps.

“Love the color,” Rose said.

“Yeah?” he asked, pleased with himself that, even in his miserable, depressive state of trying to not think about Rose, he had managed to pick a color she would like.

“Mhm.”

“I have to put on the second coat. I’ll probably do that tomorrow—I’m not really feeling like going to my classes, so I’ll probably ditch ‘em again.”

“You rebel,” she teased. “If you want some help, I don’t have anything important going on tomorrow. And I don’t work this weekend. We can take a few days to finish up the painting and reorganize your furniture.”

James smiled. “I’d like that.”

“It’s a date.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked her face against his shoulder. “Besides, it’ll go faster with two.”

Leaning down, James brushed a kiss to her crown then rested his cheek in her hair. “Faster with two. Better with two.” He gave her waist a tight squeeze as he kissed her again. “Better with you.”

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #university au #romance #hurt/comfort #angst #my fic #chemical reaction #catalysis series #chemical potential sequel

[ikeservant]

(TW) Can I get reactions for Kenshin, Ieyasu, and Hideyoshi (or anyone else you want) with an MC who is always really bright and happy around others but, depressed&self h**ms when they are alone? Thankssss xoxo

-Request from @arthotsglasses

Thank you for this ask ^.^! Little message: This is relatable to me and many others, and depression is a bully that causes mental and physical hurting. To those that have depression and self-h*rming tendencies, know you’re not alone and you have so much value as a person <3. Don’t be afraid to ask for help! Here’s a helpful link with some helpful alternatives that have helped me and others if anybody would want to try these as an alternative, and there’s a lot of lists and ideas from other websites as well that are helpful too :

https://www.ditchthelabel.org/15-safer-alternatives-to-self-harm/

Anywayyyy back to the headcanons!

TW: mentions of depression, s*lf h*rm, su*cidal thoughts

(TW) Can I get reactions for Kenshin, Ieyasu, and Hideyoshi (or anyone else you want) with an MC who is always really bright and happy around others but, depressed&self harms when they are alone? Thankssss xoxo

Thank you for this ask ^.^! Little message: This is relatable to me and many others, and depression is a bully that causes mental and physical hurting. To those that have depression and self-h*rming tendencies, know you’re not alone and you have so much value as a person <3. Don’t be afraid to ask for help! Here’s a helpful link with some helpful alternatives that have helped me and others if anybody would want to try these as an alternative, and there’s a lot of lists and ideas from other websites as well that are helpful too :

https://www.ditchthelabel.org/15-safer-alternatives-to-self-harm/

Anywayyyy back to the headcanons!

TW: mentions of depression, s*lf h*rm, su*cidal thoughts

Kenshin: He always noticed that something was troubling MC, even if they did not try to make it obvious. MC was always cheerful around him and the others, being a ray of sunshine to his dark coolness. He noticed MC would keep their sleeves from rolling up, almost like they were terrified of showing their arms. He realized this when it was summer time. MC was sweating and overheating, but when Kenshin asked if they’d like to change in lighter clothing or just even roll up their sleeves, MC quickly shut those ideas down. “Hehe I’m fine. You’re such a worrywart!” MC said with a giggle and smile, but Kenshin wasn’t buying it. When MC almost fainted from the sudden heatwave, Kenshin propped them up, loosening and rolling up their sleeves to cool them down. It was then that Kenshin noticed the many cuts on MC’s arms, some faded while others more fresh. His mind immediately went into panic, adrenaline overload. “Who did this? Who hurt you?” he frantically asked, panicked and enraged that MC could get hurt like this. “I-I did. I’m so sorry. I keep on thinking of everything I do wrong and I don’t want to bother anybody else with my problems. I get so tired of constantly switching between being happy for everybody else but so depressed and self-hating when alone. It’s so hard. I feel like a disappointment” MC’s normally smiley face was welling with tears, sobbing as they explained. Kenshin quickly scooped up MC, eyes wide with fear and sadness. He already lost one person to suicide, he didn’t want someone so dear to him now to harm themselves. “I am so sorry. I failed to protect you. Your wounds are my wounds. Don’t you ever do this again. I can’t bear to see the love of my life hurt and hate themselves.” After tears were spilled by both MC and a few from Kenshin while hugging eachother, they discussed how to help MC. As much as Kenshin would want to lock MC away somewhere where there’s no way MC or anybody else could harm them, he knew that would make things worse and restrict MC’s freedom and desire to connect to their close friends. He would definitely be more observant of MC, being slightly overbearing. If he noticed that MC was starting to feel drained and not feeling up for being cheerful, he’d make an excuse to the others so MC could get some space. Would encourage MC to be honest with their feelings, telling MC to tell him whenever they’re feeling a depressive/harmful episode coming and that it is never a bother and considers it an honor that MC can trust him. Whenever he’s unable to be around MC to comfort/provide company, he makes sure his bunnies are around MC bc he figures they’d calm MC down and distract MC from the urges to self harm. Both Kenshin and MC learn from eachother that they each have mental scars and emotional problems and that is valid, they can lean on and support one another to be the healthiest and feel the best they can be.

Ieyasu: MC was always helping Ieyasu see the bright side of things, making his grumpy pouts turn into a slight smile. MC’s goofy laughs and smiles lit up the room, something he greatly admired about them. However, sometimes MC would have a sad look in their eye, something they’d instantly wipe off and deny if somebody asked. When he got closer to MC, he tried to express concern in his roundabout way, but MC was always able to dodge the question, finding a distraction for him and going away to their room. Unfortunately, when MC was making a hot soup with Ieyasu, they spilled the contents on their lap, burning their legs. Ieyasu immediately went into doctor mode, ordering MC to roll back their kimono cloth so he could put inspect the degree of the burns and assess what he should do to treat it. MC fought him, but finally agreed when Ieyasu looked so earnest and worried at them. When he saw MC’s upper legs, he saw the burns from the soup but he also saw scars and cuts. “How the hell did these happen and how come you never came to me to treat these?” He’s seen self inflicted cuts and internally knew what was going on, but he dreaded the thought of MC doing this. When MC knew they couldn’t lie or smile out of this, they opened up, expressing how frustrated they get at themselves and how they feel like they deserve the harm they give themselves. How MC never wants others to worry about them and did not want Ieyasu, who already had negativity in his life, be burdened by MC’s problems. Ieyasu grabbed onto MC’s shoulders, looking into MC’s eyes with the most hurt gaze they’ve ever seen. “You have never been a burden. And you do not deserve the pain you give yourself. I have seen several crooked, horrible people and you are definitely not one of them. And you don’t have to be cheerful all the time if you don’t want to. I love you for who you are as a human being, not an idealized image. I know I’m not the best at being open with my feelings, but believe me when I say that you are allowed to make mistakes and have faults and be vulnerable. Just please do not hurt yourself over it.” Ieyasu made MC spend the night, treating their leg burns and cuts and also finding calming herbs that can help calm MC’s nerves. He would be more gentle with his words around MC and being more mindful, he’s not the best with words but makes sure that MC knows he’s there for them and wants to do anything he can to help them. Would probably roast anybody into a corner if they so much as say one harmful thing to them. Would go into the library and pull out any books about depression and what can help lessen the symptoms, trying to find any way to physically help. He learns to be more honest with his feelings by reassuring MC that they are capable and lovable. Suggests MC keeps a log tracking their moods and to write their feelings to help. Read somewhere that animals can help, leading him to put MC in charge of taking care of Wasabi because he’s “too busy and Wasabi keeps getting in trouble.”

Hideyoshi: MC always made sure to brighten up the place and work hard to make sure everybody was happy. MC would always lend an ear and encourage Hideyoshi when he was doubting himself or fed up with certain people/things. Hideyoshi always offered to help them, but MC would refuse, saying that he’s already got a lot on his plate and that they’re totally fine. He noticed something was off with MC one day, almost as if MC was pushing a happy front all day to hide something wrong. He decided to drop by with some tea during the night when he heard heavy breathing and sniffling, making him enter quickly to see if something was wrong. What he saw was MC with a knife in their hand, just about to graze into their skin. Hideyoshi dropped his tray, running to MC with wide eyes and roughly grabbing the knife, chucking it across the room. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” he’d harshly ask, scared and confused as to what he saw, unfortunately this just caused MC to cover their face in their hands and start crying with a panic attack, making him soften his gaze and pull MC towards him to rub their back and calm them down to the point they were able to talk. “I’m sorry for doing this. I just keep trying to make everybody happy but I just feel so sad and empty and I don’t know if I want to hurt myself just to feel something or because I am angry at myself or what but I feel like I can’t stop. I didn’t want to bother you with this I’m sorry.” “You have no reason to apologize. I should be the one sorry for not noticing you were in pain. You are so positive and loving towards everybody, but you don’t feel that way about yourself, that seems very unfair. The only thing that bothers me is that I can’t find a way that can magically make you see yourself the way I see you.” “Sounds like something I should be saying to you.” MC sniffled with a small giggle. After a little bit, they talked out how to help communicate their feelings and recover from self harming. He’d be very cautious and a bit overbearing at first, hovering over MC and internally panicking when they were around sharp objects, but after some talks about it he learns to give MC some space when needed while also being supportive. Would look up all he could about depression and helpful things to do, leading him to get herbal teas that have calming properties and also getting ANYTHING and EVERYTHING he can get his hands on in town that looked like it could help MC. Things that could make good stress balls or trinkets to rip/pull/roll around/squish: get ‘em. Journal paper, brush, and ink to either write down their feelings or brush on their own skin: get ‘em. Would suggest MC to write down the good things that happened during the day as well as things they like/make them happy so they don’t just focus on the negatives in life. Would reassure MC that their feelings are valid and that they are still a wonderful human being that he wants to be with and support their healing and growth.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen headcanon #ikesen hc

[isadcrajade]

💀 * [ barbie ferreira + cis female + she/her ] —— have you met isadora oliveira ? they are a twenty-one year old sophomore currently studying fashion design & merchandising. they live on keating house, and word around campus is that this aries is loyal + warm, as well as self-objectifying + obsequious. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. chocolate covered strawberries, gothic platforms, lingerie under leather jackets.

hiii bbies it’s me (gabby) finally here again to post this finalized, messy version of isa’s intro! she’s a brand new never-been-played muse of mine so it’s def bound to be a bit more scattered & less developed than ezra’s, but also much shorter? so i mean there’s a bonus lmao alright here we go:

so isadora (also known by many nicknames such as isa, izzy, iz, & dora the explora if ur trying to piss her off vgbjhksjs) was definitely not brought up in a world of prestige and recognition like the one she’s become so accustomed to in attending holloway university

growing up in the small town of lisbon, maine the only reality isa knew during her childhood was that of living as the only child of a woman who was (TW) both a compulsive liar & and compulsive hoarder. their house was floor to ceiling with things her mom collected as well as garbage built up over time- her condition had already driven isa’s father out of the house when she was just three years old, and she never had a relationship with him as a result

she was still fairly young when she realized the true severity of her own situation, just how abnormal it was compared to that of her friends. she missed out on so many rights of passage during her upbringing like birthday parties, sleepovers, etc. for much of her life her own living space / bedroom were just as bad off as the rest of the house, given her mom’s inability to keep from passing her hoarding tendencies onto her daughter. isa simply didn’t know any better at the time. to her, that was normal.

not only was her mom a compulsive liar & hoarder but she was also extremely neglectful, often leaving isa to her own devices in the dangerous environment they called home. as a result of this she (TW ED) developed harmful coping mechanisms surrounding food, regularly overeating to combat negative feelings of loneliness, and this went on from the time she was just a little girl all the way until she was in high school

high school was rough in many ways- she suffered depression, anxiety, experienced bullying at the hands of the more popular kids for her weight & her mother’s financial situation, and was all around extremely isolated from her peers- the only person she really had to depend on was her cousin (WC) . she had so much respect and envy for her cousin, they had more of a sisterly dynamic than anything, she was just so gorgeous and everything she did just seemed so effortless, to the point isa couldn’t help but idolize her and consider her a best friend. 

like, remember when spongebob said he hoped that by being in squidward’s presence some of his artistic ability would rub off onto him? that was deadass isa & (WC) in high school jhbksnjs my girl was so sure if she just spent enough time with her she’d inherit some of her pretty & cool

high school was also where she reached a turning point when it came to her home environment, able to put a name to her mom’s condition after years of struggling with her strained and toxic relationship with her mom, and ultimately changed the rest of her life. she stayed the night at (WC’s) one night and after she fell asleep, isa stayed up watching TLC- it was there that she first discovered the TV show ‘hoarding: buried alive’ and realized there was a name for her mother’s infliction- but more importantly, learned that there was help available for her condition

when she went home to excitedly tell her mother that she’d basically discovered a cure, a means to change everything for them... she certainly hadn’t been expecting the reaction that came: her mom, who’d always been so indifferent toward her, so lethargic and uninterested in what she had to say, was suddenly listening very clearly- and she was not happy. isa had never heard her mom scream like that, had never really heard her express any heightened emotion, but it was in that moment at 17 years old, just a few weeks away from her 18th birthday, that she realized what she needed to do. she had no choice but to make plans to leave her mom behind.

the final weeks leading up to the big day she was counting on as a turning point consisted of her cleaning out her own space, little by little, enough that she had somewhere to set up her secondhand laptop and webcam. blowing out the candles on her 18th birthday cake came with wishing for a whole new life, and she was determined to make that for herself by any means necessary.

(TW SEX WORK) isa spent half her 18th year in her room working as a successful camgirl, showing everything but her face, & of course always being careful not to dox herself. she eventually earned enough money to start buying herself nicer clothes, but it didn’t take her long to realize she wanted more from life than just rotting away in her hometown. she bought herself a higher quality webcam to keep making money... and a nice sewing machine, something she’d always dreamed of owning. 

all her life she’d been drawing and sketching as a means of escapism, it’d always been therapeutic to her to be creative and conjure up unique designs for outfits in her mind, drawing models in all shapes and sizes to represent her fantasy outfits. but she never felt like a visionary, even though anyone with an eye for fashion who got a look at her work could see that she had the natural talent and potential to be. 

isa had been an a straight-A student her whole life despite having almost no support at home from her mother growing up, and with plenty of encouragement from (cousin WC), she plucked up the courage and applied for holloway university, with ivory falls being far enough from her hometown of lisbon, but still in the same state so that she could go and see her mother from time to time (bc although their relationship is quite strained now, she still loves and worries about her)

the next summer she received her acceptance letter at holloway u for the coming fall semester, and the fact that she’d been able to make it into such a prestigious school made her feel so proud of herself that she completely underwent a massive arc of character development; evolving into someone so much more confident. realizing that plenty of people found her desirable as she continued to earn money through cam shows had been part of that transformation, but realizing she was talented enough to get accepted into the fashion design and merchandising program at her dream school had a completely different effect on her. 

( TW BODY IMAGE ISSUES ) isa decided that as she entered college, she was no longer going to be the meek, insecure girl constantly playing the role of the doting, loyal fat best friend to the ‘prettier main characters’ she’d always been sidekick to- she told herself that she was the main fucking character in her life from here on, and has spent her entire college experience up to this point just,, navigating as she figures out what that really means to her

still has a terrible underlying tendency to be overly-loyal and a bit obsessive with girls she closely befriends, if she has any kind of jealousy towards them. but ! is a lot more confident than she used to be, and it shows in the way she dresses and carries herself, as well as in her long-term goals (to transfer to FIDM for her final years of university)

( TW ED MENTION ) as a young adult, she’s mostly she’s replaced the compulsion to deal with her body image issues by using food to cope that she had as a teenager... by using sex to cope instead, so she’s definitely a bit promiscuous but does her best to keep that Her Own business 

personality-wise she has a massive heart & is loyal to a fault but is also wild AF & loves a good time! never rly dabbled in drugs until she got to college but since then has acquired an interest in trying everything under the sun, even if it’s just one and done. mostly though she just likes to get really drunk & stupid. used to feel like she was constantly living in her cousin’s shadow, & in some ways she still does, but she’s trying hard to make herself believe that she’s reached a place where she won’t be playing second fiddle to anyone, ever again

i’m gonna shut the hell up now & stop pretending i know this character better than i do bc i deadass do not jbhnjss like she’s literally brand new so lemme go head & leave plenty of room for development!

same story as ezra i’ll have a full connections page posted for her soon but in the meantime some ideas i have are: friends, frienemies, ex friends, high school bullies, classmates, old high school friends, people she gets fuckt up with on the reg, people she hooks up with on the reg (any gender, she’s bisexual / biromantic), someone she had a crush on in high school / has pined for from afar maybe?? someone who used to watch her cam shows?? someone she almost kinda dated but Not? someone who she hooked up with while they were dating someone else?? idk that’s what i have for now but there’ll be more where that came from <3 xoxo like this or hmu !

