#i keep feeling ridiculously irrational feelings about people and its not fair on them or me and i need these feelings GONE

[mousegirlheart]

is there an off switch for emotions? i dont want these

#its either bpd or my emotions are just doing a shit ton of cocaine cos goddamn they go hard and fast #i keep feeling ridiculously irrational feelings about people and its not fair on them or me and i need these feelings GONE

[lubdubsworld]

Bird Bones

Chapter 1  /  Chapter 2  / Chapter 3/ Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“So, did you guys think about it?” Seokjin asked casually, watching me struggle back into my shoes after getting down from the examination table. He looked a little nervous as he stared at me and I bit my lips.

“I haven’t seen Jungkook in a while. He’s gone to Seoul with Hoseok for their dance showcase.” I said hesitantly. The last few weeks had been hectic, with Hoseok preparing for the showcase and me having to tell the administration I was pregnant. Surprisingly, most of my professors were kind about it, agreeing to share notes with me personally on days when I had to miss classes. I would miss out on a few lab credits because they coincided pretty closely with my due date but that was a whole six months away and I didn’t want to worry about it right now. 

Seokjin hummed in response and waited till I was sitting down in front of him before leveling a look at me. 

“I see and ….he would have to agree too...because?” Seokjin asked pointedly, and I flinched. 

 It was a loaded question, one that made my throat dry. 

We weren’t married. There was zero reason to have his approval to put the baby up for adoption. 

With Jungkook out of town , his parents had contacted me again about the NDA. I’d told them to sort it out with their son first before approaching me again , but I knew they were getting nervous. Jungkook was making it clear that he was sticking around and it was making everyone nervous.

Including me. 

“Its not... I’m not going to say no if he says no or anything like that. It’s just ... he asked me to keep him in the loop that’s it.” I protested. 

“I’m not saying anything.” He held his hands up. “ Just ....remember who he is, yeah? He’s not.... He’s not for you.”

It was hard to forget , I thought miserably, what with everyone throwing it at my face every day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I continued to stay at Hoseok’s place while he was at the showcase. It was better than the dorm for sure and I knew that it only made people resent me more. As a professor in my college, Hoseok had a lot of perks and most of my peers thought i was enjoying them in exchange for sleeping with him.

On the weekend before he was due to come back home, Hoseok called me from his hotel room.

“How are you holding up?” He asked casually and I could hear voices in the background. I wanted to ask him about Jungkook but I didn’t.

“I’m fine. I got my check up and Seokjin oppa told me we could fix a date to meet Yoongi and Namjoon.” I said softly, settling into the comfortable couch and tugging on the phone line. 

“Hmm.... fair enough. I’ll let Jungkook know. He’s out with Sana tonight so-”

“Sana?” I felt my breath catch in surprise. 

“Oh, yeah. she tagged along....you didn’t know?” Hoseok said casually and I gulped.

“Uh...no.. I mean ...whatever...they’re....she’s his girlfriend, right...” I laughed, sounding incredibly hollow to my own ears. Hoseok would see right through it.

“Fiancee.” He said curtly.

“What?”

“She isn’t just a girlfriend. She’s his fiancee...he proposed to her last year on the Han river with a hundred grand ring.....” His tone was dry and emotionless and yet each word cut to the bone. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

“You’re....you’re trying to hurt me.” I accused hoarsely.

He growled.

“No, I’m fucking pissed that this thing , this fact that Jungkook is engaged to Sana has been true for a whole damn year and yet all of a sudden it fucking hurts you because you’re letting your emotions get the better of you... Have I not taught you anything, Dasom?” 

I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down, my breathing ragged. He was right. He was absolutely right but it stung because Jungkook was.... Jungkook was so kind. So ridiculously endearing with his childlike amazement, his adorable possessiveness over me and yet somehow  so non judgmental and so eager to be a part of the baby’s life and how on earth could I not like someone who only seemed to want to care for me?? 

And he was wrong. 

I wasn’t an idiot. I had no intention of building castles in the air, dreaming of a happily ever after with someone like Jungkook. I would get through this and things would go back to the way they were. 

Just me and.... well Just me. Alone. By myself. The way it has always been.  

I took a deep shuddering breath. I wasn’t up to explaining all this to Hoseok. Not tonight when he was clearly angry. 

“I hope the showcase goes well, oppa.” I whispered, hanging up before he could respond. The phone rang a second later and I left it off the hook after disconnecting it.. 

I sat there for a long time, staring into the darkness. I had to talk to Jungkook as soon as he got back. We needed a game plan. A clear end to this thing between us. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hoseok oppa thinks we should meet Yoongi and Namjoon this weekend. “ I said casually, watching Jungkook closely as he sipped his iced tea. He stopped for a second, eyes widening before landing on mine.

It was a late Sunday afternoon and he had agreed to meet me for coffee so we could talk about the dinner. He looked just as good as ever, bright and cheerful. The showcase had gone really well according to Hoseok and Jungkook had gotten offers from a whole bunch of entertainment agencies. 

“So soon?” He asked evenly, grip tightening on the drink. 

I shrugged staring at the long smooth fingers. Somedays i tried to remember that night. I couldn’t imagine us being graceful, having sex while drunk out of our minds . Had he been gentle? Rough? What did he like in bed? I vaguely remembered the finger shaped bruises on my wrists, like someone had gripped them together. 

Staring at his hands now, I wondered how it must’ve felt, being held like that. 

I shook my head to clear it. Nothing good would come from going down that path. 

“I’m thirteen weeks along now...First trimester is over ….there's not a lot of chance to miscarry and-”

“What the fuck why would you say that?” He whisper shouted and I frowned.

“Jungkook....”

“That’s our child you’re talking about! Don’t even say that word!”

I could only stare at him. 

“It’s going to be very difficult for you if you don’t distance yourself from this baby “ I said quietly.  And me. 

Jungkook just stared at me , his eyes blazing. 

“Our baby....  Say it. It’s  our  fucking baby. It’s not just a baby or this baby. It’s ours. We made it. Its’ going to...fucking look like us, and it’s going to get our traits and ….I just don’t understand how you can be so callous about something so amazing and----it’s our baby, Dasom...” He was looking at me in disbelief and I couldn’t take it anymore. 

“No it fucking isn’t!!!” I hissed angrily, my heart beating fast, “  It’s not ours, Jungkook. It’s... it’s not something we should be celebrating..... You and I... we’re a fucking mistake. That night was a fucking mistake and this, this baby is nothing more than an unfortunate soul that’s going to have to share the consequences of our horrendous mistake that night!” I felt tears sting. 

I refused to let his words get to me. To make me feel guilty. Jungkook with his golden life, with his perfectly gorgeous fiancee and his filthy rich parents could afford to wax poetic about the joys of parenting but i couldn’t. 

I was a poor fucking orphan with a mother who had only cared about what was between her legs. I had to fight tooth and nail just to break out of the mould everyone had made for me,. 

“Dasom-”

“No, stop...Just...stop and for once get rid of those rose tinted glasses you have on, and listen to me okay?  We’re going to give the baby up for adoption....He or she is going to be raised by kind, loving parents who can provide a stable happy environment . We’re going to stop talking to each other after that. You’re going to go get married to your Fiancee ….I’m going to go and try and build a life for myself. That’s what’s in our future....Not some utopian universe where we raise this child , taking turns changing diapers and weekends at the fucking zoo!!” I finished bitterly.

“Why do we have to stop talking to each other?” He shot back defiantly and i felt my pulse pound. 

I glared at him and he just kept staring back at me.

“Don’t-” I began but he held his hand up. 

“I told you , I’m not going to do everything my parents ask me to. I’m... I’m trying to build a life for myself too alright? I’m not going to just... I’m not married yet. I’m not married yet.” He repeated and I felt a laugh of disbelief bubble up inside me.