#holloway.intro #this is a hot ass mess #but i'm rly excited to finally play her x

[shreddedparchment]

Shattered Glass Pt.01

Team Building

07/09/2019

Pairing: Tony x Reader, Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,750

Prompt: “Agh I’ve been hit!” “Calm down Meryl Streep, it’s just a paintball.”

Masterpost          Warnings: Language, suggestive themes, angst, violent imagery, blood, graphic violence

A/N: I fail. This was SUPPOSED to be a one shot. FML. I can’t do it. It’ll be only two parts. Maybe three if there’s enough content? But probably just two. Don’t hold me to that though. This is my very first Tony-centric fic so hopefully it comes out well. Steve wasn’t supposed to have the part that he has in this one but it kinda just worked itself out this way. This is for @moonbeambucky ‘s #5KWritingChallenge ! When I saw this prompt it screamed Tony. Anyway, I hope you like it! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

You’re wounded!

It hurts!

“Ah! I’ve been hit!” You cry, an earth-shattering shout of agony.

You fall to your knees and clutch at the piercing in the center of your chest. Head thrown back in a silent shriek as you die.

“Calm down, Meryl Streep, it’s just a paintball.” Tony moves up beside you, carefully hidden behind a tall tower of tires. His snark is layered.

The topmost bit is all annoyance and exasperation with your over the top antics. Probably doesn’t like the competition.

The rest has to be amusement. Affection. Fondness. It’s there, though it’s hidden and carefully smothered.

You fall back, laying on the mulch and dirt of the paintball field, relaxed as you breathe in and out. There’s a large splatter of red paint on the front of your vest. You’re shot and the bright light of the setting sun dips between the swaying branches of the tall and aged poplar and spruce.

You give Tony a pout, eyes skillfully pooling. You can fake a good cry if it'll get you what you want.

“It hurts. I’m dead, Tony.” You inhale a deliberate shuddering breath as he moves to kneel beside you, yearning for his sympathy. “Nat killed me.”

He traces the still wet splatter, coating his index finger in the crimson paint as he essentially runs it down between your breasts. What you wouldn’t give for your vest to be gone.

With hazy eyes, the paint might really be blood.

“Maybe you should be paying attention then, instead of flirting with Rogers?” He counters and though usually his voice would be laced with sarcasm, the stern and serious note in it gives you pause.

Everything, every instance of flirtation with Tony has been one-sided. You throw out the bait but he never bites. He never gives away any interest.

Your shallow playfulness subsides as you consider his shift in voice.

You swallow your spit and taste the chemical flavor of paint and gritty earth. It’s acerbic and normally you’d be spitting and gagging but your heart is suddenly racing.

With a lick to your lips you narrow your eyes, taking in the strong set of his sharp bearded jaw, deep brown eyes, full peach lips, “Jealous?”

Your accusation draws his hand away from your chest but you catch it, tracing the length of his finger so slow there can be no question of your intent.

The flex of his arms, tight, lithe biceps straining against the black and gray thermal. The bright shine of his Nano housing keeps it from clinging to his hard chest. He’s ripped though Steve and Sam and everyone else keeps focus away from Tony’s almost obsessive fixation on fitness.

He holds his gun with the barrel pointed up into the air so that he won’t chance accidentally shooting you.

His eyes watch the clean pink painted nail of your middle finger as you continue to stroke his.

Time seems to stop. Not around you.

Around you, everyone is still very much diving and running, swerving and shooting. You hear the peppered cries of those being shot and those doing the shooting.

You can hear Sam swear and Clint laugh. Steve's playful battle cry and Nat's returning shout of surprise. But here in your little bubble with Tony’s hand in your grasp, things flow like molasses.

Fluid and thick, ripe with unsaid desires and forbidden pleasures that until this moment you’d assumed were only yours. You’re too young. You’re the troublemaker. You give him headaches not hardons.

“Why would I be jealous?” He asks, brow twitching as he queries. “You’re not my type.”

That doesn’t hurt. It’s not the first time he’s told you this. His gentle push to keep you at a distance. It hasn’t worked in a long time and it’s not working now. Not with the slip you just saw.

You smile wide, amused by his words. “Too damaged?”

His eyes darken, your past probably flaring into technicolor flashes in his brain, like the violent images of a snuff film and he forcefully takes his finger back.

He clenches his hand, trying to maybe erase the way it felt to have you touch him?

“Too needy.” He corrects then gets to his feet.

Well, damn.

Ouch. That one does hurt.

You push yourself up onto your elbows and watch him sneak away.

“Guess I’ll just have to find someone willing to fill my needs then.” You throw at him, hoping for some type of reaction, not giving two shits about who might hear you.

Your callous behavior pays off. He turns, fixes those chocolate browns on you and you see the shift. It makes your heart race again. There are flutters in your stomach as the fire blazes in his eyes.

It’s a wild chaotic flame that lasts for only a second before it’s calmed and left to smolder behind his shield.

He turns away and keeps going, gun raised.

He only gets to the next cover before he’s shot.

“Eyes up, Tony.” Steve teases and he looks at you then winks.

Tony drops his arms, staring at the splash of patriotic blue on his vest, then sighs. His suit is deemed illegal and he isn’t exactly great without some piece of his tech around, but damn if that brain of his isn’t sexy.

You smile at Steve, chuckling at his sweet flirting. It’s only playful and you know Steve doesn’t want you but it’s nice to be noticed as a woman instead of the kid.

"That’s the game.” Nat calls, and those left standing move towards the picnic tables where food has been laid out.

Wanda and Vision, first out as they really weren’t as competitive as the other idiots on the team, move about laying out plates and drinks.

Tony marches past where you’re still laying on the ground and doesn’t spare you a glance.

Steve’s boots draw your eyes up and you smile, squinting against the bright orange of the setting sun behind him. If flits through the trees again, gilding his already golden hair.

He offers you his hand and you take it.

“Guess we won.” He says, and you hop as you find your feet.

“Guess we did.” You agree and begin to lead the way back to the rest of the group.

“I was the last man standing.” He tells you, voice not proud, but rather curious.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking back at him with a small knowing smirk. “I know."

You stop a few feet from the group as you turn back towards them and spot Tony’s brightening expression.

It’s that look. The look he only give that one person. The most important person. The one person that he can’t live without. That person that you can never measure up to.

Her perfection. Her politeness. Her sweetness. A sweetness that you will never posses because like you told him, you’re too damaged. Too needy, like he said.

You follow his gaze, already knowing what you’ll find.

A happy Pepper wearing a cute set of work out sweats in teal and blue. She stops and holds out her hands, a look of amused disappointment on her pretty face as she lets them drop to slap against her thighs.

“Did I miss it?” She asks, her easy voice full of love for him. For Tony.

“You missed it. You’re late.” He tells her, adoration pouring from his chocolate browns.

All you ever get is his disenchantment. Disappointment that you aren’t better. That you aren’t more. Not her.

Always to be scolded and corrected.

With a drop of your heart, you stare as Tony marches right up to her and pulls her in for a kiss.

It hurts more than you’ll ever admit. Jealousy is not a good color on you. It makes you reckless and lash out.

“Don’t I get a reward?” Steve asks, again, curious, pulling your attention back to him.

He’s testing the boundaries between the two of you and if he’d done it any other time than right now when Tony’s moving towards you with his arm wrapped around Pepper’s waist, you might not have taken Steve’s bait.

You force your eyes away from the couple and look up into Steve’s storm blue twinkle.

“A hero deserves a prize.” You tell him, then wrap your arms up underneath his to stroke the muscular planes of his vested back.

You push yourself up, getting as close as your paintball gear will let you and kiss him.

It isn’t a chaste kiss either. You tilt your head to the right and suck on his lower lip until he opens up for you and you give his mouth a taste.

Spearmint and the slightest chocolate sugar of his mocha. It’s delicious but all wrong.

When you pull back, his lips remained puckered in shock.

“Thanks for winning the game for us, Cap.” You boop his nose then move to settle into a seat at the edge of the nearest picnic table and lean forward onto your elbows as you spare Tony a glance.

Beside him, Pepper is happily in shock at your display. As is almost everyone else on the team.

“When did that happen?” Pepper asks quietly in Tony’s ear and he gives his head a minute shake.

Your eyes meet his and for one long moment, you silently dare him to say something. As much as he may try to hide it, you can see the flame in his eyes, the jealous edge that cuts at your poor hopeful heart.

More than the snark, the cold fire in his eyes, and the forced calm of his form tells you all you need to know about how Tony really feels about you.

Steve comes to sit by you, leaning in to whisper happy praise for your chosen reward in your ear, and you tear your eyes away from Tony to give Steve your undivided attention.

It doesn’t stop. It never stops. The wanting and the yearning. The need to fill that hole that can never really be filled.

That incessant need to be cared for. To be given affection. That desire to feel desired and wanted.

It’s always there and it’s always been easily met with an invitation to get a cup of coffee with Wanda or Nat. Thor inviting you out for a walk. Sam reaching out for a sparring partner, or Clint needing a live target for practice.

A small gesture of inclusion and your deepest of stirrings is quelled.

You don’t like to think about why you feel this way. You dream about it enough.

Sometimes it’s a small flicker of an image here or the fading memory of something there but lately, it’s coming back vivid and violent.

It always starts out the same.

You’re small. Tiny compared to the two large bodies beside you. One to your left. One to your right.

You lean towards the one on your right at first, clinging to that person’s arm, stroking the soft satin of a fancy dress. It feels nice. It reminds you of that cat from the summer house before it went missing.

You miss that cat and its smooth fluffy fur.

Vermillion. The dress is like a blood-orange, bright and eye-catching but she smells like Chanel. The musk is thick but good, it invades your senses.

You shift on your bed, tossing onto your right.

Images of a beautiful face fill your mind like sudden bursts of color. Twinkling eyes. Full curving lips. Soft skin. An elegant neck. Austere pearls.

She caresses the side of your head then you giggle and lean onto the body on your left.

This one is large. Thick. Heavy. Fat? No. Sturdy. Stocky. Tall and built like a rhino with a rounded belly but he’s not fat.

He chuckles and wraps you up in his large, black tuxedo clad arm. You fist the side of his jacket, stroking this material too but the red satin is far softer. This musky scent is better though.

He smells like wood, with the bitter tang of pepper creosote from his cigar. You don’t mind. It smells like home. He smells safe. He smells like you’re shielded, and nothing can ever harm you.

You toss onto your back, groaning as you frown. Daddy. Your mind thinks.

The ambient whoosh draws you closer and closer to sleep.

You pass out, clinging to him, a tiny smile on your lips.

Life is perfect. The soft babble of their words helps lull you. Her tinkling laugh sounds far away but it’s beautiful and you wish you could laugh like she does.

It makes him chuckle and you can feel the love between them.

They fade away and you’re in darkness. You’re standing alone with nothing and no one around you.

Only, it’s not you. The girl is older. Much older. Like Mommy. Who is she? She looks like mommy too but not exactly. She looks like a cheap imitation. Not as beautiful. Not as sweet.

“Daddy?” You open your mouth to speak and the girl in the darkness opens her mouth to speak too.

You freeze as your young mind catches up with your dream. You’re the cheap imitation.

She takes a step forward, that mock-mommy. She splits into two. The other one turns to look at you and you’re staring at yourself, confused.

“Who-?” You begin to ask but the other one opens her mouth to ask too. “Who are-?”

She cuts you off again. You sigh.

The other you smiles, too wide. It’s scary. Your little child heart thrums wildly as fear and panic bubble up in your tiny guts.

You shift uncomfortably, fighting the terror that begins to spread through you.

She presses her hand to her chest, laying it flat against her breasts before she begins to cup it until only her fingertips are touching your shirt.

You stare at her movements, unsure of what you’re looking at.

It takes every bit of courage not to run.

She pulls her hand away from her chest and then lays it flat out in front of you.

You look down and at the very center of her palm is a small silver gleam, the brightest bit of teal at the very edges. It shimmers and shakes chaotically while the silver sits still, stretching and constricting back into place.

For a moment all you can do is stare at the silver and teal. This light is scary.

You groan, kicking your legs as your hands fist your sheets.

When you look back up at her, her eyes are gone. They are black pools of threat and your little heart panics.

The silver and teal light releases a pulse and you’re blind.

You hear panicked cries. Mommy…she’s scared.

“No.” You whimper.

Daddy’s arm is gone from you and you open your eyes to see that same silver pulsing around you.

“What’s happening?” Mommy asks, “What is that? What’s she doing?”

It takes you a moment to realize she’s talking about you.

Daddy is forcing the steering wheel to the left and the right. The sounds of the tires squealing against the asphalt of the road is loud and nearly drowns out their screams. Almost.

“Hold on!” Daddy shouts, but the light flashes once more and the car is suddenly up in the air.

You can see Mommy and Daddy floating around you. They’re not moving and you’re safe beside them.

It’s all over in one violent tumble.

The car lands with a loud metallic clatter. It rolls and rolls, tossing them around with abandon. You hear their bones crack and break. Femur, humerus, ribs, neck; one sickening crunch after the other.

Crimson paints the air, it paints the car and the pavement beneath.

As the shatter of glass dies and your body falls painfully onto the street between them, you look around, searching for that safety from before. Searching for Daddy. For Mommy.

“Mom…” You cry.

Your eyes meet hers. Dead eyes. Unmoving eyes. She’s gone.

Your own small body feels twisted and battered but not broken. Not like them.

There is no crimson on you that is yours and something in you tells you that it’s you. You did this.

Even as a baby, a little one, you know that you did this. You killed your parents.

“Mom!” You gasp, sitting up with spasms of fear shaking your hands.

They tremble, clutching the thin sheet you’re covering yourself with in tight fists. It all feels so…present.

“Y/N? Your heartrate is elevated. You seem to be having an episode. Shall I alert the infirmary?” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s accented voice fills your room with a soft worried whisper.

It always astonishes you, how concerned she seems. Like she’s really genuinely worried about you. Like she can really feel it. Like she’s not just a bunch of ones and zeroes programmed to have just the exact right responses.

“No.” You tell her, and she turns up your lights for you, dimming them up slightly as you throw your blanket off and place your feet on the soft black carpet of your bedroom.

You’re still reeling, trying to come to grips with the here and now and not the lifeless bodies of your parents floating around your head. Instead of your parents, in your room there are several small objects floating above their designated spots.

Your glass jewelry box on your nightstand. Your laptop. Several books on your desk. The picture of you and the team on your nightstand. Your shoes by the end of your bed.

“Are you sure?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. persists. “You seem to be having a fit.”

You scoff. Only one person would call what’s happening that.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Shutting your eyes, you sigh, heartbeat finally leveling out.

“Would you like me to tell Tony-?”

“No!” You nearly scream, rising to your feet and looking for a face though you know there’s none to look at. “No. I’m fine. I just…give me a minute.”

Your stuff falls, crashing back into place. You hear the glass of your jewelry box shatter. You’ll have to buy a new one.

You stumble to the bathroom and switch the light on. Your bare feet slap gently as you cross the cold beige and gold marble tile to the sink with a quiet plap, plap, plap.

The counter becomes your center. You cling to the white concrete desperately as you stare at your reflection in the large backlit mirror.

You’re pale and sweaty. Clammy. Cold trickles of perspiration along your temples and above your lip. With trembling hands, you wipe it away.

This hasn’t happened for so long that it’s caught you off guard. Normally, there’s a build-up. The memories start slowly during waking hours. Small images of lovely people, loving and caring. Over time it all leads up to that night.

The night you killed them.

You shut your eyes tight, wishing the images away. All you can see are your mom’s eyes. Once brilliant with life not dead and staring. Daddy’s body twisted in strange and impossible angles.

You dip down into your sink and down as much water as your belly will let you drink.

It doesn’t help. Maybe a real drink? You have one so rarely. Drunk you is not good with your abilities.

Mistakes have been made. Bail has been paid. It’s how you ended up here. On the team.

Tony should have left me where I was.

The bitter thought falls away as you wander down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Thankfully, it’s empty.

You go straight for the whiskey. You pour yourself too much. You drink it. Then pour another glass before moving to sit at the island.

The brown slosh hurts your throat as it goes down. It burns, but it burns so good. Because you don’t drink very often, just one glass makes you lightheaded. The second pushes you towards unconsciousness.

Not fast enough. You start with it held between your carefully folded left arm, right hand clutching the small old-fashioned crystal glass tight as if you’re afraid it might get snatched away. As you drink, you drift forward until your heated cheek is pressed against the cool counter.

You kick your legs, swinging them casually as you stare across the kitchen at the fine, black modern cabinet. Not really seeing it but playing the moment you killed your parents over and over and over.

You see other moments too. The moment your godparents saw you use your abilities. They watched you with terror in their eyes. The next thing you knew you were in a home for girls.

You see the nice couple who took you next. Then the girl’s home again when they too became terrified of you. Then the next. A faceless couple that you were with for only two days. Then the next two were also faceless.

You lived your adolescent life out in the home.

You see yourself on your eighteenth birthday. You’re excited, dancing with the prospect of becoming a “real” woman. Or so you’d thought at the time.

You come home, smiling at the promise of the cheap birthday cake that you know you’ll get. You see your smile waver as you approach the fence of the home and two boxes full of your things are piled on the sidewalk.

Two homeless women are rifling through the clothes. Fighting over your favorite pair of jeans.

You scamper towards them, hold out your hand and you don’t mean to slip up. You don’t.

Stunning silver-teal burns them. They fly back several feet and crash against the sidewalk painfully as you hold your hand out towards them, palm open.

You shut it quickly and turn away from them as they stare at you with hate and fear. You hurry and shove your clothes back into the box they’d been looking through and shut it.

With both boxes carefully piled into your arms, you look up at the doorway to the home. Your home…Mrs. Meyerson watches you through a split in the blinds of the front window and when she sees you spot her; she shuts them and ignores you.

“Y/N?” His voice is like the hymn of angels.

It’s hot. It burns like your whiskey and tastes just as rich.

“Tony.” You whisper, a sad whimper.

You don’t lift your head because you’re crying. You don’t want him to see.

“Hey.” His voice is so soft. So gentle. F.R.I.D.A.Y. must have told him something was wrong.

He moves around you and comes into view, leaning forward a bit so that he can be more on your level as he looks at your face, still pressed against the cool counter.

“Hi.” You cry.

“Busted out the big guns, huh?” He reaches out and takes your drink from you.

You don’t fight him. The only one who you wouldn’t.

“They didn’t want me.” You sigh, sniffling as you struggle to keep from sobbing. That hole, the one that never fills right at the center of your chest aches. “None of them wanted me. They…they were afraid of me.”

Tony puts the whiskey aside and leans his elbows against the counter, getting close so that he can speak quietly. Just to you.

“Having a little pity party?” He asks, a small smile offered. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You agree, reaching up to wipe at your dripping nose.

“That’s sexy.” He rattles, moving closer to stand beside you.

He’s close. You can feel the heat from his body. Dark gray t-shirt. Black sleep pants. He smells so good. Like aftershave and coconut shampoo. Despite his close proximity, he folds his arms onto the counter, shoving his hands underneath his arms as if he’s determined to keep his hands to himself.

You lean towards him but don’t touch him. He doesn’t want your touch. You know that. It makes you sob once.

“Tony?” You sigh, staring down at your hands in your lap, lower lip quivering helplessly as you’re that little girl again. Wrapped in her daddy’s safe arms. Loved by her mom. Peacefully sleeping when that nightmare awakens something within you and then the car is sent flying.

“Yeah?” He knows what he’s doing. He’s being so careful with you.

His tone is softer than it’s been in a long time. You know that it’s your fault. You’re always so forward. Throwing yourself at him. Making suggestive comments and just being a downright dumbass. You should stop it.

You look at him, blubbering still and the way that his soft brown hair sticks up at odd angles because he’s just freshly showered and was actually probably still bathing when F.R.I.D.A.Y. told him you were having a fit.

You want him. Damn it all.

With a lick to your lips, you shake your head. “I killed them, Tony.”

You sob, hating yourself. Hating your gifts. Hating your life.

“I killed them. I did. I did that. I killed them.” You repeat, as if saying it any other way will possibly make it stick any harder than it’s already sticking.

It startles you into silence when Tony pulls his left arm out and then slides his hand back behind your neck, up into your hair to hold the back of your head. He caresses you, comforting you. Loving you?

That isn’t platonic in his eyes. There’s that fire from the day on the paintball field in his eyes again. When you told him you’d go find someone else to fill your needs. When you kissed Steve.

It’s there. You can see it. Up close. He wants you. Like you want him. Why won’t he—oh, right, Pepper.

With his hand on you though, you can’t focus on her enough to care.

You lean in more towards him, burrowing into the crook of his arm. For one whole second he holds you tight. He wraps you up and pulls your head against his chest and you’re right where you want to be.

Then there’s the sound of feet from the hallway and he’s leaning against the far counter while you catch yourself on the edge of the island.

You stare up at him, still crying and now confused.

“Tony?” You ask, searching his face but he’s got his back to you now as he dumps out your whiskey.

“No more alcohol. We don’t need you lifting cars onto the roof again.” He throws at you, back tense through his t-shirt.

“Tony?” You check again, wanting to see his eyes, to have him look at you with that fire again.

Had you imagined it? Is it all in your head?

“Look, kid, just take a shower and get to bed, alright? Stop thinking about this stuff.” He orders.

Does he think you started to think about your parents on a whim? You’d dreamt about them! Bastard.

“Tony?” Another voice, deep, smooth, almost monotone in its calm nature.

You can hear the inflection of emotion because you’re so used to his voice. Steve.

“What’s going on?” He asks, looking from Tony to you.

“I…I had-” You begin but Tony cuts you off.

“A few too many. I was just sending her to bed before she puts my cars on the roof again.” He finally turns around and his face is back in its detached control.

When he looks at you, there is no fire anymore. Just stern disapproval.

Jerk.

Your shoulders slump and you make a point of sitting quiet as Steve continues to stare at you.

Clearly, you’re still upset about something. You’re still crying. Your cheeks are stained in tear tracks. You worry your lip as you wait for Tony to leave. You don’t want to be around him when he’s like this with you.

Not right now. Not when you already have all of those other people in your memory pushing you away.

“What’s the matter with Y/N? Why is she crying?” Steve wonders, genuine concern in his voice.

Tony’s had been just as worried if not more so a second ago.

“I don’t know.” Tony lies. “I’m going to bed. Pepper’s waiting.”

He says this for you, and you know that he’s drawing that line again. The line that he crossed. Continues to cross. You hate him.

You look at him.

You love him.

“Night.” Steve tells him but when Tony speaks, it’s for you.

“Go to bed. Stop drinking.” He says but you don’t respond.

He leaves and Steve settles into the seat beside you.

“You smell like the bottom of a bottle.” He observes. “How much did you have?”

You shrug.

“Not talking to me now?”

You shrug again.

“Y/N?” It’s his tone that pulls your gaze up to meet his own storm blue eyes.

His blonde hair looks soft and brushed out. His beard is full but neatly trimmed. He looks good for Steve.

Okay…he looks good for anyone. He’s a hunk. But he’s not your hunk.

“What’s going on?” He asks, reaching out to place his hand on the back of your shoulder.

“I had a nightmare.” You admit, licking your lips once more. “About my parents.”

Steve already knows what happened with your parents. He doesn’t need an explanation.

Tony had consulted him before you were allowed on the team after all.

He nods, understanding you in an instant. For a long moment he thinks.

You can see the idea forming in his head and only after you’re stuck staring at him with unbridled curiosity does he turn to sit facing you. One hand on the back of your chair, the other placed on the counter in front of you.

“I like you.” He says, just like that.

You’re drunk. Hearing him say that, throws you.

“What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him confused. You must be hearing things.

“You heard me.” He says, stern, hard. No games.

“Steve…” You start, blinking hard to clear the buzz from your head.

“I know…” He sighs, scooting in closer as he grabs hold of your seat and turns you to face him. “I know where your head is. And your heart.”

Your cheeks flare. They flame and burn, and your neck burns too. You haven’t exactly tried to hide how you feel about Tony but to be called out on it?

“I can’t speak as to where his head is at, but I know that he’s not going to look your way with Pepper there.”

You hate Steve too. You look down at his chest, hating the knowing glint in his eyes.

His thumb and forefinger close around the tip of your chin and tilt your head back until you can look into his eyes again.

“What I can tell you is that I’m interested. I wasn’t playing when I said and did all those things. I don’t know if maybe you thought I was just flirting, but I wasn’t. I like you.” He confesses.

You’re so startled that your heart pounds. You shake your head, but he doesn’t release you. If anything, he leans in closer.

“I can’t give you what you want.” You tell him, knowing that all deep affection is diverted to the jerk that just left the room.

“I know.” He acknowledges. “What can you give me?”

Is he seriously asking?

“I-”

“It doesn’t have to be detailed, Y/N. I just…I’m not exactly in a place to make commitments either. This job we have, it’s tough. I’ve left love behind for it before and odds are, I’ll have to do it again. I’m not going into this with any illusions. I just want to pass the time with you.

“You’re funny and you never do what I expect you to do. You’re easy to talk to and you’re sexy as hell.” He smiles and you’re suddenly very aware of your stupid blubbering face and how much of a mess it actually is.

“Yeah, right.” You gasp, yanking your chin out of his grip.

“You are.” He insists. “You’re not like other people and I like that. So, what can you give me?”

You think. You think hard and as fast as you can.

He’s right. Tony is never going to give in. He’s never going to look at you the way you see him. You’re tired of feeling alone and unwanted. Steve is offering you a little bit of companionship. It’s not love but it’s not being alone.

Maybe you should know better but it’s too tempting. And it’s been a while. Your libido is going to go dormant if you don’t get under someone soon.

That’s what you decide you can give him.

“I can’t love you.” You tell him.

“That’s…that’s okay.” He says.

“I think I can like you.” You sigh. “Kissing you wasn’t bad.”

“Oh,” He chuckles. “That’s good to know. Thanks.”

You smile, eased by his amusement. He’s right. He’s easy to talk to as well.

With trembling hands, you reach up to trace the outline of his chest through his t-shirt. He’s so hard. Super Soldier perfection. It doesn’t mean as much like Tony’s physique does because Steve gets this on default, but you’d be lying if you said it isn’t nice.

He puts his hand over yours and holds it against his chest.

“Is this a yes? You’ll be with me?” He asks, hopeful.

After a second, you nod. He leans in towards you, excitement in his eyes.

“We’re not a couple.” Your clarification stops him in his tracks. “But we’re also not, not a couple. I want you. I do. It’s been such a long time and I…are you a virgin?”

You suddenly ask him this, wondering because of his past with Peggy. You’re not sure he would have had the time to be with her back then.

Steve laughs genuinely amused by your question before he hops off of his stool. He grabs you, one arm underneath your legs, the other your back as he lifts you up into his arms and begins to walk with you towards his bedroom.

“Guess that rumor’s still floating around. Nat?” He asks.

You nod, reaching up to hold him around his neck.

“Don’t worry, doll-face. We’ll get that rumor cleared up.”

“Right now?” You ask, slightly startled at the prospect of sleeping with Steve so quickly.

“Unless you wanna wait?” He asks, stopping just outside your doorway.

You bite your lips, considering for a moment the prospect of sleeping in that bed again, your dreams fresh and vivid.

“No.” You protest. “Kiss me, Steve.”

He dips his head and continues on, kissing the whiskey away.

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[stellaviatoremastrology]

Taurus Moon: Creature Comforts

April 21, 2019

The Moon

The Moon is traditionally ruled by Cancer, the sign of motherhood and feminine qualities. In our natal charts, the moon represents our emotional body, our mothers & our relationships with them, as well as how we relate to others. Our insecurities, fears, emotional dependencies, sensitivities, unconscious reactions, and the way we seek emotional fulfillment can all be derived from our moon sign. Depending on an individual’s chart, the moon sign can be a very hidden, private part of one’s personality, or it can be very prominent, like wearing one’s heart on their sleeve.  

Sensitive Personalities

Taurus is naturally ruled by Venus but is exalted when ruling the Moon, which can sometimes lead to a planet “overdoing itself.” Thus the sensitivity of the moon is heightened under Taurus, both in an emotional and physical sense. These individuals, much like Pisces’ Moons, need a lot of alone time in a private world of their own making. The difference here is that while Pisces’ escape is into a made up dreamland during sleep or within the contents of a novel or video game, Taurus Moon will create a physical paradise for themselves. This can manifest into an art studio, a private office for writing/business, a garden, an at home gym, or a private library. Taurus Moon needs a quiet place that is uniquely theirs that will cater their sensitivity, soothing their anxiety and other physical signs of stress.  

To be let into a Taurus Moon’s “safe space,” is an honor not to be taken lightly.

Drawing on the nurturing nature of an the Moon, Taurus moons are gentle, down to earth, and steady handed. At heart they are true providers, willing to work hard to fulfill not only their own needs but also of those around them. Even if it means getting their hands dirty. Their love language consists of giving gifts as well as physical touch. In fact, physical touch is very important to them, they are likely want to a hug every time they see you. When involved in romantic relationships, cuddling is paramount. Expect hand holding, back massages, and gentle caresses. Being an Earth sign, Taurus is very physical, sensual, and at times, lustful. They are very in tune with their own bodies and their fundamental needs, as well as the physical needs of other’s. They also be gifted with psychometry, the ability to discover facts about a event or person by simply holding an associated object.  

Because of Taurus’ Venus influence, Taurus Moons have a reputation for their eye for luxury and comfort, making them excellent fashion designers, interior decorators, and landscapers.  

However this doesn’t mean that they are not able to appreciate the little or simple things in life, but more so that they appreciate them so much they know the best way to amplify them. Taurus Moon knows how to take the texture of your favorite blanket, the smell of your favorite cologne, and the color of your childhood bedroom and combine it in a way that makes you feel safe and at home. They knew very well that it is the details that make the big picture worth looking at. A Taurean aesthetic can go from anywhere between minimalism to gold plated everything, due to the exalted nature of being a bit excessive.  On a more negative note, Taurus Moons can also be prone to overindulgence, especially in aspect to Venus or Jupiter. They must be careful of letting themselves get out of control, as excessive eating can lead to weight gain, and too much shopping can lead to hoarding.  

Stability & Endurance

A secret superpower of having the Moon in Taurus is the ability to be absolutely still, unbothered by the chaos around them. While the wind may blow a weaker person in all sorts of directions, Taurus has their feet planted firmly, albeit stubbornly, on the ground. They are patient because they know that good things take time and hard work. You cannot see the results from a work out routine unless you are willing to stick to it for months. You will never see your plants harvest if  you are not willing to water them every day, or invest in a proper pot and soil. Taurus knows what it means to invest wholeheartedly and they do not allow themselves to be discouraged from achieving their goals.

Their tenacity and endurance lead them to success every time.  

Often found serving as a “rock,” for their loved ones, Taurus Moons are supportive and protective of those around them, but also of their belongings and things they consider to be “theirs.” Ruler of the second house, Taurus moon directly associates material resources with emotional stability. It is not uncommon for Taurus Moons to pick partners that they feel can provide financial stability for them, or even a social status they feel like they belong to but cannot achieve on their own. However that is not to say that their relationships are centered around money, but more that they are centered around values.

Taurus’ partner must value loyalty, commitment, comfort, and a smart suit when the time calls for it. They need to value the idea that it is okay to treat yourself kindly and with respect, as well as hard work. Because Taurus Moons were blessed with abundance in past lives, their lesson in this life is to learn to let go of it. It’s common for these moon signs to experience financial loss as well as a loss of social status during childhood, although it can happen at any point in their lives. Maybe their parents lost a prestigious position or they got divorced, leaving the child with the parent on the wrong end of a prenup.  

Taurus feel like their life is spiraling out of control when forced to go without the comforts they are accustomed to, leading to feelings of low self-esteem, inadequacy, and hopelessness.  

These situations are shocking for Taurus because they are not just losing a nice house, but they are losing their sense of safety and belonging, their private paradise vanishes. Suddenly the solid ground beneath them keeping them steady has turned into water, the garden they have been carefully attending as been mowed over.

When Taurus Moon feels like they are lacking in resources they need, they are skilled at appearing vulnerable and lost in order to gain access to other’s resources instead. While this may not always be a conscious decision they are making, it is successful nonetheless. In fact, more often than not they feel bad for having to rely on someone else for anything at all, but a lifeline is a lifeline. Unfortunately this leads to the belief that they can not provide for themselves at all, creating dependency.

This is the child that takes their time moving out of their parents house because they don’t want to pay rent, or refuses to buy their own car because they believe they will never be able to afford one on their own. The lack of belief in themselves to self-provide creates a self-fulfilling prophecy in which they never do.