“What the fuck does that even mean? You’re engaged-”

“I was engaged before I was fucking born. “ He snapped, running fingers through his hair in evident frustration. “ Sana and I grew up together. We just...we’ve been told that we'll be together all our lives and its all we have ever known. But that doesn’t mean its too late for us to think about other things...other options...”

“And you’re saying I’m another option? You don’t even like me JeonJungkook-” i laughed in disbelief.

“I think you’re beautiful.” He said softly and I felt my jaw come unhinged. 

What.

 What?

“ I saw you two years ago when you dropped by the practice room to meet Hobi hyung.. I thought you were beautiful then... So wildly uncaring about what others thought and I thought you looked amazing with your long hair and easy smile...I still do.” He was staring right at me and i felt heat creep up my neck. 

I shook my head. 

“I’m not listening to this nonsense.” i said sharply, reaching for my bag from the chair next to me.

“Hyung knows... Its why he’s always telling you not to trust me.... He knows how I feel about you and he doesn’t want the competition...” He sneered and I felt my hackles rise. Jungkook’s jealousy towards Hoseok was the most irrational thing in the whole world and it pissed me off so bad. 

“Now I know you really are full of shit-”

“He’s in love with you. He’s always been in love with you and you’re too caught up in your own self pity to notice that.” He grabbed my wrist when I tried to get up from the chair. “ Sit the fuck down and let me finish.”

“You’re spouting nonsense. I’m not interested in it...” I hissed back and he laughed.

“Nonsense? I’ve never hidden how I felt about you. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed me watching you , because everyone else has. Why else do you think Sana is so threatened? She knows... She knows I’m attracted to you...Knows that I want-----” He stopped and I knew he was going to say ‘you’ 

‘ Sana knows that I want you’ . 

I stared at him in disbelief. 

But he just barreled on,  completely unbothered by how upset I was. 

“ I want to get to know you better. And fine, even if you don’t want to keep the baby, there is no fucking way I’m going to stop talking to you.... “ He finished. 

I tried to gather my sense which felt like they’d been scattered to the seven winds. 

“Really, you talk about your fiancee so flippantly....but I heard you had a cozy little honeymoon in Seoul during your showcase...what of that?” I hated myself as soon as I said it because it made sound so horribly jealous. 

Jungkook snorted.

“Let me guess, Hobi hyung told you that huh? I bet he conveniently failed to mention that she was attending a different showcase , a whole damn district away? That we only went out for dinner one night and I was back in like an hour?” 

I stared at him, thrown . I felt confused and disoriented, not sure what was happening and why.

This had gone on long enough. 

I could not let this man do this to me. I just couldn’t. 

“Your parents met me again.” i said softly, staring right at him. “ They wanted me to sign the NDA. Did you tell them this? Can you go tell them this? Go break up with your fiancee, tell your daddy you want to date the  girl you knocked up while you were drunk out of your mind. And then, once he disowns you and kicks you out of your house and you have nowhere else to go, come see me. We’ll go out on a date, yeah?” 

 I waited for him to respond but he didn’t. So I stood up. I slung my bag up on my shoulders and stared down at him. 

“I’m meeting them on Saturday. If you want to be there, you can. And regardless of whether you turn up or not...I’m going. I’m giving the baby up for adoption and I’m getting on with my life. ” I said quietly. 

I walked out of the cafe without looking back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi sat across from me, hands twisting nervously in his lap while Namjoon poured us some water from the cut class decanter on the table. Next to me, Jungkook looked subdued and upset, eyes darting between the two men on occasion. I hadn’t talked to him after my outburst at the cafe

I peered around the house, an expensive three bedroom flat located in a good neighborhood. It was decorated tastefully and I could tell that even Jungkook was reluctantly impressed by how clean and neat everything looked. I played with the hem of my blouse while Hoseok finished his phone call, not sure what to say or how to start. 

“How are you feeling, Dasom?” Namjoon asked finally, flashing me a smile with deep dimples on either cheeks. 

“I’m doing good. I’m fourteen weeks along now and the nausea has gone down.” 

Yoongi hummed.

“My sister says the first three months are the worst.” He smiled a little and I smiled back, taking in the soft curves of his face and the nervous fingers on the lap. He looked just as terrified as I felt. 

“I’m glad you guys could meet with us. We just want to say that we’re so grateful that you guys even considered us.” Namjoon said in a rush, eyes flooding with warmth as he glanced between me and Jungkook. I felt him stiffen next to me and reached out, curling my fingers around his, pulling him closer. I linked our fingers and squeezed lightly. He squeezed back. 

“We only want what’s best for the baby, right Kook?” I said softly. He looked up at me then and I felt my heart crack at the light sheen I saw there. 

“Yeah...I...I love the baby.” He whispered and I felt a lump in my throat. 

The past few weeks, I had found myself hanging out with him way too much for my liking. For some reason, Sana stopped talking to me. She would throw occasional glares at me but she stayed away. Jungkook was conspicuously respectful. Never crossing a line enough for me to kick him away. He would throw that occasional remark that implied he was interested and shrug it off when I rejected him again. 

But he also told me that he had always wanted a family first. A wife, two kids, picket fence and all that. He loved kids,  had always been the designated babysitter to his umpteen cousins. He loved babies and he wanted as many as his fututre wife would give him. And then without warning he had just stared at me.

I hadn’t trusted myself to respond to that. 

The mind games left me exhausted. I didn’t ….not like him. He was funny , sweet and intelligent. He liked talking and he liked listening. It was just hard to enjoy when I knew what he was . A chaebol heir to a fortune. He spoke of his family with a casually dismissive attitude, about how they didn’t really give a damn about who he married and that it wouldn't be a big deal if he broke up with Sana.

But I had to remind myself that he hadn’t done it. He hadn’t broken up with her. And that meant that no matter how dismissive he was, he knew that something like that wouldn’t go by without repercussions. The fantasy of Jungkook leaving his gorgeous girlfriend because he couldn’t live without me was just that, a fantasy.  

Hoseok’s voice broke me out of my reverie.

“They’re both too young to go through with this.... Its going to be painful but like Dasom says, its the baby we need to think about.” Hoseok had hung up the phone and he stared at Jungkook, his gaze softening when he saw how miserable the younger looked. 

I pulled myself together and watched Namjoon pull out a file, containing all the formalities we would have to go through. /As i heard him explain everything, his eyes clear and intelligent, his tone gentle and kind, I felt myself making my choice. Yoongi and Namjoon loved each other deeply . They leaned on each other, evident in the way they held hands every few minutes, smiling and reassuring each other. They loved each other and they could love this baby. 

They would love this baby. 

My mind was made up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You need a ride home?” Hoseok asked casually, two hours later after we had bid goodbye to Yoongi and Namjoon. 

Next to me Jungkook stiffened. 

“I’ll drive her.” He said curtly and Hoseok ignored him, still holding a hand out.

“That’s fine Oppa, Jungkook and I need to talk.” I said tiredly. We did. There was a whole lot of formalities to be done with regards to the adoption and I wanted to talk to him about the possibility of an open adoption. Just in case he was interested. 

“You can talk tomorrow. Its already past ten-” Hoseok began but Jungkook laughed, loud and jarring. 

“What you think I’ll have my way with her and knock her up? Bit too late to worry about that right?” Jungkook drawled next to me and I felt my eyes widen in shock.

“What the- Jungkook are you crazy? Apologize!!” I hissed but he glared back at Hoseok defiantly.

Hobi chuckled a bit.

“You’re really asking to get your ass kicked Kook-ah... I’d tone down the blatant disrespect if I were you....” He said , eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Maybe I will, if you stop lying to Dasom about how you really feel about her.”

I lost it entirely, turning around to shove him away.

“Jungkook what the fuck?!” I shouted but he gripped my wrists, stopping me from hitting him again. 

“Tell her hyung....tell her how you picked up a fucking engagement ring in Seoul....? How you told Seokjin hyung that you were going to propose when she graduates because, let me quote you, ‘ she’s docile and adjusting. She’ll make a nice companion’“

I froze. I turned around to stare at Hoseok and felt my heart drop at the sharp sharp look of guilt om his face.