This can also go in the complete opposite direction, and create a workaholic who desperately goes weeks without proper sleep in an attempt to obtain what they feel is “enough.” But the truth is that for a lot of them, nothing ever truly feels like “enough.” These are going to be your accountants and business owners who do not know when to stop and they never retire. They may ignore their children because they are too focused on their work, instead hoping that the gifts of comfort they provide for them speak for themselves.

Taurus Moons are prone to holding on to money, people, and situations that no longer serve them out of fear of never having them ever again. By doing this they hold themselves back from new opportunities and wealth that comes their way, becoming stagnant.

They will continue in relationships they are no longer happy with because they do not want to give up the stability and familiarity that their partner provides, refusing to move on even when they have become interested in someone else. They will stay at a well-paying job, completely halting their career progress because they do not want to have to navigate an intimidating new work environment. They will eat the same thing at their favorite restaurant for years because they don’t want to take the chance of ordering something new and not liking it, they do have to pay for it after all.  Taurus Moons benefit from letting go of the idea that they have to do everything themselves, exactly their way, for their work to be valuable or “right,” and allowing others to help them when they need it.

Your resources are not a limited amount, but a river that flows infinitely. Focus less on your financial restrictions and what you don’t have, less on what you feel you need to earn. Instead focus on what you do have and being grateful for the gifts that are offered to you without taking advantage of others. By accepting help you come into a position in which you can help others too. Nobody starts at the top of the food chain or gets there without a leg up from someone else.

Free yourself of the guilt that comes with having physical, emotional, and financial needs you think you can’t meet yourself, and of the mindset that you never will.  It’s simply not true. By focusing on attracting wealth you bring it to you.You will find that what you need is always within your reach if you are just willing to ask for it. Having control is not necessary.

Xoxo,

Madison Louise

Images from UnSplash

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[somuchtowrite]

WIP Questions Tag Game

I was tagged by @whywritewhenyoucansleep (sorry it took so long!!) and @sundaynightnovels, and i think a few other people?? sorry if i missed you, thank you so much!!

1. Describe the plot in one sentence? 

A mage needs to save his siblings for a cause, but that cause is turning out to be much more mysterious–and dangerous–than he had thought.

2. Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel and taste to describe the aesthetic for your novel.

Sight: Mist Smell: Pennies Sound: Metal on metal Feel: Heat  Taste: Mint

3. Which 3+ songs would make up a playlist for the novel?

Conqueror - Aurora Warrior - Aurora Learn to Let Go - Kesha Revolution - The Score Agnes - Glass Animals Who We Are - Imagine Dragons

4. What’s the time period and location in which the novel takes place? 

Modern times (late 2017 I’m thinking?)

5. Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded? 

For a long time, I thought I would call it The Sanctum, but then I found a book with the same title and decided that wouldn’t work (plus I actually ended up removing the plot point that had to do with a sanctum because it became unnecessary). I’ve considered a few other titles, but I’m still not sure how I feel about them. For now, I just refer to it as Lark and Eli, which of course won’t be the final title but works for now:)

6. What’s the first line of your novel?

“Eli was being followed, and he didn’t like it.” (To be edited, I just wrote it to get words on the blank page and it worked!!)

7. What’s a line of dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

“They’ll just get a new batch of mages and do it all again, and I won’t be able to escape.”

8. Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

Eli blinked. “What?”

9. Who are your character(s) faceclaims?

I don’t do faceclaims it messes with the images I have in my head. No one looks exactly like them, anyway, and I don’t really see the point. I’m sure it’s helpful for some people for visualizing their characters, though!!

10. Sort your character(s) into Hogwarts houses. 

Eli: Hufflepuff Lark: Gryffindor Viktor: Ravenclaw Xendalia: Gryffindor Kane: Slytherin

(I want to sort so many other characters but it would take up so much space askdlgdklsdjf)

11. Which character’s name do you like the most? 

I love Lark’s name. I found it in an article about words that you could use as names and absolutely fell in love. I also think the name Andrea is the most gorgeous thing ever, which is ironic since I gave it to arguably the most unpleasant character. Oh, and I can’t forget about the name Naomi, which I adore (again ironic, since she’s even worse than Andrea).

I want to say more but I’ll restrain myself, but know that I love all of my characters’ names!! I wouldn’t choose them if I didn’t think they sounded nice lmao

12. Describe each character’s daily outfit.

At the castle, the standard outfit available to everyone is a plain white shirt and black pants, but they have the option to wear whatever they were wearing back home (which obviously depends on the character, since they all have different tastes). The only characters who dress differently are Xendalia, who wears sort of dialed-down, medieval-esque outfits, and Celene, who typically wears a long, blue silk dress with no shoes. Along with that, the minor gods have a sort of uniform with armor since they guard the castle. 

13. Do any characters have distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Eli has a scar on his chin from Naomi pushing him onto a dock when he was seven. It serves of a constant reminder that she truly hates him, which is something he tries to push to the back of his mind as much as he can.

Mostly everyone else has scars all over, if not from their own trials then from getting cut while training. Emma in particular is riddled with little scars since she’s put so much practice into her swordsmanship and doesn’t believe in using anything but the real deal. Plus, the wounds that Lark heals almost always leave a scar, no matter how big they are. Lark heals everyone, which basically means everyone has them.

14. Which character most fits a character trope?

Depends on which trope, I suppose. I guess Xendalia would fit into the strong, unflinching stereotype because of how she grew up, and Viktor is the silent intellectual that shows up in a lot of fiction. Still, both of them have so much more to them that I have a hard time putting them into a box like that. Every personality has been done before, but not by you, you know?:)

15. Which character is the best writer? Worst?

Viktor would be the best writer, if only because he knows his way around the technical aspects of it. Still, he doesn’t exactly have a way with words, so that side of writing would be best left to someone else. None of them have much time for writing, but I could see Sarah writing angsty poetry in her room before greeting the next day with a smile.

As for the worst writer, I would say it would be either Luke or Andrea. Luke because it wouldn’t interest him in the slightest, and Andrea because she wouldn’t see much of a point. Neither of them have really written before, and they’re not exactly eager to try it out.

16. Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Andrea and Nicholas, but in different ways. Andrea is good at covering things up, lying after things have happened to keep herself in the clear, while her brother has a knack for keeping things a secret to hide the truth.

The worst would have to be Lark. When she blushes, it’s way to obvious, and she’s the kind of person who can’t even tell a white lie without turning red.

17. What character swears the most? Least?

Ashley swears quite a lot, but she knows when to reign it in. Andrea curses excessively when she’s angry, but barely ever when she’s not. The least would probably be Jasper, mainly because he’s only twelve, while everyone else just curses an average amount for a typical teen–probably still too much, but enough to get their points across.

18. Which character has the best handwriting? Worst?

The best handwriting would probably go to Sarah or Emma. Sarah likes things to be pretty to look at, and that includes her handwriting. Emma, on the other hand, doesn’t care much about the aesthetic, but she’s still an artist. Pretty much anything that comes from her hand looks nice, whether it be a drawing or a letter. Viktor’s handwriting would be an acquired taste, consistent and blocky.

Eli or Lark would probably have the worst handwriting. Barely legible, actually. Eli’s just because he never tried very hard when he was younger and it shows, and Lark because she writes so fast that her letters flow together until it’s impossible to tell where one word ends and another begins.

19. Which character is most like you? Least like you?

I like to think Lark’s reactions to things are similar to how I think I would react in her situation, but I could never be as calm about everything she is. Everyone character is just their own person, and though I’m sure parts of myself are woven into each and every one, I’d have to do some personal self-reflection to figure it out (which I don’t ever plan on doing, thank you very much. I’ll repress my feelings as much as I please xoxo).

20. Which character would you most like to be?

Caroline Joyce, Eli’s very human, very irritated best friend who gets shoved into the story against her will. As much as I would like to have magic, I’d rather not be subjected to the crazy world Eli and the other mages have to live in, and Caroline has a good balance of normal and magic. At least, as good as it gets when your best friend is a mage and drags you along on his adventures.

Phew!! Tagging (if you want to!!) @things-waiting-to-be-written, @marewriteblr, @drabblesofthesoul, @plutocoeurwrites and anyone else who wants to do it!!

#tag game #wip tags #lark and eli #phew that was a lot but it was fun!!

[kolivance]

honestly, i HATE the idea of a "crackship". no matter how silly it seems to you, to SOMEONE ELSE it has potential. someone made fun of one of my ships once calling it a "crackship" just because the characters haven't met yet...when the whole purpose was (like you guys told the last anon) the POTENTIAL i saw. i'm really glad you guys *don't* consider this a "crackship" anymore, but i would like to implore you to please not call any ships "crackships". there's enough hate in this fandom already

Hello therenonnie!

I think ourmain problem here is that we see the word with very different meanings.  That’s an ok thing, because sometimes ithappens, especially with words used mainly in fandom contexts.  We all have different experiences and thoseexperiences forge the meanings for different words used.  It also happens in real life, with words thathave nothing to do with fandoms.  Ifsomeone were to mention, for example, “birds”, there are meanings I relate tothat word that other people might not agree with.

It’s acommon human thing.  I could go on.  Think, for example, of the word “table”.  In your mind you have an image of a veryspecific table, right?  Well, that’s yourdefinition and understanding of that word. I could think of “table” and the image and meanings it forms in my headmight vary a lot from yours.  That’s avery interesting thing, don’t you think?

You clearlyrelate the term “crackship” with negative connotations.  When I use “crackship”, it holds no suchnegative meanings, but that’s my case, not yours.  So, in a way, I can see where you’re comingfrom, even though my first reaction to this was “this is exaggerated”, “youneed to take a deep breath and calm down”.

I won’ttalk for all mods, though I’m sure that they agree with me at least to somedegree.  When I use “crackship”, I neveruse it to make fun of anything.  To me it’sjust another term to use when I have a ship that will most likely never becomecanon, and the reasons I like it are completely arbitrary to me and myperception, reasons I might or might not find funny, interesting, etc.  You are talking here from your ownexperiences, perceptions and from your own personal reasons.  That’s ok. It’s understandable.  It’sperfectly normal.  We all do that.

However, Ithink, and I might be corrected on this, since we all learn new things everyday and we are always growing within our minds yada yada, that relating theusage of the term “crackship” to the worrying levels of hate that inspireactions within our fandom is a bit… extreme.

— xoxo, Mod Blob 👽

#We Speak

[scriptmedic]

Hi! First, I want you to know I absolutely love this blog. It's super helpful! Anyway, I wrote an ask in November, but I'm assuming tumblr ate it. So here is it: I have a character who has burning hot pokers/nails purposely thrust into his eyes to blind him. I was wondering what this would entail. Would the skin around the eyes be burned? What would his eyes look like afterwards (is it possible any of the eye is left)? Could this cause brain/nerve damage other than rendering him blind?

Content warnings: Burns, eyeball injuries, infections, precious bodily fluids

Oh my gods. I’m so, so sorry for your delay! And I feel even guiltier because Oscar the Grouch is my absolute favorite character and I let him down. Seriously, I love your avatar.

Okay, enough fangirling! THE BUSINESS BEGINS NOW!

I’m EXTREMELY GRATEFUL for the fact that my image search came up with 0 actual images of eyes burned with hot pokers (the things we do for love!) and my PubMed search came up with no case reports or publications of any kind, so we’re in kind of open territory: do what feels right and what feels real.

The skin around the eyes would definitely be burned, because I don’t know of anyone cruel enough to poke someone’s eyes out with a hot poker and yet “kind” enough to try to spare the surrounding tissue, so as the victim struggles, the poker will likely sear the surrounding flesh.

I don’t exactly have a data set on “individuals with eyes burned out by a hot iron”, but I would imagine that the eye itself is mostly gone. They can melt and rupture, and whether that’s “true” or not, it’s believable. Also understand that the rest of the orbital cavity (eye socket) will likely sear from the heat, so at first there may be swollen tissue that almost... fills the void where the eye used to be?

Also, this person is going to have either no, or severely damaged, eyelids, because of the obvious NO DON’T ENUCLEATE ME WITH A HOT POKER PLEASE reaction is to clamp your eyes shut like there are monsters in the bedroom.

As for nerve or brain damage... my gut instinct says that it’s possible but not probable. But again... no case reports. If you need your character to be brain damaged it’s not impossible that some of the brain cooked a bit, but otherwise, from a storytelling perspective, I’d leave it.

Oh, one other thing... infection. We need to talk about infection, and pus, and eyeballs weeping pus, because infections after burns are very very common (was it a clean and sterile hot poker, we ask ourselves?). Likely not. So the tissue that remains in either eyesocket is massively inflamed, and it will probably get infected. And that infection will likely involve pus, and it will hurt, and they will likely try to rub their eye or do SOMETHING for the pain, and then we have a sad panda day where they rupture an abscess, and there’s just.... all the pus running down their cheeks. They’re crying pus, is what I’m saying. Pustulent tears.

I think that about wraps it all up on the negative eyeball/poker interaction -slas- thermal enucleation front. I’m sorry that you waited so long for this jiggery-pokery.

Yeah, I went there. You knew I had to go there.

Anyway, I hope the wait was worth it.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

disclaimer    

Becoming a Patron lets you see the freaking future. Have youconsidered becoming a clairvoyant?

FreeeBook: 10 BS “Medical” Tropes that Need to Die TODAY!  

#professionaltrash101 #eye injury #burns #jiggery-pokery

[67chevy-imagine]

Spoiler for ‘I Trust Her’ below: 

I received this question as a response to ‘I Trust Her’  and want to answer it, although I’m not sure it’ll be what you were looking for. 

I had not written her mother into it simply because I wanted the focus to revolve around Dean’s reaction. I also wanted to give you as readers the option to plug in whichever type of mother you were comfortable with putting in.

Personally, I imaged the readers mother as another hunter that Dean fell for and conceived a child with, but something happened down the line. Either she died, or left the child with Dean for reasons I’m not exactly sure of yet. But considering he has the bunker as a safe place and they’re both hunters either way - I could understand her leaving the reader at the door step of a strong father with a safe house. That’s my personal view on what momma bear would’ve been like, not sure if you all will agree. I would imagine she visits as often as possible when no one is on her trail, and she video chats with her daughter as much as possible. Maybe Dean knows about it, maybe he doesn’t. Who knows. But the reader is extremely close with Dean as you can tell by just his reaction. 

Thanks for wondering! xoxo

@nanie5

[dralentines-day]

Gift #30, @halfbloodprincess23

This gift is a full-blooded masterpiece. Enjoy, @halfbloodprincess23 !  

Our gifter says:

“Dear Random Person, 

Happy Dralentine’s Day. <3 Every time I write a drarry fic, it is always one of my favourites because I love these two characters so much. This fic is no exception. I really hope you enjoy it. I’d also like to point out that I didn’t realise Hot Tea could be a pun for ‘hottie’ until after I’d decided on the title, I SWEAR. Happy reading.

Xoxo, Anonymous”

Hot Tea - Draco Malfoy is on Harry Potter’s doorstep and he really doesn’t seem like he wants to be there. What happens next involves hot tea, a date that isn’t really a date, the ugliest vase Draco has ever seen, balls, sacks and snakes, and unfortunately none of those last three are sexual in the slightest. 

OR

Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter drink tea, go to a Fair, and fix a problem at Malfoy Manor. 13.2K. 

Tags: no smut, just obscure sexual innuendo and light swearing.

“Potter,” Malfoy says coldly as if it is Harry standing unexpectedly at his door, rather than the other way around.

Shocked at the presence of Draco Malfoy, of all people, standing at his door on a dreary Sunday morning, Harry isn’t able to formulate a response. Instead, he simply stands there, processing, waiting for something to actually make sense.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” Malfoy asks in a bored voice that tells Harry he really doesn’t want to be here, which is the only thing that has made sense so far.

“Why are you here?”

Malfoy narrows his eyes and stares at Harry with obvious distaste. “No need for your tone, Potter. I don’t want to be here, either.”

“My tone?” Harry holds back a laugh. He can see Malfoy is on edge and doesn’t fancy a wand fight on a quiet muggle street. Not failing to notice Malfoy has avoided his question, and with lack of a better option, he invites his childhood rival inside his apartment.

He immediately regrets it when the next words out of Malfoy’s mouth are: “This is where you live?” Again, Harry wonders how Malfoy can possibly think Harry is the one with a tone problem.

Harry quickly waves his wand so the worst of the mess is swept away, the many piles of clothes on the floor flying upstairs to hide in his bedroom, the dirty mugs in the living room moving to the kitchen to hide under the sink. He wasn’t expecting company.

With the apartment still in poor shape, but at least a margin better, Harry turns back to Malfoy, hoping to finally hear an explanation. Despite his frustration at Malfoy’s presence and usual pointy demeanour, he is still incredibly curious about what has brought him here. However, Malfoy doesn’t look like he is planning on explaining. If anything, he is staring at Harry as if awaiting an explanation from him. Harry sighs, wondering why he didn’t just slam the door as soon as he saw who it was. Better yet, next time someone rings the doorbell, he should check who it is through the keyhole before opening it to avoid situations like this altogether. It’s too late now though, so he does the only thing he can think of.

“Would you like some tea?”

“You’re offering me tea?” Malfoy asks as if Harry has just insulted his mother.

“…and the offer has been rescinded.” Harry is unsure if he should be laughing or hiding. He hasn’t seen Malfoy since the trials. At that time, Malfoy had been too defeated, too traumatised Harry supposed, to say much at all. He certainly seems to have regained his attitude since then.

Still, Malfoy doesn’t say anything. He is staring at Harry’s muggle clock intently. 

“Got somewhere to be?” Harry asks.

Malfoy looks back at Harry, his face scrunched up. “No.” He says harshly, making Harry feel like it was a stupid question.  

“Okay…” Harry says because he can’t think of any other way to respond other than cursing Malfoy, which he knows would be a terrible idea. With Malfoy still looking as if he has no intention of explaining anything and Harry having made no progress on that front, Harry shrugs and takes a seat on his sitting room couch.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asks immediately.

“Seeing as I’ve no idea how long you plan on standing there without saying anything, I’ve decided to get comfortable while I wait.” Harry pulls his legs up onto the couch with him.

Harry can see Malfoy’s eyes follow his shoes as they come up to rest on the arm of the couch. Harry supposes it is against Malfoy family sensibilities. So becoming a Death Eater is fine, but shoes on the couch is out?

Malfoy shakes his head before redirecting his attention to Harry’s face, and Harry imagines the image of his shoes being thrown forcibly from Malfoy’s mind. He is careful not to laugh. “Were you planning on offering me a seat?” Malfoy asks, and just like everything else he has said today, it sounds like an insult.

Harry is starting to enjoy this. Behind Malfoy’s cold demeanour, he is clearly uncomfortable about something, likely the reason he is here in the first place. Harry has no such discomfort so he is able to sit back and wait to see how things will play out. He hopes there is some humiliating reason Malfoy is here that he will be able to laud over the man for the rest of his life. That would certainly make up for years of bullying.

“Considering your reaction to my generous offer of tea, I didn’t think it would go down very well.” Harry says with a bright smile he suspects will irritate Malfoy.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and breathes a deep sigh. Harry has a strange feeling he is about to be lectured. “A host should display formal etiquette regardless of the attitude of his guests.”

Harry has to stop himself from shouting A-ha! “So you admit you have an attitude then?” He says instead.

Malfoy stares at him a moment silently. Does he have no comeback? Does this mean Harry has won? He closes his eyes and stays like that for another painful moment. Harry is a little unsettled and is beginning to wish Malfoy would fire back with a nasty quip already. Malfoy opens his mouth and eyes at the same time but the words aren’t what Harry is expecting. “Where’s your kitchen?”

“What?” Harry asks surprised.

Malfoy waves his hand in an elegant imitation of the universal signal for never mind. “I’ll find it myself.” Harry starts to get up so he can follow Malfoy into the kitchen and find out what in Merlin’s name is going on, but Malfoy gestures for him to stop with an unnecessary flourish of his hand.  “No, stay there.” He orders.

Harry stays seated and tries to remain calm. What could Malfoy possibly get up to in his kitchen? He hears a crash.

“Don’t move, I’m Reparo-ing it.” Shouts out Malfoy before Harry has a chance to come running. Harry secretly hopes it is the awful ceramic vase his Aunt Petunia made him for his birthday last year. The gift is admittedly an improvement after years of receiving old socks and toothpicks, but it doesn’t make up for the years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys. He would feel guilty throwing it out when he knows it must have taken ages for his Aunt to create and was clearly meant as the branch to a small stunted olive tree, but seeing it only brings back bad memories of his childhood. However, if it were to be accidentally broken…Harry doubts even Reparo could fix something so precariously held together in the first place.

Malfoy returns shortly after with a single mug in his hand. Of course, the bastard wouldn’t think to make one for Harry as well. “That vase in your kitchen is appallingly hideous, Potter. I had to transfigure some flowers to put in it, just to make up for its offensive patterns.” He says as he places the mug on the small table beside Harry, before taking a seat on the armchair opposite.

Harry looks down at the mug beside him, puzzled. “You made me tea?”

Malfoy grimaces like he was hoping his good deed would go unnoticed. “Don’t be ungrateful. The appropriate response is thank you.”

“Thank you?” Harry says uncertainly. He starts to wonder if Malfoy is in serious trouble. If he is doing something even slightly nice for Harry, he must want something in return.

“You’re welcome.” Malfoy says staring at the empty fireplace behind Harry.

Harry takes a small sip of his tea. It burns his tongue. “So…”

“So?” Malfoy repeats, his attitude returning in full force.

“Malfoy,” Harry starts, skipping the pretence and asking straight out:  “Why are you sitting in my apartment watching me drink tea?”

“Believe me, Potter. I don’t want to be here.” Malfoy says like it’s not obvious in the way he has been on edge since he arrived and the way he has negatively responded to everything Harry has said.

“You said that already.” Harry takes a large sip of his tea, forgetting how hot it is. He grimaces as it burns its way down his throat.

“Well, I don’t.”

Harry loses his patience. This is starting to get repetitive. “It’s not exactly great for me either.”

Malfoy appears affronted. “I made you tea.”

Harry wants to laugh but Malfoy appears quite serious. He made tea, and didn’t even manage to break that goddamn vase. He hasn’t exactly saved Harry’s life. “Oh, of course. That certainly makes up for all the unpleasantness.” Harry says sarcastically.

“You’re not making this easy.”

Harry is about to lose more than just his patience. How can Malfoy suggest he is the one being difficult all the while sitting there with that nasty scowl on his face? “What easy? I don’t even know why you’re here.” Harry says in a voice dangerously close to yelling. He hasn’t reached for his wand yet but, Merlin, he wants to.

“I need a Parselmouth.” Malfoy says quickly, the syllables coming out like they belong to one word. He is not looking at Harry.

Harry’s rising anger takes a backseat to his curiosity and excitement. He takes a small sip of tea as he surveys Malfoy, sitting on the armchair in his small apartment looking incredibly uncomfortable. Malfoy needs a Parselmouth. Malfoy needs him. This is going to be good. “Why?”

Malfoy explains the situation to Harry’s mug. “There’s a room in the Manor that has sealed itself off. My mother and I have tried every spell we can think of but nothing has worked. The door has carvings of snakes on it and I think, no, I am certain, it requires parseltongue to open.”

Harry can’t stop himself from smiling. He knows Malfoy must be hating every minute of this. “So you need my help?”

“I’d appreciate if you would be able to attend – “

“You need my help.” Harry interrupts, not letting Malfoy evade the question.

“I don’t need – “

“Malfoy. Say it. You need my help.”

A long deep sigh falls from Malfoy’s mouth and he rubs his temples as he stares at the carpet. “I’m not going to say that. Stop being childish.”

Harry is tempted to tease Malfoy further, but seeing Malfoy not even able to meet his gaze begins to get to him. He feels a little bit guilty for having taken so much glee in someone else’s discomfort, even if that person is Draco Malfoy. He takes a long sip of his tea, letting Malfoy stew for a moment longer because he really can’t help himself. “So you want me to come over now?”

“What?” Malfoy jerks his head up and finally meets Harry’s eye.

“To try out that door?” Harry explains politely, allowing Malfoy his confusion. Merlin, Harry is confused as well. He is willingly helping Draco Malfoy.

“You’re going to do it?” Malfoy asks, the shock clear in his voice. So he never expected Harry to agree but he came anyway? He must really be desperate.

“Of course. Just let me finish this tea.” Harry takes another sip. It’s still hot but he can’t burn his mouth much further.

His shock seeming to wear off, Malfoy becomes serious. “How much?”

“How much what?” Harry asks. How much tea does he have left? How much parseltongue can he speak?

Malfoy blinks a couple of times and gives Harry a look that reads you are an idiot. “Payment, Potter. What do you want?”

Oh. Harry feels very silly. Of course that’s what he meant. “Nothing. I’m sure it won’t take long and I haven’t got any other plans.” He certainly does not need Malfoy’s money. He could not work for the rest of his life and still have enough money to pass onto his grandkids, if he ever has any that is.

“No.” Malfoy’s voice is firm.

“No?” So he doesn’t want Harry’s help anymore? What is Malfoy playing at?

“You can’t do this for free. I don’t want to owe you a favour.” Of course. That makes perfect sense. A Malfoy wouldn’t want to be in anyone else’s debt, especially not Harry Potter’s.

“I’m not going to ask you for a favour.” Harry assures him, because he isn’t one to hold something over someone. If he says he’s going to help, he’s going to help, no strings attached. Knowing Malfoy’s family, he suspects this is a new concept to the rude man on his armchair.

“You say that now because you don’t need one. When the time comes, you’ll be at my door reminding me of everything you’ve ever done for me. This won’t be another item on that list. Name a price now.” Malfoy demands, which is reckless as he is the one at Harry’s house asking for help. He really should be more agreeable. Harry could change his mind at any time.

Does Malfoy really think Harry keeps a list of every good deed he does? Like that is the only reason for doing anything good? He wonders how many lists Draco has. “I’m not keeping a list and I really don’t need any money. I’m actually very well off.” He is usually reluctant to mention his wealth in case it comes across as bragging, but considering his guest, he doesn’t really think it is of any consequence in this instance.

Malfoy snorts. “And yet you live here.” Harry frowns. And they had been having such a pleasant conversation. “Whatever, it doesn’t have to be money.”

Harry starts to answer immediately, his response automatic. “There’s nothing that I…” but a thought suddenly comes to his head, and he realises he has the perfect opportunity. “Wait, actually…yes, there is something.” He smiles wickedly.

Malfoy’s eyes widen and he no longer looks keen on accepting payment. “I don’t like the way you’re smiling.”

“Let me introduce you to the muggle world.” Harry says, knowing how bizarre it will sound to Malfoy and not caring. His intentions are both good-hearted and petty. He does think it will be good for Malfoy’s character to finally have a positive experience with muggles, but he also knows it will be absolutely hilarious to watch.

“What the hell, Potter?”

“You spend the day doing muggle things with me, and then we’ll go open up that room in the Manor.” Harry explains, liking the idea the more he thinks about it. This will be much better than monetary payment. Malfoy outside his comfort zone is priceless.

Malfoy is looking at Harry like he just asked if he wanted to jump into a volcano. Harry continues to smile, which seems to frazzle Malfoy further. “Since you are incapable of rational thought, I take it back. You are more than welcome to help me for nothing in return.”

“…and that offer has been rescinded.” Harry says, enjoying the way Malfoy’s frustration has had a peculiar effect on his face, his usually pale cheeks having turned the slightest shade of pink.

Malfoy stands up, looking down at Harry, his fists are clenched but he hasn’t drawn his wand. “Potter, I am not going on a date with you.”

A date? Is that what it sounded like? Harry worries Malfoy may not be the only one with pink cheeks now. He hurries to clarify. “It’s not a date, Malfoy. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow. He seems suspicious. Harry supposes it is warranted under the circumstances. “Why do you want to spend the day with me?” Malfoy asks in the manner an Auror might interrogate a criminal.

“It’s not about me spending it with you, it’s about you spending it like a muggle, to give you an understanding of the way they live, and how they’re not so different from us.” Harry explains carefully so there can be no confusion. He can’t have Malfoy thinking he wants to date him.  That would be way too much fodder for his insults.

Retaking his seat, Malfoy is laughing but there doesn’t seem to be any humour in it, only disbelief. “Merlin, that’s worse. You’re trying to save me. I think I’d much prefer the date.”

Harry shrugs. He isn’t backing out now. “It’s my only offer.”

“So you’re still an insufferable do-gooder then?” Malfoy asks, and despite its content, it sounds less like an insult than everything else Malfoy has said to Harry this morning.

“Yep,” Harry agrees if only to frustrate Malfoy. “And you’re still an arrogant prat?”

“Watch it.” Malfoy says, but it doesn’t have the edge to it that Harry would expect.

“So do you agree to my price?” Harry asks, already knowing exactly where he wants to take Malfoy.

“I don’t see any other option.” Concedes Malfoy.

Harry tries to stop the huge grin that tries to cover his face. He really shouldn’t be this excited at the prospect of spending a day with Malfoy. “How do you feel about Fairs?”

Malfoy scrunches up his face in what looks to be a mixture of confusion and disgust. “I don’t know what that means, and now I’m not sure I want it.”

Harry laughs. Malfoy’s insistence at being contrary isn’t nearly as bad when the cruel edge is removed. “Actually, it doesn’t matter, because you’ve already agreed to it.”

“Potter…” Malfoy says in way Harry is sure is intended to be threatening, but has absolutely no effect on Harry’s resolve. He is taking Draco Malfoy to the Fair.

“You never know, you might enjoy it.” Harry teases. He already knows that he at least is going to enjoy himself. He wonders if he’ll be able to convince Malfoy to ride The Giant Slide in a sack. That’s something he has to see.

“I don’t even know what it is. I swear to Merlin, Potter, I’ll – “

“You’ll what? Curse me? I defeated Voldemort, I don’t think you’ll be much of a challenge.” Harry is surprised by his own cockiness. There’s something about Malfoy that makes him want to one-up him every time.

“Your head is even bigger than it was in school, Potter. I didn’t think it was possible.” Harry can’t help but notice that Malfoy seems to be saying his name an awful lot. It’s hard to miss when it’s enunciated so carefully each time, sometimes sounding like a swear word, sometimes like a sigh, but never like a name.

“I’m kind of a big deal.” Harry says. He finds himself anticipating Malfoy’s inevitable dispute of this.

“Yes, I’ve seen the Prophet. The Boy Who Lived and Died. It made for a great front headline the first time they did it, but I’m not sure who the genius is that decided to repeat it fourteen times. There must be something else to report on by now.”

This throws Harry. “You’ve been counting.”

“That was just a guess,” is what comes out of Malfoy’s mouth, but the way he drops his gaze says otherwise. Harry doesn’t bother to confirm that it is indeed fourteen, that he has been counting too, waiting for it to end. Malfoy seems a little too keen to change the subject. “How much longer are you going to be with that tea?”

Harry let the counting slide, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to tease Malfoy about every other possible thing. “Eager for some muggle fun?”

It could easily be his imagination, but Harry swears he sees the smallest hint of a smile beginning to form before it is quickly replaced with an exaggerated scowl, lacking in menace. “No, Potter. Must you be so infuriating? I’m eager to get this all over and done with.”

Harry takes one last long gulp, ignoring the way it still burns slightly on the way down. “Let’s go.” He sets the empty mug on the table beside him and heads towards the entrance.

Malfoy is yet to move from seat. “You’re not going to change first?”

Harry looks down at his t-shirt and jeans and back up at Malfoy in his black robes. If anything, considering where they’re heading, Malfoy should be the one to change. “No.”

“No?” Malfoy repeats, looking horrified. “I thought those were your pyjamas.”

Harry laughs, too amused to be insulted. “First lesson: Muggles don’t wear robes.”

“So they walk around in pyjamas? What kind of – “

Harry quickly interrupts. He knew Malfoy wouldn’t have much experience with the muggle world but he didn’t think he would know absolutely nothing. How had he not run into muggles before? Had he never even noticed them or what they were wearing? “These are not pyjamas. These are jeans. I can lend you some so – “

“Please tell me you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.” Malfoy says, like Harry has suggested they stick their hands into a tank full of Grindylows.

“I’m only offering because if muggles see you in that, they might –“

“I don’t care what muggles think of me, Potter. I am not wearing the rags you pass off as clothing.”

Harry doesn’t bother arguing. For Malfoy to stick out like a sore thumb will be much more entertaining anyway. “Suit yourself. Shall we go then?” Harry opens the door and gestures for Malfoy to leave first.

Malfoy gets up slowly from the couch, as if everything is too much of a challenge for him. He is being really quite dramatic, and Harry can’t help but enjoy it. “You should put up better wards around your apartment.” Malfoy remarks as he makes his exit.