I stopped struggling against Jungkook, sagging against him when ice cold disbelief flooded my veins. 

No. No , it couldn’t be.  

“You-what?”  I whispered. 

Hoseok stared at me. 

“ Don’t tell me you didn’t see it coming.” He said blankly. I felt bile rise up my throat. 

“Oppa-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Hoseok snapped. 

I flinched when Jungkook’s grip tightened around me , a growl making his chest tremble. 

“Hyung , don’t-” He began angrily but Hoseok cut him off, staring at me with blazing eyes. 

“You’re always around me ..” Hoseok ground out, “ You’re literally the only person I’ve known and loved all my life.... So sue me for wanting to take responsibility for you and-”

“I’m not your responsibility.....I’m twenty years old...”

“And look how well you’re doing yeah? Knocked up with some guy’s bastard .....Just like your moth-”

I felt Jungkook move behind me and my instinct kicked in. I turned quickly gripping his arms and putting myself between them to stop him from lunging at Hoseok. 

Hoseok looked unapologetic as he stared at me. 

“If you marry me, you’ll at least be respectable.” He said softly and it was like a veil getting torn, showing him for who he really was. 

Someone who thought I was a charity case. A poor , flailing mess of a human that needed his charity to survive. 

I nodded quietly. 

“Okay. Thank you for lowering yourself enough to consider marriage with someone like me....” I said softly and he hissed.

“That’s not what I-”

“That’s exactly what you meant.” I said sharply, turning around. I couldn’t look at him anymore.

“Take me back to the dorms, yeah?” I looked at Jungkook and he nodded.

“Anything you want.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around me before throwing one last glare at Hoseok. 

Author’s note : Send me an ask about what you thought and I will love you forever <3

#jungkook fics #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut fic #bts smut #bts fics #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook fanfic

[justanotherfoolhere]

I managed to write something for the KakaIru Valentine’s Week 2021!

Me: I want to write something. Maybe a double drable or a ficlet. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.

Also me: spends the whole day writing a 3k words one-shot. Ooops.

Anyway:

Title: Soulmates (I know, very original)

Rating: T (could be gen)

Pairing: Kakashi/Iruka

Wordcount: 3283

Tags: Kakairu Valentines Week 2021, Fluff, Light Angst, Soulmates, First Dates, Friends to Lovers

You can read on ao3 too!

            Soulmarks appeared around six or seven years old.  But it was not as exciting as one could imagine: as much as the tropes of 'first words they say to you', 'a cool mark where they first touch you' or even 'matching marks' or 'their favorite thing tattooed on your skin' were popular in books and films, the reality was far less thrilling.

               Words appeared on your forearm, but not the first ones they would say to you. No. The words that appeared were the ones they would say the moment they realized they loved you. It didn't even have to be words they say to you. You could very well never get to hear the words yourself, if whoever your soulmate is realized it when by themselves.

               All in all, soulmarks weren't that important. They were not reliable and, even if they were, they just made sense when your soulmate already loved you. Not that helping at all. Sure, children loved seeing the words and tracing their little fingers over them, and teachers took advantage of that to teach them proper spelling, reading, writing and calligraphy. Nothing made a kid work harder at writing something right than copying the words on their forearms over and over again.

               Adults, on the other hand, mostly ignored them. Sure, some helpless romantics (cough, cough, Gai, cough) still clung to them like a lifeline, but most people just kept going about their lives and never seeking them out.  Let life that its course and everything.

               Kakashi avoided his like the plague.

               It hadn't always been like this. As a child, he liked to daydream about his soulmate as much as his peers. Things got different when his father died though. Grief settling in, chilling his bones and washing away his childlike hopes. Things only got worse when his team died, when he saw Obito be crushed and failed on his only promise, failed to keep Rin safe. Then their sensei died too and he was alone.

               He didn't deserve love. He didn't deserve a soulmate.

               And a bitter and irrational part of him reminded him that everyone who loved him died. He'd be doing his soulmate a favor if he never met them.

              *

               People thought Kakashi was being stubborn or proud when he refused to go to the hospital after a dire mission. He wasn't. Well, not totally.

               When he was a kid, the words on his forearm sounded odd yet funny.

               Of course he'd try to shrug off a stab wound, the idiot.

               Like, him? Getting stabbed then just walking away? Sure, little Kakashi knew first hand how a ninja's life could be rough, but the idea was so foreign and ridiculous. He'd never ignore something so drastic!

               Also, it sounded like a funny thing to say when you love someone. Didn't sound affectionate at all.

               He was glad for it when he grew up. Maybe his soulmate wouldn't be burdened with loving him (sure they would like Kakashi a bit, but maybe not love him). And maybe Kakashi wouldn't even be present to hear it, since the sentence wasn't adressing him.

               Still, he didn't want to take any chances. So, since Kakashi can remember, he stitches up his own stab wounds. Avoiding getting stabbed also helped, but it was near impossible in fights with shurikens, kunais and the ocasional sword.

               He figured whoever his soulmate was, they must work at a hospital or be a medical nin. So he avoided both. Seemed like the best course of action.

              *

               It was just another day. A common, boring day. Kakashi was waiting in line to hand in his mission form (he was still scribbling some things on it as he waited) and could barely wait to be done with it, so he could drop dead on bed. The last mission was a nasty one and he had barely washed the blood off his face before coming here.

               Sure, he could procrastinate it, as he ever did, but now he had five old mission reports still blank and an increasingly annoyed Iruka who chewed him out for it. So he decided to drop the habit and actually hand in this one as soon as possible.

               His whole tired body complained about this choice, though.

               "I can't accept it," Iruka said with a thinly-concealed scowl.

               "Why not?!"

               "Well, for starters, you're still writing it," Iruka gestured to Kakashi still scribbling on the form, using the desk for support, "go home and rest a bit, Kakashi. You can give me the report tomorrow," wow, Kakashi thought, he should look really deplorable if Iruka missed the opportunity to reprimand him.

               He didn't recall when Iruka went from calling him "jounin-san" to "Kakashi", maybe sometime between their quarrels about what an acceptable form was, but it always made his heart skip a beat. A silly little crush, but Kakashi allowed his heart this treat. It's not like he'd ever act on it anyway.

               "Yeah, maybe I should," Kakashi concedes, too worn out to complain. A shame really, he wanted to see Iruka smiling at him for handing in a report in time for once.

               He manages to walk away two steps before Iruka calls him again, scowl deepening and something too akin to concern on his voice.

               "Kakashi, you're bleeding."

               "Oh, that?" He look at the growing blood stain on his vest. It didn't seem too serious in the fight, and he could barely feel it over his generaly aching body, "yeah, I just came from the mission, I'll take a look at it at home," he smiled, trying to look reassuring despite the mask covering most of his face.

               "Fine," there was a finality to his tone. Kakashi thought it'd be the end of the conversation.

               Than Iruka called someone to cover for him and, in less than a minute, he was up and grabbing Kakashi by the hand.

               Kakashi made a mental note that Iruka was fast and could move pretty silently when he wanted to. The blush on his face hidden by the mask.

               "Uh, you don't have to—"

               "I do," Iruka cut him with his best non-nonsense voice, "since you clearly can't be trusted to prioritize you own well-being, and I'm sick of watching it after every mission of yours."

               He let Iruka half-guide half-drag him, not even bothering to keep track of where they were going until he sees himself being pulled inside Iruka's apartment.

              *

               "I know it's a mess," Iruka didn't sound apologetic in the slightest, "but it'll have to make do," he gestured for Kakashi to sit on the sofa, throwing some things on the floor to make space, and went to fetch a first-aid kit in the bathroom.

               Kakashi took a moment to took everything in. The papers and books thrown everywhere, a few take-out packages littering the floor, the clothes scattered around. It was not dirty, just messy, which made sense with how much work Iruka had between teaching kids and scolding jounins. He probably didn't spend that much time here. Enough to make a mess, but not enough to tidy it properly.

               Still, it felt homey. Warm and safe.

               "Shirt off," Iruka came back, a serious expression, and motioned to his blood-soaked vest.

               "Maa, sensei, at least pay me a dinner first," Kakashi joked, attempting to both lighten the mood and conceal his own nervousness. Iruka didn't seem impressed.

               "Fine, fine," he took his shirt off, it landed with a wet thump on the floor.

               Iruka's eyes widened for a sec before he recomposed himself.

               "I can't believe you decided to wait on a line to hand me a half-written form after you got stabbed," Iruka sighed, pouring antiseptic on the wound without a warning, "whoever let you graduate in Academia is a moron. You have no sense of self-preservation. Or common sense," he admonished.

               Kakashi winced at the sudden sting of antiseptic, but accepted the scolding. It was fair enough. Despite the harsh words, Iruka's hands were gentle when he started stitching him up.

               "It was not really stabbing, just a tiny hit. With a kunai," He said nonchalant. Maybe Iruka would give it less importance if he did too, "I've had worse."

               "I don't doubt it," Iruka didn't look at him, his eyes on the task, "And most people call 'a hit with a kunai' stabbing," he said wryly.

               Ouch.

               When Iruka was finished with the stitches, he put some ointment over the wound and dressed it. Kakashi insisted it was more fuss than it was worth.

               "Just lie down and get some rest," Iruka sighed, "I'll fetch you some pillows and a blanket. Don't you dare getting up,"

               "Really, you don't have to. I'm fine, I can go and sleep in my own house."

               "I want to," and there it was, the finality to his voice that made clear not even the Hokage could get Kakashi out of that couch, "now stop being stubborn for a second and sleep."

               Kakashi complied (what other choice did he have, really?) and Iruka made sure to get him comfortable, a pillow under his head, another one supporting his sore legs and a fluffy, warm blanked tucked snugly over him.

               Kakashi was drifting off to sleep when he heard Iruka muttering to himself.

               "Of course he'd try to shrug off a stab wound, the idiot."

               Kakashi heart raced a bit, the too familiar words sounded weird now that he actually heard it. He'd have fled if he wasn't so comfortable and on the brink of sleep.

               His last thought was that he was wrong about his soulmate not liking him that much. He'd never imagined someone could say "idiot" in such a fond, loving tone.

               *

               Kakashi's half-baked plan of avoiding Iruka didn't even have a chance to be properly formed. It'd be a nigh impossible task when he woke up on Iruka's sofa, covered in Iruka's blankets, inside Iruka's house and with a very nonchalant Iruka sat on the floor near him with a new take-out bag on his lap.

               "Oh, good, you're awake," he said, putting his food down, "Hungry? I bought some ramen."

               "I— Ah," he said eloquently, "no, you shouldn't have bothered. I'll— I should head home now. Finish all that late reports and everything," he all but stumbled while trying to get up.

               There was a faint, amused smile on Iruka's lips.

               "That's okay, Kakashi, calm down," he handed him a bowl of ramen, "you can run away and never look at me again after you eat," his voice was even. It didn't sound like a joke nor a reprimand.

               Kakashi accepted the chopsticks offered to him and they ate in silence. there was still a bundle of warm blankets on Kakashi's feet and the sofa was more inviting than it had a right to be.

               Iruka didn't look bothered at all for the silence. His face was unreadable, as if he already expected it.

               Wait—

               "You knew!" Kakashi accused, pointing a finger at him.

               "I knew what?" Iruka feigned inocence, then, when Kakashi grunted, added more serious, "yeah, I figured it out some time ago."

               Kakashi was stunned by how lightly he said it.

               "How long ago? Exactly?" He narrowed his eyes. Iruka put a hand on his neck, a nervous habit.

               "Well... I kind of knew since we became sort-of-friends? But I just confirmed it some months ago," he tried to laugh it off, then extended his forearm to Kakashi's field of sight.

               There, in neat letters, was written Maa, Iruka, I already said I'll finish the reports! No need for violence.

               Kakashi kind of remembered this talk. It was so similar to all the others they had that it was hard to place exactly when this one took place. Iruka had rolled up a magazine and smacked Kakashi's nape with it, saying he would 'beat some sense of responsibility into him if he had to'.

               "There are not a lot of people who never hand in their reports and are on a first-name basis with me," he explains, "the 'maa' narrowed it down a lot too."

               "...I see," Kakashi was at a loss of words. So his soulmate wasn't a medical-nin like he thought, but a sensei with years of practice in patching up kids and adults alike.

               "Yes. Well, I, uh," this was getting more awkward by the minute, "I'll go back to work now. you can take you time before you leave. Eat, take a shower... You can hand all your late reports to someone else later."

               Iruka was already getting up to leave when Kakashi hastily grabbed his wrist.

               "Wait! Are you leaving just like that? After telling me you knew I was your soulmate for months?"

               "Well, I figured you didn't want a soulmate," He smiled, and there was no judgement there, "I wouldn't have told you, either. But, since, you know now, I guess it's okay if you want to put some distance between us," he motioned vaguely to the pillows Kakashi had knocked on the ground in his hurried attempt to leave.

               Kakashi couldn't find a good enough answer, so he watched mutely as Iruka made his way to the door and closed it after him.

               *

               Days passed.

               Kakashi thought it'd be fine. Iruka have handled everything so well. They hadn't sought each other out and, when they bumped into each other, Iruka was polite but distant. 'Kakashi' went back to 'jounin-san' or even 'Hatake-san'. He didn't act weird or sad either.

               So why did it hurt so much?

               Kakashi felt like he was missing something. Which made no sense whatsoever, because he and Iruka never were a thing to start with.

               Iruka was right, he didn't want a soulmate. Never wanted one. The lingering thought that he would hurt whoever it was or that he didn't deserve any happiness present on his mind since he was a kid.

               Yet there he was, hurting and wanting to go after him.

               He's better off without me, Kakashi reminded himself once again.

               *

               It took Kakashi almost a month to put his finger in what exactly bothered him so much. He came to two conclusions.

               One: Iruka was a good liar.

               The scene of him leaving with a smile played again and again in Kakashi's mind, haunting his dreams and following him through the day. It hurt, like being rejected on repeat, nonstop. A cruel thing, really, like his mind enjoyed torturing itself.

               But then he payed attention to details, like he should have done since the beginning. Like any good jounin would have done. Iruka left with a smile, and it looked real, but he wouldn't meet Kakashi's eyes. And his tone was too cheerful, as if he was trying to compensate for something.

               Every time he bumped into Iruka (accidentally at first, deliberately later), he saw it. The hesitance, the too-happy smile, the eyes wandering around but never quite meeting his eyes. The lingering touches and the sad look on Iruka's face when he thought Kakashi wasn't looking.

               Iruka lied to him when he said he was okay with parting ways. Lied when he said he understood Kakashi's wish, when he made it so easy to ignore everything and leave.

               Two: Kakashi had grown up.

               This one should be pretty obvious, yet it took him weeks of introspection to realize it. He had just... Grown up. Made peace with everything that happened. It still hurt, and he still caught himself sobbing after nightmares or feeling guilty, but he knew, deep down, that it was not his fault. And no one would die just for loving him. It was a childish idea.

               He spent years pushing away the idea of a soulmate, but he couldn't picture Iruka dying because of him. He knew Iruka could stand his ground just fine and, even if he couldn't, Iruka was far better than him at reaching out for help.

               And Kakashi deserved some love too. He blushed at the thought, but he knew he had to tell it more to himself. He deserved it. Iruka deserved it too, if he still wanted Kakashi after the shitty way he dealed with the situation.

               Well, just one way to find out.

               *

               "Oh, hello, Kaka— Hatake-san," Iruka smiled at him, like he always did, that fake yet convincing one.