Harry ignores this, and follows Malfoy out down his porch steps. When he reaches the curb, Malfoy grips Harry’s forearm tightly with a sour expression. “What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“I’m getting ready for side-apparation because I don’t trust I won’t splinch myself with directions from you.”

Harry stares at Malfoy’s hand wrapped around his arm for a moment. His grip is so tight it’s starting to hurt. “Muggles don’t apparate.” He says to Malfoy’s hand.

Malfoy’s hand releases him instantly. “Then how are we going to get anywhere? I don’t suppose muggles use brooms either.”

“You still ride?” Harry asks automatically, the mention of brooms reminding him of their time on rival Quidditch teams, before house sports began to seem so trivial. Despite buying his way onto the Slytherin team, Malfoy had always been a good flyer.

“Of course.” Malfoy says with a non-committal shrug.

Harry gets the feeling that talking about something as basic as flying is even too personal for Malfoy. He quickly answers Malfoy’s original question. “We can walk. The local school is having a Fair this weekend so it’s not far.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

Harry begins to walk and Malfoy falls into step beside him. “I can’t think of anything in the Wizarding world to relate it to.”

Malfoy makes a small huffing sound. “Then just describe it as it is. I don’t need a magical point of reference for everything.” He says, sounding irritated. Harry makes a mental note to try not to underestimate Malfoy’s intelligence again, at least not aloud.

“Well, it’s a mix of things. There’s a market of stalls with bake sales and homemade jewellery and usually a second hand book stand. There are rides. You know, like a giant slide and a merry go round. There are also games. Like when you have to throw balls into a clown’s mouth as it is moving side to – “

“Hold on,” Malfoy says raising a hand delicately which draws Harry’s eye. “I think I actually might need a reference for that last one. You throw balls into someone’s mouth?”

Harry realises it does sound a little strange when put like that. “It’s not a real clown. It’s mechanical.”

From the look of Malfoy’s face, Harry knows his clarification hasn’t helped in the slightest. “You throw balls into a machine that looks like a human mouth for fun?” Malfoy exclaims, his voice weighed down with heavy disbelief.

“And to win prizes?” Harry adds weakly, not knowing how else to explain such a weird game. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best example to bring up.

Malfoy stretches his mouth out wide in a way that might look like a smile on anyone else but on him looks more like an upside down frown. “In that case, sign me up.”

“See, I told you that you might enjoy it.”

Malfoy drops the almost smile for an actual frown and laughs. Harry can’t recall seeing anyone laughing while frowning before. “That was sarcasm, Potter.”

“You won’t be laughing when I get more balls in than you.” Says Harry before wondering if he’s accidentally stumbled into obscure sexual innuendo territory. He turns away from Malfoy to look straight ahead again, his face scrunching up as he tries to think about what he’s just said.

Malfoy is laughing again, and Harry has to peek via his peripheral vision to see if the frown is still there. No, Malfoy is smiling. Yes, there’s an element of a smirk in there too but it’s definitely a smile, a big smirking Malfoy smile. “Yes, I will be. I’ll be watching you shove balls down a machine clown’s mouth as it moves side to side, and I will be laughing at how ridiculous you look. “

Harry feels the need to defend himself and the awful carnival game, if only to prolong a pleasant conversation with Malfoy. “You have to time it right so that you get the most points. You don’t just shove them down indiscriminately.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Harry is pleased to have reached a place with Malfoy devoid of nastiness. There is a part of him that always enjoyed sparring with Malfoy, and now they seem to be doing a similar thing but with humour rather than anger, with laugher rather than shouting. It’s unexpected but welcome. So of course Harry has to go and stuff it up.

“How’s your mother doing?” He asks.

Malfoy’s face changes in an instant, a cold plaster covering any traces of a smile. “Don’t.”

Harry wishes he could take the question back and say something light-hearted instead. He will stretch out a conversation about clowns and balls forever if he is only given the chance to take that question back.

“I may have agreed to go on a…an outing with you, but I didn’t agree to this.”

“A conversation?” Harry hedges, deciding to act clueless, even though he knows he has stepped over a very obvious, thick line.

Malfoy sighs and explains in a tired voice. “A personal conversation. You don’t get to ask me about my mother. You hardly know us.”

Harry doesn’t think that’s fair. Of course he knows Malfoy. “Your mother, I guess, but you, we went to school together for six years.” He says, no longer having to act clueless. How could Malfoy think he hardly knows him?

Malfoy laughs again but it’s nothing like the one earlier. His face is twisted cruelly and the sound is harsh and breathy. “If you think you know me after that, then you must think very little of me, Potter.” Beneath the edge of Malfoy’s words, Harry senses something almost like sadness? Disappointment? Self-pity?

“That’s not true.” Harry says. There was a time when he thought Malfoy was nothing more than a bully, but as he got older, he understood things a little more clearly. He had seen glimpses of what Malfoy’s home, what his childhood, might’ve been like and it was terrifying. There is no excuse for any of the horrible things Malfoy has done and said over the years, but Harry no longer judges him as harshly for it. Now, seeing those small parts of Malfoy that he’d never seen before – friendly laughter, open vulnerability, a pleasant (if short-lived) conversation – his opinion of Malfoy is growing again.

“Then you’re delusional.” Malfoy says. “Do you recall me ever saying anything that wasn’t an insult to you?”

“Who you are is in your actions, not words.” Harry says quickly to disguise the fact that Malfoy is probably right. He can’t recall a single interaction throughout their school year which didn’t involve an insult, or a hex, or both.

“What, like how I became a Death Eater?” Malfoy counters instantly, his voice is cutting. Harry realises he probably should have chosen his words a little more carefully. A lot of Malfoy’s actions were questionable as well now that he thinks about it.

Harry takes a moment before responding, trying to find words that might actually be comforting this time. He realises the absurdity of the situation – he is trying to comfort and convince Draco Malfoy, his sworn enemy since the age of eleven, that he’s not a bad person.  “I don’t believe you had a choice in that.” Harry finally says truthfully.

“You always have a choice.” Malfoy says in a quiet voice. Harry wonders if Malfoy is only repeating what many people have told him before in judgement or if he actually believes it. It’s a line Harry has heard himself a million times but he has never bought it. It implies all choices are equal, that there’s a black and white to every problem, and there isn’t. Harry knows that better than most. 

Harry doesn’t think explaining this to Malfoy will help so he sticks to the clichés. “Sometimes it’s an impossible choice.”

Malfoy nods and Harry thinks his words may have finally gotten through, until Malfoy looks over at him with a hard face. “You can forgive me if you wish, Potter, but you can’t make me forgive myself.”

Harry isn’t quite sure what to say to that. He supposes Malfoy is right, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to try and help. He wants to see Malfoy smile again, a real smile, so he tries to lighten up the conversation. “You also said we weren’t going to have a personal conversation but look where we are.”

Malfoy looks away immediately, and Harry knows before he even says anything, that he misjudged the situation, that that was not the right thing to say. Malfoy’s voice is cold when he replies, “Don’t worry Potter, it won’t happen again.”

They continue to walk in silence. Harry wishes he could take the joke back and say something serious instead. Malfoy was opening up to him, in a completely unexpected way, revealing so much more than Harry ever thought he’d get to see from Draco Malfoy. Then Harry had to go and stuff up another conversation.  

Harry looks over at Malfoy. He must know Harry’s gaze is on him but he keeps looking straight ahead. Harry looks down at his own feet. He is confused, not just by Malfoy’s behaviour, but by his reaction to it. He is worried about Malfoy and desperate to comfort him, and these thoughts aren’t just ruled by his typical “do-gooder” attitude but by something else as well. He stopped hating Malfoy a long time ago but he never thought that he would ever start to like him.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably. Harry is thankful when they finally reach the school and entrance to the Fair. He fishes out his wallet to pay the entrance fee with some muggle money. He wants to break the awful silence with Malfoy and hopes enough time has passed for him to have cooled down. He is ready to make a comment on how it looks like it might rain, but luckily Malfoy saves him from having to talk about the weather by being the first to speak.

“You’re paying for me? Merlin, this really is a date.” Malfoy says with disgust, eyeing the muggle change Harry tucks into his wallet as they continue into the Fair.  

Relieved that they are back on speaking terms, even if it is with a scathing comment, Harry can’t resist smiling as he rolls his eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. It’s just money.”

“Relax?” Malfoy repeats, looking panicked now, “How can I relax? I can hear people screaming.”

Harry laughs. Familiar with the noise, he can assume it is coming from people on the various rides set up over the school’s vast oval. “It’s just people enjoying themselves.”

This doesn’t seem to comfort Malfoy at all, in fact he looks even more concerned. “I feel like it would be wise to point out to you now, Potter, that I, like most normal people, do not scream out of enjoyment. If you hear me screaming, please assume I am in pain or serious danger and respond accordingly.” He says seriously.

“Never fear, I will always rush to your side to rescue you.” Harry responds with exaggerated sincerity, not willing to miss an opportunity to tease Malfoy. It has the desired effect.

Malfoy is rattled. He folds his arms across his chest. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t need your rescuing.”

Harry shrugs, perfectly innocently, not daring to comment on that. Sure, he could bring up a few choice times when Malfoy certainly did need his rescuing, but that might be pushing his luck.

Unfortunately Malfoy is not fooled by the shrug. “You do keep lists.”

“I don’t. Although, maybe, I was thinking of a few times I may have saved – “

“A few?” repeats Malfoy, his voice rising.

“But I haven’t thought about that in a long time.” Harry says truthfully as he halts at the bottom of The Giant Slide he has successfully guided Malfoy to. “Look, I promise I will never use those times against you, except to tease you relentlessly. I saved you because I wanted to, not because I wanted something out of it.” He’s not sure if Malfoy believes him or not but for now it doesn’t matter, because his number one priority is getting Malfoy onto The Giant Slide which he figures will be another argument. “Now will you please grab a sack and follow me?”

Malfoy finally notices the stack of hessian sacks at the foot of a long set of stairs. He picks up a sack with two fingers and holds it up away from his body, looking it over carefully. He drops it and looks at Harry. “I am not getting in a sack.”

Harry is thankful Malfoy has decided to challenge just the sack and not the ride altogether. He suspects the sack issue will be a losing argument for him, so he has an idea, an evil idea.

“That’s alright, just go down without one.” Harry says with a shrug, careful not to look too happy about it.

Malfoy frowns, unconvinced. “Is that allowed?”

“Yea, of course, the sacks are really for the children anyway.” Harry says casually, even as he picks up a sack for himself. Luckily, it seems to be enough for Malfoy who begins to follow Harry up the stairs, although he doesn’t look particular happy about it.

Harry half-expects Malfoy to back-out when they get to the top of the slide but once they finally reach it, Malfoy looks excited, which makes what Harry knows is going to happen next so much funnier. The slide has ten lanes so they easily set up next to each other. Harry sits down inside his sack, making sure the lower half of his body is fully enveloped. After a hesitation, which Harry is sure is due to concern for dirtying his robes, Malfoy takes his place beside Harry, sackless. Harry’s mouth is twitching as he tries to stop himself from grinning.

They take off at the same time, Malfoy beside Harry early on but falling behind quickly. Harry slides down easily, his ride smooth, even over the three bumps in the track. When he reaches the bottom, Malfoy is not with him. Harry stands up, moves out of the way and looks back up at the slide.

Just like Harry knew he would be, Malfoy is stuck at the first bump, unmoving. He is looking around at everyone sliding down around him, confused. Harry can see the exact moment he realises everyone else, including adults, are using sacks too because his eyes get wide and his face goes pink.

Without a sack, the friction of Malfoy’s clothes prevents him from gliding smoothly along the track. Harry watches as Malfoy awkwardly shuffles and shimmies himself over the first bump. He looks so foolish. When Malfoy gets to the second bump and the same thing happens, tears begin to form in Harry’s eyes. He can’t help it. Malfoy’s irritated, embarrassed, haughty face is hilarious, and the way he has to wiggle himself down is so undignified and so un-Malfoy-like. At the third bump, Harry is on his knees, openly crying with laughter. He wishes he brought a camera because he wants to relive this moment for the rest of his life. But even without photographic support, Harry doesn’t think he will ever forget what will now and forever be known as The WiggleTM.

Malfoy finally reaches the bottom of the slide, his face redder than Harry’s ever seen it, but he’s not sure how much is from embarrassment and how much is from anger. Malfoy rises to his feet gracefully which makes Harry laugh even harder because it’s so typical of Malfoy, and so unlike the way he was squirming only seconds earlier.

Malfoy strides past Harry where he still sits on the ground with one hand raised. “Don’t even talk to me.”

Harry quickly gets up and follows Malfoy who seems to be trying to gain as much distance between himself and The Giant Slide as possible. “You’re the one who didn’t want a sack.” Harry calls after him, still not completely finished laughing.

Malfoy whips around, wand drawn and steps in close to Harry, his wand jabbing Harry’s neck. “You knew that would happen.” Malfoy accuses angrily.

“No idea.” Harry says with another innocent shrug, all the while smiling brightly. He isn’t concerned by Malfoy’s wand.

Malfoy closes his eyes and it’s funny because that paired with how close he is standing to Harry makes it look like he is preparing to kiss him. Harry shakes the thought from his mind when it doesn’t immediately repulse him. “I could curse that smile right off your face.” Malfoy says instead of kissing Harry, his eyes reopening.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “But you won’t.” He challenges.

“You think I wouldn’t do it in front of all these muggles?” Malfoy asks with a scowl, which may have been threatening if the grip on his wand hadn’t already loosened, it now only tickling Harry’s neck.

“No,” Harry says, “I just don’t think you’d hurt me.”

Malfoy’s face twitches and scrunches as he decides his approach. He settles on: “Remember when I broke your nose?”

Of course Harry remembers all too well when Malfoy stepped on his face and left him on the Hogwarts Express at the start of sixth year. It goddamn hurt. But that was then. That was a different Draco Malfoy. Like the current Draco “You can’t make me forgive myself” Malfoy is going to hurt him over a joke. “Yes.”     

Malfoy stares at Potter frowning for another beat before dropping his wand and stepping back. “Damn you.” He says to the grass.

Harry feels a little guilty after Malfoy’s reaction, but not nearly enough to regret making Malfoy wiggle down that slide. For as long as Harry James Potter shall live, he will never forget The WiggleTM. “I’m sorry for tricking you, but you have to admit that was hilarious.” He says, not really committing to a full apology.

Malfoy shrugs, his eyes still facing the ground. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” He says and there’s almost a compliment buried in that insult.

“You’re the one who never turned up to our duel in first year.” Harry counters.

Malfoy’s head jerks up and he is clearly ready to dispute the facts on first year, but his eyes dart to something behind Harry and his eyes widen. “No way.”

“What?” Harry turns around to work out what Malfoy is staring at and laughs. Harry is prepared this time to stretch out a conversation about clowns and balls for as long as humanly possible.

Malfoy is slowly approaching the clown game with a look of fascination on his face so intense, Harry finds it hard to believe the same person was scowling and threatening to curse him only moments earlier. “This is even more ridiculous than how you described it. The way they move. Is this another joke? Did you set this up? Muggles don’t really play this, do they?” Malfoy turns to Harry in disbelief, searching for answers.

Harry would love to say he did set it up, that no one actually seriously came up with a game that involved clowns with wide open mouths moving from side to goddamn side, but he can’t because some strange troubled person did do that, and it is a real game.

Harry sees the attendant is just setting up for another game and heads forward, pulling out his wallet. He turns back to Malfoy. “So are you going to play, or are you going to stand there and laugh at me?”

The shock at seeing the clowns seems to have worn down Malfoy’s tension and he even looks like he could smile. “You think I can’t do both?”

Once Harry has paid for the two of them, they each take position in front of equally scary looking clowns. Their five challengers are three teenagers and a young girl with her mum. Harry tries to quickly explain the rules to Malfoy to give him a fair chance, but he waves him off, and appears to study the location of the varying points in his own clown’s lap.

The game begins and the balls fall out. Harry’s hands are around two instantly, using his lightning fast reflexes to his advantage. He drops the first ball into his clown’s mouth quickly and mentally times how long it takes to enter the next field of play. Once satisfied with this, he is able to time each drop perfectly for the most points. With his fast start, and flawless method, he’s pretty sure no one has a chance of beating him.

“Potter, slow down.” Whispers Malfoy beside him.

“Why? I’m winning.”

“Let one of the kids win.” Malfoy urges.