               "Kakashi is fine, Iruka," Kakashi felt bold. Or at least maybe he would if he faked well enough, "I, uh, wanted to talk to you. In private. Mind if I pick you up after you're done working?"

               "I—," was Kakashi delusional or was it a faint rosy blush on Iruka's cheeks? "Fine, you can pick me up here in two hours. Sound good?"

               "Sounds perfect!" He grinned and with the last of his bravery added, "it's a date then."

               Iruka made a choking sound and Kakashi left with the goofiest smile.

               *

               Kakashi's place was different from Iruka's. Tidier, nothing out of place, but with a thin layer of dust on the less used things and too much free space. It wasn't as homey. Kakashi found himself missing the messy couch and thrown around clothes and books.

               "So, let me set it straight," Iruka gave him a pointed look, "you decided you want a soulmate after trying to run away and pretending nothing happened for a month. And you want to take me on a date," He briefed.

               Kakashi nodded, it seemed like an accurate description. He could unwrap all the insecurities and emotional baggage later.

               "Fine," Iruka pressed the bridge of his nose, "took you long enough. I don't even know why I try to make sense of it."

               "That easy?" Kakashi was a bit surprised, "I had prepared a speech and everything. Scribbled a half-decent poem," he threw some crumpled papers on the table. Iruka chuckled a bit.

               Good. He wanted to see his genuine smile.

               "If I wasn't willing to, I wouldn't have bothered to patch you up in the first place," He explained, "idiot," he said as an afterthough, but in the same fond tone he used before.

               Kakashi found himself smiling too.

               "Well, what about dinner tomorrow then? Anywhere you want."

               "Oh, I have a better idea," the smile on Iruka's face was a bit devilish now, "just meet me at my place tomorrow. Let's say... At seven?"

               "Deal," Kakashi really shouldn't have ignored the chill on his spine at the evil grin.

               *

               "That's your idea of a nice first date?" He whined, his wrist hurting from writing too much.

               "That's your idea of good penmanship?" Iruka retorted, giving him yet another blank report to fill, "We are almost there! Just two more," he said a bit more encouragingly.

               "We? What exactly are you doing?" He handed another complete and pristine form to Iruka.

               "Moral support," he didn't miss the slight jest on Iruka's voice.

               Accepting his fate, Kakashi sighed and prepared himself for a night of writing down mission details he just vaguely recalled whilst Iruka criticizes his calligraphy.

               "Don't sulk like that. I have some ice cream in the fridge. We can have it after you're done," he used his slightly-less-stern teacher voice. The one he used to bribe the pests to finish their homework so they could play.

               "My hand is killing me," Kakashi said with a dramatic flair, "you'll have to feed me, sweetheart," he mocked, making Iruka laugh at both the exaggerate whining and the sappy nickname.

               "You're impossible," Iruka rolled his eyes, which, Kakashi noticed, was not a 'no', "Does it mean you'll go to the hospital now after being stabbed at least?"

              "Never," he replied with a grin, "that's what I have you for now, right?"

              The glare he received wasn't enough to spoil his sudden good mood.

*

*

*

It was fun to write! And can fit in three prompts! (soulmates, first date, friends to lovers). That bit was mostly accidental I swear! It just happened.

I don’t think i’ll try my hand on other prompts, but it was fun! That’s my first time in a writing challenge. Thanks for @kakairu-rocks for the funny prompts and for answering my questions!

Also, you can thank @kakairuincorrectquotes for single-handedly giving me the headcanon Kakashi will never, ever go to the hospital after being stabbed. You’ll have to pry it from my hands now!

Bye. ♥

#kakairu valentines 2021 #kakairu valentines week 2021 #kakairu #kakairu.rocks #my first time trying a challenge out! #yey

[bestworstcase]

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 16-17

back at it.

re: romance novel: “I saw a patch of red flowers, and I thought they would be striking against Cass’s dark hair. She wasn’t exactly a flower wearer, but maybe she’d let me pin one on her dress? The color would set off her fair skin so perfectly. And she could at least keep some in a vase by her bed. I refused to believe there was a person alive who didn’t feel better with freshly cut flowers in her room.” that’s gay rapunzel

i do admittedly have some ambivalent feelings about this passage. on the one hand it’s - yes, very gay. but also it feels to me like such a clear illustration of the difficulty rapunzel has with empathy and listening to other people when their experiences or expectations or needs diverge from hers; she acknowledges that cass isn’t into flowers, but follows it up with “but maybe i can get her to wear some anyway,” and of course there’s the whole refusing to believe anyone could feel differently about having flowers in their room than she does. and it also has this weird undercurrent of - god, i don’t know how to phrase it in a succinct way.

this specific passage was on my mind when i wrote this bit in moonless air chapter 4: 

Still. She plucks at the stitches of her jack-of-plate, self-conscious.

It’s the nicest thing she owns. Soft green velvet sewn over sturdy layers of canvas and steel. Armor. She’d saved up for more than a year to buy it for herself on the anniversary of her adoption two years ago, and at the time it had been nothing but a frivolous luxury. Stupid, really. She’d never had real reason to wear it in Herzingen, not for anything besides teaching herself how to move with its weight and entertaining ridiculous fantasies—but last night, Moira had intimated that their destination in Vardaros is fancy as well as dangerous. So the jack seemed… appropriate.

Sharp. She twitches.

Clothing—fashion isn’t– Cassandra’s always hated dresses. It’s a trait that demands a certain amount of indifference to what other people think of her appearance.

And she can do indifference. Cassandra has indifference in spades. But nobody’s ever paid her a compliment quite like that before: baldly appreciative. Straightforward. Not like all the times Rapunzel coaxed her into tolerating crowns of late-summer flowers because the colors look so nice with your complexion! and not like the Commander’s gruff praise for how grown-up she looked in the hideous pastel gowns that had come with the lady-in-waiting gig.

because – like, cass is butch, and “not a flower wearer,” and here in lost lagoon we have this passage where rapunzel expresses this pretty straightforward attraction to cassandra but in the context of imagining cassandra presenting in a much more feminine way than she is comfortable with - in a dress with flowers in her hair etc - and it just... rubs me the wrong way a little bit. and this is not to say like cass can’t be butch and put a flower in her hair but when it’s paired with rapunzel specifically acknowledging that cass doesn’t WANT to wear flowers then it - yeah i feel weird about this passage. 

and that translated into cass having a whole little crisis over being complimented for her appearance without implicit pressure to be more feminine for the first time ever

anyways

i still can’t get over the name monsieur lefleur 

rapunzel summarizes hervanian culture as “brash but can be funny; distrustful but not mean-spirited” so, basically, they are americans

she is feeling very Prepared to meet with them, in contrast to every other time she’s met with foreign dignitaries or nobility before this. eugene tries to warn her that cass is PISSED with her and she just brushes him off, as one does, by saying that cass is “not all bubbles and moonbeams” but that she is “a softy” inside. 

of course this leads up to cass blowing up and going off while rapunzel tries to calm her down and just - groan this line. 

“People don’t change! You told a criminal a detail that puts my entire future at risk!”

how many times have i said “cass doesn’t act this way in tts” i feel like it’s a constant drumbeat. but i have to say, again, that cass doesn’t act this way in tts. i don’t think it’s unrealistic for her to think like this, given that her father is essentially corona’s chief of police and she idolizes him, but i feel the need to reiterate that there is zero sign of cass having this mindset in tts proper. and it does sort of bother me when people read this into cass’s character because it undermines and delegitimizes her dislike of eugene in early s1. 

which like. tts itself sort of frames their mutual dislike as a mutual problem, but it’s... really not? and imo the best illustration of this is in this exchange from cassandra vs eugene: 

CASSANDRA: Unbelievable. Did you eat all the cookies?

EUGENE: I’m not a pig, Cassandra. I ate all of your cookies; I’m saving mine for later.

CASSANDRA: Ugh– you are nothing but a self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant freeloader!