“Oh, right.” Harry is embarrassed to have not even thought of that. He was so caught up in winning he hadn’t even spared a thought for the fact they are adults versing children. He immediately slows his speed and times his balls so they fall into the smallest point bracket. The game becomes boring. He glances over to Malfoy to see how he’s going and frowns. Malfoy is not slow at all, and what’s more, his balls are all scoring the highest points. It takes a moment for the realisation to hit him.

“Malfoy, you cheat!” He yells, beginning to speed up his pace again, but knowing it is hopeless. He’s already wasted too much time. Malfoy only shrugs and keeps feeding his balls into the clown’s mouth. Harry should have known not to trust a Slytherin to play fairly.

When the game ends, and Malfoy’s station lights up confirming him as the winner, Harry coughs “Dirty Cheat,” a little unsubtly. Malfoy rolls his eyes, unfazed.

Harry isn’t surprised when Malfoy picks the large stuffed unicorn as his prize. It’s the only magical animal on display. He is surprised, however, when Malfoy immediately turns and approaches the young girl and her mum, the former looking very put out at losing the game. He presents the unicorn to the young girl.

“Would you mind awfully looking after this Unicorn for me? I don’t have the time myself but I can tell you’d take great care of him. His name’s Harry.”

The young girl looks delighted and eagerly grabs the Unicorn. Harry stands there stunned. Is this some sort of act?  What could Malfoy possibly have to gain from this?

Malfoy returns to Harry and mutters irritably. “She was never going to win, she wasn’t even looking where the balls would roll to get the most points. She was just wasting them. It was pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Harry repeats, smiling, not believing any of Malfoy’s irritation.

“Yes.” Says Malfoy, daring Harry to challenge him. He almost does too, but he realises arguing about it won’t change the facts: Malfoy doesn’t want to admit to a good deed, doesn’t want to validate the notion he has any good within him, so he covers it up with a snide comment and harsh tone. Harry wonders how long he has been doing just that, to justify any actions that fell outside his parents’ expectations of him. Harry is reminded of the hot tea Malfoy made for him earlier.

“What’s that?” Malfoy asks, bringing Harry back to the present.

Harry follows Malfoy’s pointed finger and watches as a giggling couple exit from a small booth. “A photo booth.” He answers.

Malfoy stares at him, clearly waiting for more information. “And..?” He prompts.

“It’s just a booth where you take photos. It’s not that exciting.” Harry explains. He wonders if he could somehow convince Malfoy to get on one of the more thrilling rides in the Fair. He suspects someone like Malfoy isn’t going to enjoy spinning upside down but Harry would certainly enjoy watching.

Malfoy narrows his eyes and it’s clear he has taken Harry’s dismissal of the photo booth as a challenge, although Harry has no idea what he’s trying to prove with it. “If you’re going to show me the muggle world, I expect to see all the dark and dirty as well. Don’t just show me a fairy tale.”

Harry laughs because it’s hard to think of a photo booth as dark and dirty and…oh wait, no, he can think about it like that now. Thanks Malfoy. “The clowns were kind of dark.” Harry reasons, and dirty if he really thinks about it, but that’s not a conversation he ever wants to have.

From the way Malfoy smirks, he is likely thinking the same thing. Thankfully he does not address it. “I’m not going to argue with that.” He says which can’t be construed as dark or dirty. Although it is strange since Harry never thought he’d see Malfoy pass up an opportunity to argue with him.

“And a photo booth isn’t really dark and dirty. It’s just a photo booth.” Harry says, ignoring his thoughts from earlier that have the power to contradict what he has just said.

Malfoy raises his eyes brows and makes an elegant sweeping gesture with his hands. Harry is reminded of The WiggleTM and has to stifle a giggle. “Then show me just a photo booth.” Malfoy says.

Harry shrugs. Photo booths are really only for children and couples or for getting your passport photo taken, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to know this. Harry worries if he mentions it, it might make Malfoy concerned they are on a date again.

They shuffle into the booth which is painfully small for two people. Harry’s whole left side is pressed up against Malfoy’s uncomfortably. He wants to jump out and run, run away from Malfoy. He can’t really understand why since it was his idea to take Malfoy out in the first place, but he suddenly feels overwhelmed. His head feels a little fuzzy and his left arm is tingling and he has no idea what in Merlin’s name is going on. He takes a breath and focuses on feeding muggle money into the machine.

“How does it work?” Malfoy asks curiously, he is so close Harry can feel the breath on his face. It’s too much.

“Once I press this,” Harry gestures to the large button between them, “There’s a timer and then it will take a few photos one after another.”

Looking over the choices for photo frames, Harry notices there are a lot of lovey-dovey frames. He hovers over one that is listed as “Limited Edition” and reads the cursive text in the corner: Happy Valentine’s Day 1999. He freezes, he had no idea that was today. He hopes Malfoy doesn’t see it because then he’d really be suspicious of this being a date, and it’s not. It’s definitely not a date.

Malfoy leans forwards and slams down the button, consequently locking in the Valentine’s Day frame Harry has been hovering over. Merlin. Harry starts to panic. What happens when Malfoy sees the frame? Will he freak out?

“So what do we do now?” Malfoy asks, looking at Harry expectantly.

“Smile at the camera.” Harry says casually trying to stay calm. He didn’t even pick the frame willingly. It was Malfoy’s fault. But when the photos print out there are going to be big stupid red hearts all around their faces. It’s not going to matter whose fault it is. It’s going to be weird.

Malfoy appears oblivious to Harry’s panic. “There better be a flash. The lighting in here is terrible. Do muggle cameras have flashes?” He says in his usual critical fashion.

Harry turns to Malfoy to counter this and explain muggle cameras are actually far more advanced than those of wizards, but the words disappear when he sees the large smile on Malfoy’s face as he looks ahead into the camera. It is clearly a fake smile, perfect for cheesy photo booth photos, but there’s something charming about it that catches Harry off guard. Even knowing it is fake, he has a strange desire for Malfoy to look at him with that smile. He is still staring at Malfoy when he hears the first click. Harry quickly turns his head to face the camera as well but he knows he is too late. He is no longer concerned about the Valentine’s Day frame and much more concerned about how the first image will turn out.

Harry doesn’t even notice when the flashes stop. Malfoy nudges him back to life and he exits the booth lightning fast. He stands in front of the dispensary box, waiting for photos to print, knowing he has to grab them first to stop Malfoy from seeing that first photo. If Malfoy sees Harry staring at him like that, it is all over. Malfoy will leave, although why that prospect is so terrible, isn’t something even Harry fully understands yet.

After a painfully slow minute, a small strip of photos falls from the dispensary box. Harry is quick to pick them up before Malfoy can even react. He rips off the top most photo and stuffs it in his jeans pocket before giving the remainder to Malfoy without even glancing at them. Unfortunately his actions don’t go unnoticed.

Malfoy is frowning, clearly suspicious. “What was that? Why did you get rid of one?

Harry shrugs but he is sure it is a meaningless gesture when he feels the heat at his cheeks. “It was a bad angle for me.” He says, unconvincingly.

“A bad angle?” Malfoy repeats sceptically as he takes a look at the photos within his hands. “Hey, why aren’t these moving?” He asks, and Harry is thanking all the magical gods in the sky for the distraction.

“Muggle photos don’t move.” Harry explains, hoping the previous conversation will not be revisited, that Malfoy will forget about the traitorous photo in his pocket.

Malfoy nods slowly, looking as if he is processing this new fact. He is still staring at the photo strip in his hand. “So we’re frozen like this forever?’

Harry looks down at the rest of the photo strip for the first time. He can’t really make out the images in Malfoy’s hand from a distance but he can see a lot of red. Merlin. He’d forgotten about the frame. He is surprised Malfoy hasn’t mentioned it yet. “They’re just photos.” He says, and it’s just a silly frame, it doesn’t mean anything.

“Brilliant.” Malfoy whispers.

Harry is taken aback. Even with the images staying still and the sappy Valentine’s Day frame, Malfoy thinks they’re brilliant? “Excuse Me? Did you just compliment something muggle?”

“No, Potter, don’t be absurd, you must be hearing things.” Says Malfoy roughly, but Harry isn’t fooled. It was only a whisper but he heard it loud and clear. Brilliant. “Are we done with this now? I believe I’ve been adequately acquainted with the muggle lifestyle. Will you hold up your end and open up the Manor room?”

Harry knows he can’t be unreasonable and force Malfoy to stay with him for too long but he is isn’t quite ready to let go just yet. He had expected to enjoy himself on this outing, but he is a little worried by just how he is enjoying it. There should be much more laughing at Malfoy and much less staring at his charming smile in a small enclosed space. Despite his worry, he isn’t giving up so easy. “Okay, but first, aren’t you hungry?” He asks, thinking this is a perfectly innocent reason to spend just that extra moment of time longer today.

“Not particularly.” Malfoy responds, ruining it.

Harry’s mind is already set so he ignores Malfoy. “Well, I’m starving.” He says, despite only feeling slightly peckish.

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but let’s Harry lead him to a food stand. He lets Harry purchase two lots of candy floss. He lets Harry lead him to a cluster of differently shaped tables, clearly pulled from various classrooms of the school. When they sit down across from each other, Harry starts to hands over one of the candy floss sticks but Malfoy rebukes him.

“I am not touching that.” He declares, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“Then why’d you let me buy two?” Harry asks.

Malfoy mimics Harry’s perfectly innocent shrug from earlier with a smirk on his face. Harry looks at the two giant sticks of candy floss in his hands. Well, he’s not keen on wastage so he’s certainly going to try it. He rips some fluff from one with his teeth carefully, trying not to look at Malfoy’s reaction. He’s sure he looks ridiculous.

There is silence as Harry makes solid progress through a third of the candy floss in his left hand. He starts to feel a bit sick already. It really is very sweet.

Malfoy is staring at him with a bored expression, his head supported by his hand as he leans on the table. “This seems a lot like a date.” So he did notice the Valentine’s Day frames then.

“It’s not.” Harry says defensively between fluff.

Malfoy’s eyes watch as a patch of the candy floss falls to the floor. “Well, there won’t be another one.” He says.

“Unless you need my help again.” Harry counters, before realising the implication of his words. He hopes Malfoy does not pick up on it.

Thankfully he doesn’t or at least he doesn’t comment on it. “I’m still waiting to see how useful you actually are.” Malfoy says instead, the hint of a challenge in his voice.

Harry is happy to accept. “You doubt my abilities.”

“I heard a rumour you couldn’t speak parseltongue anymore.” Malfoy accuses and maybe it is in Harry’s imagination but there is a playful element to his tone.

“And yet you still came to me.” Harry is pleased to note.

Malfoy’s face twitches, clearly not as pleased with that observation. “There’s no one else.”  

“There must be some pureblood relative who inherited – “

“None of our relatives want anything to do with me.” Malfoy says in that bored voice again, which makes it impossible for Harry to know if Malfoy sees it as a good or a bad thing.

“Right.” Harry says. He is now halfway through his the first lot of candy floss. He’s not sure if he can even finish one. It’s too sweet. Much too sweet. Would it be obvious if he were to accidentally drop one of them…or both of them?

“If you tell me after all this you can’t speak parseltongue…” Malfoy starts to warn, but trails off. He obviously realises threatening to curse Harry won’t hold much weight any more.

“Relax. I can speak it, I’m just a little rusty.” Harry says. He is letting his grip on the candy floss sticks loosen slowly. He wants it to look natural when they drop.

“How rusty?” Malfoy asks, his bored voice replaced with alarm.

“I can open a door.” Harry assures. If he could open the Chamber of Secrets as a twelve year old, he can open a boring old house door as an adult.

Malfoy doesn’t look convinced which is rather insulting in itself. “It’s not just any door. He set it up when he was living at the Manor.” Malfoy looks down at the table, looking very small all of a sudden.

Harry doesn’t need an explanation to know who Malfoy is referring to. “Right.”

“I should have taken you there first, now if you can’t open it, I’ll have wasted an entire day with you.” Malfoy says to the table.

“If I had opened it first, you wouldn’t have done this, but you know I’ll follow through on my word.” Harry is waiting for Malfoy to look up so he can accidentally drop the candy floss. Otherwise Malfoy will assume he dropped them on purpose. He already has the perfect distraught face planned for when they fall.

“I’ll know you’ll try. I don’t know if it will work.”

“I can do it.” Harry assures.

“You better be as good as you think you are.”

Malfoy looks up at him and Harry suspects this might be his only chance to dispose of the sickly sweet floss. Before he has to enact his dramatic plan, he feels a heavy raindrop on his shoulder and then several drops all over his body. The rain picks up fast and Harry knows he will be drenched in seconds…which means so will this stupid candy floss and he will be able to dispose of it no questions asked. But when he looks at the candy floss in his hands, it is still completely dry. He looks up and finds that across from him, Malfoy is completely dry as well.

“So your reflexes were fast enough to cast a non-verbal impervious charm over both yourself and my candy floss but not me personally?”

“Something like that.” Malfoy is smirking. “Here.” He lifts his wand and vanishes all of the candy floss. Harry briefly worries about the magic being performed in front of muggles but then realises the rain is probably too heavy for anyone to see clearly. His glasses have already become more of a hindrance to his sight than anything else, so he doesn’t’ even realise that Malfoy has moved to his side until a hand grabs gold of his upper arm. Harry closes his eyes as the world begins to spin.

When the apparation ends and Harry is standing on flat ground, he opens his eyes, but he still can’t see anything. He shivers and then feels a warm pressure envelope him and spit him out. He blinks. His glasses are no longer covered in water and he is no longer wet. Malfoy must have charmed him dry. He is just thinking how considerate that is when Malfoy’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“I don’t want you dripping on the carpet.”

So maybe not so considerate.

It is then that Harry realises where he is, Malfoy Manor, and they are already inside. At first it surprises Harry but then he realises that of course such a grand Wizarding house would have an apparation parlour. Looking around, he doesn’t recall ever seeing this room. It’s strange because this house has featured in several of his nightmares so much so that he thought he knew it back to front. The unfamiliarity around him makes him realise the house from his dreams is not really Malfoy Manor at all.

“It’s up here.” Calls out Malfoy’s voice. Harry hadn’t even noticed that Malfoy had left the room. He follows Malfoy’s voice up a grand staircase and along an unnaturally long corridor.

When he reaches Malfoy, they stand in front of an ordinary looking door, or at least it seems that way at first, but when Harry looks closer, he can see the small snakes running around every edge, unmoving, but not quite still at the same time.

“What room is this?” Harry asks, wondering what would need to be so heavily guarded.

“It’s the bedroom Voldemort took over when he moved in.” Harry can tell it takes a lot for Malfoy to say the name. Malfoy spits it out with disgust, but not like the way he says Harry’s name, not at all, but like he can’t bear to say it, like it is caught in his throat and he has no choice but to cough it out or face choking on it.

Harry feels a shiver run up his spine. He really hopes that Voldemort hasn’t left anything behind in this room. He kneels down and leans in close to the door, his eyes trained on a single snake near the handle. He takes a breath and focuses on speaking directly to the snake. When he asks the snake to open the door, a weak hiss escapes his mouth and he already knows it is not enough.

He can see Malfoy’s body tighten in his peripheral vision. “I forgot how creepy that is.” Malfoy says in a quiet voice. Harry thinks about all the times Malfoy must have heard Voldemort speak parseltongue, and he feels repulsed with himself. He hates sharing things with Voldemort. Even with the horcrux gone from his body, Harry can’t help but feel like a bit of Voldemort lives on in him.

Harry shakes the distraction from his head and tries to refocus. He stares at the snake and pictures it as a living, breathing animal. He asks it to open for him with a harsh breathy hiss. He tries not to notice Malfoy’s clenched fists at his eye level and closes his eyes in shame.

“You did it.”

The door opens, and Harry’s first thought is one of relief that he doesn’t have to use parseltongue in front of Malfoy ever again.  His next is fear, and after that curiosity. He gets to his feet and moves to walk in. A hand stops him.

“I’ll walk you out.” Malfoy says more as a demand than a suggestion.

Harry shakes himself from Malfoy’s grip and walks in anyway. It may be Malfoy’s house, but he is the one who opened the door, and there is no way he isn’t going to see what is left inside.

The room is not what he expects. It looks like an average bedroom, not one belonging to the darkest wizard of all time. There are even Quidditch posters on the walls and a racing broom hung up over a desk scattered with piles of books and parchment. The only thing that makes sense is the heavy decaying scent like Voldemort was here only moments ago.

Malfoy has followed him in and is now trying to drag him out, tugging on Harry’s arm. “Potter, it is rude to overstay your welcome. I held up my end of deal and you’ve done your bit so now if you could please – “

“This is your room.” Harry realises. Malfoy stops tugging.

There is a silence that follows this. Harry doesn’t need confirmation. He already knows he is right. It horrifies Harry to think a teenager’s bedroom could become host to Voldemort. That somewhere so personal could become tainted by a horrifying evil. There is a bright flash of lightning outside that seeps through the window and lightens up the room, but just for a moment.

“It was once. Not anymore.” Malfoy finally says. He is looking around the room like he’s never seen it before.

“Why did – “

“Because he could. He had his pick of any of our guestrooms but still he made my parents kick me out of my room for him. He’d already taken everything else, why not?” Malfoy’s voice is bitter and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

Malfoy sighs. “Please don’t pity me.”

“Sorry.” Harry says automatically which earns him a death stare from Malfoy. Whoops. “Not sorry?”

The loud thunder finally hits, roaring through the room. At the same time Malfoy flinches, Harry pulls his wand from his jean pocket, not noticing the small piece of ripped paper that follows and floats to the floor. Realising it is only thunder, Harry sheepishly returns his wand to his pocket. “Look at us, jumping at thunder, like we’ve been through a war or something.” He jokes.

Malfoy stares at him. “That is not funny, Potter.”

“No, it’s not.” Harry agrees.

It is then that Harry notices the paper on the ground at his feet at the same time Malfoy does. They lock eyes, frozen for a second, and then Harry lunges for it as Malfoy calmly says “Accio.”

Harry watches in horror as the small piece of paper flies into Malfoy’s hand, and he watches in horror as Malfoy looks down at the photo, the stupid photo surrounded by stupid red hearts, the one where he is staring at Malfoy. He realises if he had never hidden the photo, then he might have been able to pass it off as a meaningless glance, but now it is anything but meaningless.

Malfoy’s eyebrows are tightly wrapped around his eyes as he stares at the photo. “Why didn’t you want me to see this?” He asks slowly without looking up.

Harry’s face is already heating up. There’s no way he can bullshit his way through this, but he is sure as hell going to try. “I told you, it’s a bad angle.”

“Why were you looking at me?”

“I wasn’t.” Merlin. That is the worst lie he could have said. The evidence is right there in Malfoy’s hands. His face is bright red now, even more evidence. He hopes Malfoy doesn’t look up.

Malfoy looks up. “Potter.” He says impatiently but gently, so gently. Couldn’t he always say his name like that? It almost makes Harry want to come clean. Almost.

Harry squirms. Malfoy is staring at him and he knows he is caught in a terrible lie. He fiddles with his glasses nervously. “It was nothing. I just got distracted for a while.”

“Distracted.” Malfoy repeats with a smirk. He knows, he knows, he knows. His eyes fall back down to the photo. “Can I keep this one?”

Harry is shocked. He wasn’t expecting that. Is Malfoy making fun of him? “Why do you want to keep it?” He asks, suspiciously.

Malfoy looks back up to Harry, his smirk wider than Harry’s ever seen it. “It’s a good angle for me.”

Harry can tell Malfoy is teasing him, but he isn’t sure exactly what it means. He laughs nervously but he can’t bring himself to smile.

Malfoy’s smirk suddenly drops and he sighs. “Potter, did you even look at the other photos?” He asks, sounding annoyed.

Harry is confused. Did he look like that in all the photos? Had Malfoy already seen? He watches nervously as Malfoy pulls the rest of the photo strip from his pocket and places it in his hand.

Harry looks down at the first photo under the tear. He is relieved to find himself staring directly at the camera with a determined expression. It takes him a moment to notice that the Malfoy in the image isn’t staring at the camera at all. No, he is staring at the Harry in the photo with a frown. He looks at the next image. Malfoy is still staring at him, but the frown is replaced by an unreadable expression. His heart beginning to beat faster, Harry looks at the final image. Malfoy is staring at Harry in this one too, and he’s smiling. Draco Malfoy is smiling at Harry Potter. It’s a small genuine looking smile that Harry has never seen on Malfoy’s face before, it almost seems like he’s witnessing something very private. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Managing to tear his eyes away from the image, Harry looks up to the real Malfoy who is watching him too, but he isn’t smiling. He looks panicked and uncertain, vulnerable even, a huge contrast to the smirking man who stood before him only seconds earlier. Harry isn’t sure what he is supposed to do next. Falling for your ex-arch nemesis, and finding out they might also be falling for you too isn’t really covered in DADA class. Harry can’t think of anything original with this many thoughts flying about in his head so he repeat’s Malfoy’s earlier words.

“Why were you looking at me?”

“I got distracted.” Says Malfoy repeating Harry’s words back at him.

Harry still isn’t sure what to do next, so he keeps it safe, borrowing words from Malfoy once again. “Can I keep these?”

Malfoy continues to play along. “Why do you want to keep them?”

This is it. He can keep playing the game, repeating earlier meaningless words, or he can take a leap. “Because you’re beautiful when you smile like that.” He says all in a rush.

Malfoy’s smirk returns. “And you’re sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I’m smiling at you? I’m sure your enormous ego gets a kick out of that.”

Harry freezes. Is Malfoy insulting him? He’s just told the bastard he thinks he’s beautiful, which is no mean feat, and Malfoy is still there, insulting him. He doesn’t know what to think. Had he misjudged the situation? He was sure after seeing those photos that Malfoy felt something for him to, but was he just seeing what he wanted to see? The silence stretches on between them, the sound of heavy rain filling the space.

Finally Malfoy speaks again. “Merlin Potter, I thought you were brave. What more do I need to do? I've been flirting with you all day.”

The world spins for a moment. Flirting? So Malfoy does feel something? He thinks back over the day they’ve spent together but cannot recall anything particularly flirty. “That was you flirting? You were acting exactly the same as in school?”

Malfoy laughs and Harry feels like he has missed the joke. “Yeah, that's kind of the point.” Malfoy says with another you’re an idiot face.

“Oh.” Malfoy thinks he was flirting with him at Hogwarts? Harry wonders if Malfoy even knows the definition of the word. “You know, most people respond to compliments better than insults.”

“Not you.”

Harry blinks. What does Malfoy mean by that? “Have you even tried complimenting me?” 

Malfoy’s face scrunches up in distaste. “What is there to compliment?”

Harry stares at Malfoy in disbelief. How can he stand there and claim he has been flirting with Harry, like he fancies him or something, and then come out with that? He isn’t even sure of Malfoy’s feelings anymore.  “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Harry says, because his brain is too fried to find anything original to say.

Malfoy shakes his head at that and Harry realises the muggle saying is probably wasted on a pureblood wizard. “I don’t want to catch flies. I want you.”

This throws Harry again. So Malfoy does fancy him? Harry isn’t sure how much longer his head can keep up with this. Hearing Malfoy say he wants him is incredible, but dangerous. With the amount of flip-flopping Malfoy is doing, the words could be taken back in an instant.  Still, he wants to believe it. “I guess that’s sort of a compliment.” Harry reasons, desperately trying to hold onto it.

“What do you want me to say? That I think you’re wonderful?” Malfoy asks.

“That would be a – “

“Because that’s not true. I think you’re an idiot. You’re reckless, naïve and childish. You’re noble to the point of stupidity. You’re quick to anger and can’t seem to control your impulses. You have innate powerful magic but you waste it by relying on talent alone. On top of that, you don’t seem to be able to clean up after yourself because you live in squalor, and you own the ugliest vase I have ever seen.” Malfoy’s voice is cold and harsh.

Harry can’t believe it. He can’t believe he thought that Draco Malfoy had changed, can’t believe he was starting to fall for someone so cruel and heartless. He can’t even spare a thought for the way his own heart is breaking because all he wants is to make Malfoy hurt too, for him to have a taste of his own cruelty.

“At least I don’t act like a cold, cruel bastard to disguise any sign of my humanity.” Harry says hoping to hit Malfoy where it hurts most.

Malfoy only looks surprised. “Are you angry?” He asks.

Harry can’t understand Malfoy right now. Of course he’s angry. How could he not be? “You did say I was quick to anger so I guess you’re right. Congratulations Malfoy.”

“I know I’m right. Don’t you get it?” Malfoy yells at Harry who is starting to get the feeling he is missing something very important. “I think all this, I tell myself I hate you with every fibre of my being, that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are enemies, but I don’t feel it. I can’t feel any hate towards you…” Malfoy pauses and he takes a breath. His voice is softer when he continues, “…not when I am head over heels in love with you.”

Harry tries to process Malfoy’s words fully but they just keep repeating in his head, not allowing him to absorb them. His anger is forgotten but his body still has use for the adrenaline coursing through him. Malfoy is in love with him. That’s not something words can easily take back. Still Malfoy hasn’t exactly been upfront with his approach.

“That’s a strange way of telling me that.” Harry says when he finally regains his voice.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Malfoy says in a small quiet voice. “There’s something wrong with me. I’ve known it since fourth year. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you’re told to want dead. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you know hates you. You’re not supposed to fall in love with someone because they’re everything you’re not, because they’re everything you wish you could be. You’re not supposed to hurt someone you love to try and convince yourself it’s not real. It’s twisted. Especially when that person only ever does good, when that person saves your life more than once, when that person, despite everything you’ve done to them, still thinks you’re worth saving. It’s not right. I’m not right.” Malfoy’s voice breaks and he turns away from Harry, but not before Harry has seen the tears in his eyes.

“Are you - ?”

“No, it’s just dusty in here.” Malfoy says quickly his hands at his face.

“Draco – “ Harry starts, trying out Malfoy’s first name. It feels weird on his tongue.

Malfoy scoffs. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me and use my first name now. I’m not any more fragile than I was five minutes ago.” He says, cutting Harry off.

“Alright, prat then.” Harry concedes. He is blessed with a small laugh coming from Malfoy’s back. “Would you like to do this again? It’s the last day for the Fair but I’m sure there’s plenty to do in muggle London.”

There is a pause before Malfoy replies. “Still think I need more sympathy for muggles?” He asks, and Harry knows it isn’t the question he wants to ask.

Harry is happy to clarify, although still a little embarrassed. Even understanding Malfoy’s feelings now, he still can’t help but feel a little shy himself. “No, it’s just about me spending time with you.”

Malfoy turns around quickly. His eyes are all dried up, but there’s no hiding the tell-tale redness. “So it’s a date?” He asks, the Malfoy smirk returning.

Harry wants to punch the jerk in the face and pull him in for a kiss all at the same time. The intensity of his desire, for at least the kiss part, surprises him.

“If that doesn’t offend your sensibilities too much…” Harry replies staring at Malfoy’s lips.

“Shove it, Potter. I’d love to.” Malfoy’s lips say with the hint of a smile.

Harry has been staring for far too long. He quickly averts his gaze and begins to back out of the room. He needs to leave now or he’s going to do something stupid like kiss Malfoy. “Right. So same time next week? Should I come here or do you – “

“That’s it?” Interrupts Malfoy, his eyebrows raised.

“What?” Harry asks, still backing away.

Malfoy shakes his head at Harry like he is an idiot. “I’ve just confessed my feelings for you and you’re still the shy one? I saw you looking at my lips.”

“I wasn’t. I mean…you were talking so…” Harry tries to cover up but there’s no way he will be able to justify the intensity in which he was staring at Malfoy’s lips.

“If you want to kiss me, please kiss me, Potter. I don’t want to wait another week.”

Oh. Yes, Harry wants to, he really wants to. But he can’t help but hesitate. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed anyone before. But he hasn’t kissed someone he actually likes in a long time, not since Ginny. Kissing someone you don’t like is easy, it’s fun and safe. It doesn’t matter if you’re not any good. Kissing someone you like is completely different, like walking on hot coals. And he really likes Malfoy.

He stares back at Malfoy’s lips. Merlin, they’re gorgeous. “Are you sure you – “

“I’ve been fantasising about this my entire teenage life, will you please stop looking at me like that if you’re not going to kiss me?”

Harry stares at Draco Malfoy, his once sworn enemy, basically begging Harry to kiss him, and he feels hot all over. Before spending this ridiculous day with Malfoy, he couldn’t have imagined wanting someone so innocently. Yes, he definitely wants to explore below the belt, but he also wants to kiss Malfoy gently on every inch of his face, wants to hold him in his arms, wants to hear him moan so loud that it…okay maybe not so innocently then.

Harry walks over to Malfoy and places a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder to steady himself. Malfoy raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. Harry takes one last look at those gorgeous pink lips before leaning in and finally giving Malfoy that kiss, the one that sends sparks through your body, the one that feels like fire and ice at the same time, the one that makes you think of every silly cliché you’ve ever read and makes you finally understand they’re not so silly after all. But it’s just a kiss. Just one kiss. And it won’t be the last.

The End.

Want to see more? Check the “dralentine’s day” tag or head over to dralentines-day.tumblr.com!

Happy Dralentine’s Day!

#drarry #dralentine's day #drarry squad #dralentine's gifts #dralentine's day gifts

[fallenangel2245-blog]

The Power of a Positive Attitude

We’ve all had those days.  Those days that you know are going to be absolutely terrible from the moment you open your eyes.  From the moment you wake up, you know you’re in for a rough one.  The negativity just pours out of you the rest of the day.  Yea, we have all been there.  A bad day now and then is normal, but if you are having a bad day everyday, we need to talk.

I know first hand how easy it is to get stuck in a down ward, negative spiral.  Then I realized that it really isn’t healthy to just have a constantly negative attitude. (duh). I decided enough is enough and came up with a plan to become a truly positive person.  To become the type of person actually enjoy spending time with and hanging out with.

The transformation to a primarily positive person is almost instant. I truly noticed right away how much better I felt, even after just the first day.  The results are real, and they are amazing.  So without further ado, here are the steps to being a more positive person.

Step 1:  Create a positive self image

       This step is the hardest, but it is the most worthwhile. You can not truly love anyone or anything until you learn to love yourself.  Start by looking in the mirror and saying 3 positive things about yourself. It can be about your eyes, smile, your mind, anything at all, as long as it is positive.  Take a minute or two to really take a look at yourself and admire the positive. This step is key to success in creating a positive lifestyle.  This step needs to be done everyday to ensure you start your day off on the right foot.

Step 2: Give yourself goals

     Right after your positive self image practice, it’s time to establish some goals for the day.  I try to stick to the magic number, 3. They can be as easy or as hard as you would like, and they can absolutely be repeated as many days as you like. For example, one of my daily goals is to make my bed.  For me it helps establish a routine and really helps me get my day going.  The other 2 vary from day to day or week to week depending on how hard i make each one.  The goals need to be realistic and they really need to be carried out.  This will help you to feel a sense of accomplishment and pride, which are all part of a positive attitude of course.

Step 3:  Make someones day

     This is a really easy one.  Give someone a compliment, pay for their coffee at the coffee shop, help someone with their groceries, or even a simple smile and a “hi, how are you today.” Any of these can really turn someones day around.  We never know what kind of day someone else is having and paying it forward really is a wonderful thing. It all comes down to just being a nice person.  Making someones day without wanting or expecting anything in return.

     All too often we find ourselves trapped in our own little world and in our own feelings, that we don’t always take the time to consider other people’s feelings.  Now I’m not saying you need to bend over backward for everyone and let people walk all over you. Just a simple gesture to let them know there really are good people out there.

Step 4: Don’t sweat the small stuff

     No matter how positive you are or become, not everything is going to go your way.  There is no such thing as perfect, after all.  That being said, not every action deserves a reaction. Someone messed up your order in the drive-thru? OK that is a simple fix, just check your food before you drive off, that way you don’t even have to leave your car to fix the issue.  Did someone cut you off on the highway? OK, that’s not very nice of them, but it doesn’t need to ruin your entire day.  Even finding out someone was talking about you doesn’t have to ruin your mood.  Just talk to that person directly, like an adult. Rectify the situation before it becomes an issue. It takes a lot of will power to accomplish this step, but it feels so good to let the small stuff just roll off your sleeve and forget about it.

Step 5: Don’t worry about what others think of you

     Not everyone is going to like you.  It’s just life.  Guess what? That is alright! Nobody likes everyone, and no one is liked by everyone, it just isn’t meant to be. Don’t worry if someone doesn’t like your shirt, as long as you like it. There is nothing more freeing than not worrying about what anyone else thinks of you.

Well, that’s it, the recipe for a positive attitude.  Life is too short to not enjoy every minute you can with those that matter most.  Having the power to truly be yourself and enjoy life rather than picking it apart is a wonderful gift. Don’t let another day go by in a negative state of mind.

XOXO,

JB

#positivity #JB #bebetter #lifehack #goodlife #life