EUGENE: [scoffing] You know, I can rattle off insulting adjectives describing your personality, too, but to do so would imply that you actually have a personality, and I just wouldn’t feel right about doing that!

this is the dynamic every time they squabble in early s1. 

1 - eugene does something selfish or thoughtless - in this case taking all the cookies and milk for himself. 

2 - cassandra calls him out for it, and he doubles down, often taking a potshot at her in the process. 

3 - cassandra gets mad and calls his behavior what it is (self-serving, inconsiderate, arrogant)

4 - eugene gets defensive and insults her as a person, typically with variations on calling her icy / unfeeling / humorless / joyless. 

which is to say, their fights are initiated by eugene’s poor behavior, and cassandra attacks his behavior but eugene attacks cassandra herself. like, eugene is the dude who insults you and then goes “pfft why can’t you take a joke” when you get upset with him. that’s what this is. 

moreover, when eugene’s, for lack of a better term, residual flynn rider-ness starts to taper off, cassandra’s criticism of his behavior also tapers off, AND she gets much gentler about how she phrases this criticism once he starts to actually take it on board. but there’s no accompanying shift in the way eugene speaks to and about her - the jibes about her being humorless or cranky or soulless literally never stop and at no point does he ever seem to consider that cass might not appreciate them as much as he thinks she does. 

(to be clear, i don’t think they bother cass very much if at all - but they do create and reinforce a perception on eugene’s end that cass Doesn’t Have Feelings and the background radiation of that contributes to the toxicity that develops in season 2.)

like again, pulling from cassandra vs eugene here, eugene is extremely insulting towards cassandra even when he’s ostensibly coming to her defense: 

RANDOM THUG: Look at that, Fancy-Boots has got something to say!

EUGENE: Name-calling? Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we? Sure, we could sit here and make fun of each other—tease Cassandra for her chronic joylessness, or me for my uncommonly good looks, or you for your poor dental hygiene, tragic fashion sense, robust body odor, and what are clearly woefully misguided decision making skills, but do you really want to go down that road?

ALL OF WHICH IS TO SAY - besides demonstrating an obvious willingness to give eugene another chance once he starts doing the bare minimum to not be a dick to her, cassandra doesn’t like eugene because eugene is an asshole to her and takes the enormous privileges he is given completely for granted. 

saying “well she doesn’t like him because he was a criminal and she doesn’t believe criminals ever change” erases that completely and reframes the conflict as cassandra treats eugene unfairly because of bigotry that she needs to unlearn. lost lagoon takes this even one step further in that lost lagoon eugene is genuinely trying to be responsible, he is taking his new lot in life seriously. he doesn’t need cass to tell him off for acting like an ass because he doesn’t act like an ass. he shows actual interest in getting to know cass and makes an effort to break through her hostility in order to get along. unlike his tts counterpart, lagoon eugene really doesn’t do anything wrong, and that makes cassandra’s intense hatred of him on the grounds that he was a thief look completely irrational and, like i said, bigoted. 

it’s just very frustrating to me.

anyways

rapunzel tries very hard to persuade cass that it’s actually totally fine that she told eugene the secret because she just can’t keep secrets from eugene (except the lagoon which she has arbitrarily decided is totes fine to keep secret and i am pretty sure this contradiction never gets pointed out) - and cass is having none of it, and of course arianna interrupts before anything can get resolved. 

they rush out and monsieur lefleur interrupts them, asking questions about the lost lagoon. he reveals that he heard an ~elegant cloaked person~ inquiring about it in the library. he asks for the book. they say no. the red herring smells to high heavens, and the chapter ends with rapunzel subtly telling cass to hide the book ~for the safety of the kingdom~ and oh my god i just can’t handle the low stakes. 

seventeen picks up from there with cassandra’s point of view; she’s suspicious of lefleur and angsts a lot about how she has no time to train and she needs to get out of corona yada yada. her plan is literally to just walk until she finds someone to hire her on as a guard which. lol. this kid.

i feel like this is the strongest passage in the whole book: 

She said there couldn’t be any secrets between Eugene and her. But why—especially when it meant sacrificing my future and everything I held dear? I’d read about romantic love in poems, and it seemed to me like a spell. Sounded great for the lovebirds, but what about the other people.

Did I just not matter in the face of this love, even though I had been the one to risk everything to show Rapunzel the world? Was I just supposed to fall on my sword because Eugene was uncomfortable that he didn’t have every last piece of information about Rapunzel?

she has a brief argument with owl, who is a pretty obvious stand-in for her own doubts / feeling that she truly belongs in corona and doesn’t actually want to leave. but she has no choice! but it’s stormy, so she can’t leave! oh no!

(i think if tts really strongly felt she had no choice but to free corona, a measly thunderstorm would not be enough to stop her.)

#lost lagoon reread #cassunzel

[hopelikethemoon]

Numb (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Numb Rating: PG-13 Length: 3700 Warnings: Angst (misunderstandings, poor communication, postpartum depression) Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in September 1997. I PROMISE YOU THAT EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.  Summary: Three months after their daughter’s birth, Reader and Javier struggle with their relationship. 

Taglist:  @grapemama​​​​  @seawhisperer​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​ @pedropascalito​​​​ @rogrsnbarnes​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​ @gooddaykate​​​ @livasaurasrex​​ @ham4arrow​​ @hiscyarika​​​ @plexflexico​​ @readsalot73​​ @hdlynn​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​  @roxypeanut​​ @just-add-butter​​ @snivellusim​​ @amarvelousmandalorian​​​ @lukesrighthand​​ @historynerd04​​ @mrsparknuts​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​ @ah-callie​​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​​ @beskar-droids​​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​​ @longitud-de-onda​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​ @himbopoes​​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​​ @seeking-a-greatt-perhaps​​ @frietiemeloen​​ @arrowswithwifi​​ @random066​​ (more tags in the replies)

“How are you doing?” Javier questioned, curling his fingers around the back of your chair as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“We’re doing good.” You told him, readjusting Sofía in your arms. “Connie lured Tracy into the kitchen to work on some sort of deeply alarming salad with peas and cheddar cheese.”

“What?” Javier sank down into the lawn chair beside you, resting his elbows on his knees as he tilted his head to look at you. “Did I hear you right?”

You snorted, grinning at him. “Hearing going too, old man?”  

“Ouch.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, I’m just wondering who the fuck thought those things go together?”

“White suburbia.” You held your hand out and he pulled his sunglasses off his shirt and passed them to you. “But it’s keeping Tracy occupied.” You pushed the aviators up the bridge of your nose. “I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Sofía started fussing and you tried to readjust her in your arms. She was fussier than Josie had ever been. 

“Do you want me to take her?” Javier questioned. 

Some irrational part of your brain wanted to snap at him for thinking you weren’t capable of calming your own daughter down — but you knew that wasn’t what he was saying. At all.

“I’m good.” You assured him, cradling the back of her head as you nestled her against your chest. “I’ve got you, sunshine.” You whispered, trying to lull her back to sleep. 

The comparison to Josie wasn’t necessarily fair either. Josie hadn’t really gotten a taste for socializing until she was in Miami. There were no barbecues or overly friendly strangers in Colombia. You couldn’t blame the baby for being overwhelmed. You were too, if you were being honest. Surrounded by people and yet you still felt isolated.

Javier scooted his lawn chair closer to you, his knee brushing against yours. “Hey, I’m going to go check on Josie. You sure you’re good, baby?”

You nodded your head stiffly, keeping your gaze low. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. Javier reached out and touched your cheek gently, nudging your chin up so you had to look at him. “If you want to go home…”

“Go harangue Steve about Stevie.” You retorted, shifting back in your chair to escape his touch. You didn’t need to be comforted. There was no reason to be comforted. 

Javier frowned, “Baby…”

“I’m fine. I promise.” You gritted out. He didn’t need to worry about you. You could handle your own three-month-old. Couldn’t you?

Javier squeezed your knee three times before he rose to his feet. He lingered beside you, like he had more to say. But instead of saying it, he retreated to find Josie. 

And Steve. 

You just knew the two of them were probably comparing notes on being with women who suddenly changed. Even you wanted an answer about why your brain was constantly at odds with itself. Ever since Sofía had been born, you just… felt like a failure. 

Even at work everything felt like it had lost its shine. 

Frankly, it sucked. 

Nothing felt right. You had really believed that going back to work would help you feel normal again. But maybe this was your new normal. And that was a bleak thought. You had brought it up with your pediatrician when you took Sofía for her check-ups, but they hadn’t seemed overly concerned. Apparently it was normal to feel like this. Hormones and all of that shit, but… it hadn’t been like this with Josie. You remembered being happy, despite the situation. 

You didn’t remember feeling like there was a weight crushing you in the middle of the night. 

There was nothing you hated more than feeling helpless. 

You lifted your head, eyes scanning the Murphy’s backyard. You recognized most of the guests — friends of Connie’s from the hospital, a few parents from the girls’ daycare, a couple people you recognized from Steve’s circle at work. 

You spotted Tracy milling around at the far end of the yard with Jeff, which meant the kitchen was safe. You looked towards the porch, relieved to see that Connie was alone as she headed back into the house. 

“Change of scenery, sunshine.” You told Sofía as you started across the yard into the house. “How’d the salad go?” 

Connie gave you a droll expression, “I think it may be the Frankenstein of salads.” She nodded towards the refrigerator. “It’s chilling if you want to steal a bite.”

You made a face, “I’d rather not.” 

“And Tracy wasn’t so terrible.” 

“Really?” You gave her a skeptical look. “The first words out of her mouth were ‘I expected you to have lost your baby weight already’.” 

She grimaced, “She’s blunt.” 

“A bitch, you mean.” You corrected and Connie laughed.

“You’re not wrong.” She wiped her hands off with a dish towel and gestured to Sofía, “Can I hold her?”

You tensed. She had finally settled down, but at the same time… “Sure.” 

Connie carefully took her from you, sweet talking Sofía as she roused from her nap. She was so good with babies. A natural. And that made you feel guilty for being so despondent about Sofía. You knew that Connie would do anything to be able to hold her own baby in her arms and you couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. 

“Hey. Are you okay?” Connie asked, her brows drawn together as she looked at you. 

“I—” You swallowed thickly, shoulders sinking. “I wish I knew.” 

She glanced around the kitchen for a moment, before she looked back at you. “I think everything is almost ready for dinner, let’s go sit in the family room and talk.” 

You wanted to protest. You didn’t need to talk. Everything was fine.

But it wasn’t. 

So you followed Connie into the family room. You sat down in the middle of the sofa, watching her as she sat down in the armchair with Sofía cradled in her arms. You chewed on your bottom lip, lowering your gaze to your hands as you wrung them in your lap. “I just wish I knew what was wrong with me.” 

Connie frowned, “You went through a traumatic experience. No one can blame you for taking awhile to get back to normal.” 

“Yeah.” You raked your fingers through your hair as you sank back against the sofa. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been replaced by a pod person.” You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head. 

“How are things between you and Javier?” Connie questioned. 

“I’m surprised Steve hasn’t told you everything.” 

“Steve hasn’t been able to get a straight answer out of Javier.” 

“Oh.” You worried at your bottom lip. A part of you had hoped that Javier was talking to Steve — at least then he wouldn’t feel isolated the way he had been after Josie’s birth. But he kept things as close to the chest as you did. “We’re fine. I mean…” You shook your head slowly. “Things have been a little tense.” 

Connie smiled sympathetically, “I noticed. Has something changed…?” 

You were quick to look up then. Just the thought made your heart clench in your chest. “No, nothing has changed. Things have just been tense because of everything that happened with her birth.” You swallowed a lump of emotion that had formed in the back of your throat. “He feels responsible for everything that happened, which is ridiculous, but… I told him he had to stop with this guilt thing and now he’s…” You looked away then. “We’re both just bottling things up.” 

“So you haven’t been communicating?”

You shook your head slowly. “I barely know how I feel from one minute to the next.” 

“Have you talked to your doctor?” She questioned, giving you a sympathetic look. 

“About why Javier and I aren’t actually talking? No.”

She arched a brow at you, “You know what I’m talking about.” 

“I mentioned it to the pediatrician. He didn’t seem to think anything of it.” You cleaned off the aviators with the edge of your shirt. “It’s just hormones.” 

“Sweetheart,” Connie said with a serious look, her lips drawn into a thin line as she held your gaze. “You’re depressed.” 

“What? No.” You shook your head. 

“Have you ever heard of postpartum depression? It’s common. Ashley — she’s one of the nurses on my floor — she really suffered after her son was born. A couple months on an antidepressant and counseling and she eventually bounced back.”

You stared at her. 

“Why would I have depression?” You questioned, a sharp edge to your voice. “Okay, sure… I almost died, but I have no reason to be upset. I have two healthy little girls, a supportive partner who I love and—”

“You don’t need a reason.” Connie urged. “And it’s no one’s fault.”

“That is the problem.” You leaned forward, resting your elbows against your knees. You dragged your hands over your face, sighing heavily. “There’s no one to blame. All of this… all of this pain doesn’t have a reason. Javier blames himself and I blame—” You stared at the floor. “It could happen to anyone.”

“Which is why there’s no shame in getting help.” Connie smiled at you. “I could recommend a doctor at the hospital. Maybe you could both see a therapist.”

“I guess.” You shrugged. As much as you hated admiring defeat, you had both gone through a lot that… maybe a professional could help you both get through it. 

“It’ll help.”

“Yeah.” You pushed your fingers through your hair, sitting back. “I’m going to get her carrier out of the car. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. You know I’ll never say no to baby time.”

You smiled a little, moving to get off the sofa. Depression. That was such a heavy thing to consider. You wanted to throttle the doctor who had just brushed it off. It made sense. Unfortunately. 

And the last thing you wanted was for this to force a wedge between you and Javier. It was bad enough as it was, with him blaming himself for everything that went wrong in your life. 

You grabbed your keys out of your jacket pocket, unlocking the back door so you could grab the carrier out. It would make eating easier and she could nap far more comfortably than she would in your arms. 

“Holy shit.”

You tensed. ‘Holy shit’ indeed. You recognized that voice. Months of torment had been delivered by that voice. 

You turned slowly, “What the fuck are you doing here Fiestle?” 

Chris laughed harshly, “Of all the fucking parties to be invited to…” His eyes flickered to the carrier in your hand. “What? Did you trap another unsuspecting agent with an unwanted pregnancy?”

Nope. You weren’t going to cry. 

You had never cried because of this asshole. 

Shit, your eyes were actually burning. 

“Fuck you.” You snarled, “I don’t know who the fuck invited you, but you’re not welcome here. In fact, you’re not welcome in Florida. Period.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.” He laughed, giving you a condescending smile. 

“The only reason this carrier isn’t currently bashing your skull in is because they’re expensive.” You shot back, fingers clenching tightly around the handle. “So consider yourself spared, asshole.”

Who the fuck had invited him?

“Are we done here? I smell burgers.” He nodded his head towards the house, starting up the driveway. “Don’t you have some baby to feed or something?”

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Your comebacks are lackluster, sweetcheeks. No attack dog anymore?” Chris folded his arms across his chest and gave you a pitying look. “Did Javier finally realize that the ole ball and chain wasn’t for him?” He questioned. “I’m glad he got free of you.” 

You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look towards the front door as Javier appeared in it with Steve right behind him. “Speak of the devil.” You remarked, looking back at Chris then. “Has anyone ever told you to really shut the fuck up? You’ve kissed so much ass in your lifetime, it’s no wonder you talk out of yours.” 

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Javier questioned, arms folded across his chest as he walked through the lawn to you. 

“Someone apparently invited this asshole.” You said dryly, glaring at Steve. “Did you?”

“I had no idea that either of you knew him. He is in town working on an assignment and I thought it would be nice to invite him over.” He explained, looking at Fiestle then. “I think you should leave.” 

“Really?” Chris huffed. “You’re going to make me leave because some bitch can’t deal with the ugly truth?” 

Javier moved swiftly, grabbing Chris by the front of his shirt and pushing him back against the side of the Jeep. “You’re going to watch your fucking mouth if you have any intention of using it again.” He snapped. “We don’t work together anymore, so I don’t have anything to risk.” 

“I used to have a lot of respect for you Peña.” Chris tried to pry Javier’s hand off his shirt. “You took down Escobar… Had all this clout. You really threw all of that away to play house with her?”

Javier shoved him back against the car again, pinning his forearm against the base of his throat. “Shut the fuck up, Fiestle. You’re a fucking worm. If you say another word about her or my daughters… if you so much as think about them, you’re going to be drinking soup for the rest of your goddamn life.” 

He released Chris and took a step back. “Run along.” Javier turned back to look at you, brows drawn together. There was still so much uncertainty between the two of you, but you knew for certain that he would do anything for you. 

“You know what? Fuck you Peña. Fuck you and your little pretend family.” 

Javier rocked his jaw, his tongue tracing the edge of his teeth. You gave a slight nod of your head, watching as he wheeled around and slammed his clenched fist into Chris’ face. He howled in pain, clutching at his freshly bleeding nose.

“I told you to keep my family out of your fucking mouth.” 

“You broke my nose!” Chris swore furiously. “I’m going to call the cops.” 

Steve crossed his arms across his chest, looking towards you and Javier. “I didn’t see anything. Even if I did, I asked you to leave and you refused.” 

“And guess what Chris?” You grinned. “I’m the one with friends in high places now. I work for the police department. So, go ahead… call them. 

“Fuck you!” He snarled before he hauled ass back towards his own car. 

“I am so sorry.” Steve said, turning towards you. “I had no idea you had bad blood with that asshole. I didn’t even think when he mentioned Colombia that—”

“We don’t talk about him.” You reassured him, your gaze flickering towards Javier then. “Steve could you take the carrier in for Connie? We’ll be in in a minute.” You passed it towards him. 

“Sure thing. Take your time.” Steve offered, giving Javier a pat on the shoulder before he headed back into the house. 

“Let me see.” You whispered, reaching for Javier’s hand. You cradled it in your hands, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “At least you know how to throw a punch.” 

“I wanted to fucking bash his head into the car.”

You laughed, an actual smile spreading over your lips then. “I threatened to bash his head in with the baby carrier. But he’s not worth wasting the money on.”

He grinned back at you, curling his fingers around yours. “That’s my girl.” 

“Let’s take a drive around the neighborhood. I want to talk.” You suggested, squeezing his hand tightly as his expression fell. “It’s good, I promise.” 

“Yeah?” He arched a skeptical brow. 

You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. “It’s a long overdue conversation, Javi.” You took a step closer to him, tilting your head as you looked up at him. “Terrible timing, I know.” The worry in Javier’s eyes made your heart ache. You curled your fingers around the back of his neck and leaned up to kiss him. “I promise you it’s good.” 

“You’ve been so distant…” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his expression faltering. “I don’t want to lose you, baby.” 

“You’re not.” You shook your head, brushing your nose against his before you pulled back. “Let’s drive, okay?” 

He nodded, pulling the keys out of his pocket as he walked towards the Jeep. You made your way around to the passenger side, sliding into your seat. Despite your reassurance that the conversation you wanted to have was a good one, you could tell that Javier wasn’t convinced. He wasn’t always as obvious as you were about where your head was, but you knew him well enough to read the worries etched into his face. 

“You are making me nervous.” You told him with a faint smile, reaching across to rest your hand on his leg as he drove. 

“Well you’ve got me fucking terrified.” Javier admitted. “I feel like I’ve been walking on eggshells for the past three months. You tell me you can’t keep doing this and then you just…”

“When did I say that?” Your brows furrowed together as you stared at him.

Javier took a hand off the steering wheel, pushing it through his hair. “The night we came home.”

Your mouth went dry. “I didn’t mean us. That is the last thing I will ever mean, Javier. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He questioned quietly. 

“I meant the guilt…” You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes and let out a frustrated sound. “You really thought I meant us, Javi?”

“Yeah.” 

You leaned your arm against the window, staring out it for a long, quiet, moment. “Is that why everything has been so weird between us?” You tilted your head to look at him as he nodded. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant… Holy shit.” 

“I thought it was just a matter of time.” Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “And you’ve been so up in your head. Hell, I think that Chris shit is the first time I’ve seen you really smile since she was born.”

You blinked back tears, wiping at them furiously as they slid down your cheeks. “It’s just all been too much, Javier. I barely know how I feel most days. But I do know that I love you and the girls. That’s not something I ever doubt.” 

Javier pulled the car over to the curb, putting it into park. “What is wrong?” He questioned, turning in his seat to face you. “You haven’t been yourself.”

“I wish I knew.” A bubble of laughter escaped you. “Honestly, I feel like I’m losing my mind most days.” You admitted. “I feel like everyone is judging me. Including Sofía.”

“No one is judging you, baby.” Javier promised you, reaching you to brush his knuckles against your cheek, wiping a tear away. 

“Connie thinks I should see a therapist.” You told him quietly. “She’s not wrong. I guess it’s not uncommon for women to face these issues after childbirth and… I did almost die.” 

Javier nodded slowly. “Yeah. You did.”

“I think we should both go.” You curled your fingers around his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing each knuckle. They were already bruising from punching Chris. “There’s so much we’ve been through that I don’t think either of us has considered unpacking.”

“It’s not a bad idea.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “It would be nice to get back to where we were… before.”

You nodded. “And I know I haven’t really brought it up, but I still want to go after the DEA.” He didn’t interrupt you. “I want to make a change.”

“Whatever you want.” Javier told you, leaning across the center console to press a kiss to your lips. 

“And whatever you want.”

“I just want you and the girls to be happy.” He admitted. “I just spent three months waiting for the other fucking shoe to fall.” Javier sighed heavily. “Jesus-fucking-Christ.”

“I’m so sorry.” You leaned your forehead against his, cupping his cheek. “I was so tired and your guilt was starting to eat at me.” You brushed your nose against his. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I want you to get better. That’ll be reward enough.”

“I want to get better too.” You agreed. “I want to… feel again. I feel so numb all the time and I hate it.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, tilting your head to kiss him again. “I’m sorry, Javi. I wish you had said something…” 

Javier shook his head. “Don’t apologize, baby. I’m just glad I was wrong. So fucking glad.” 

“Hey, Javi.”

“Hmm?” His brows furrowed. 

“You finally got to punch Chris in the face.” 

He laughed, “Of all the fucking people in the world for Steve to invite.” 

“Seriously.” You sat back with a grin. “You really broke his nose.” 

Javier flexed his hand, “Yeah, this is gonna hurt tomorrow.” 

“We’ll soak it in cold epsom water when we get home.” You stroked your thumb over his knuckles. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders to finally admit that something was wrong. “It might be pushing it, but…” You lifted your gaze to meet his. “It’s still really hot when you threaten people for me.” 

Javier snorted. “Really?”

“I’m not saying anything definitively, but I think the inspiration might remain until this evening.” You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip as you searched his face. “It might be nice to try…”

“I’ll follow your lead on that, baby.”

Maybe things would finally get back to normal. It was a start at least. A start to reclaiming the person you felt like you’d been losing. You missed the way things used to be before everything came crashing down around you. 

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

[lordeasriel]

I really care about your opinion, how do you feel about the bbc show and the way it's going?

I feel like before I give my take, I need to say that I understand the show is its own thing, and while I do wish they did a better job adapting certain things, I understand that sometimes there is a need for radical change or cut, especially when your budget is not super high (which HDM does have a lot of money into it, still is not a super big budget production, so they have to worry about these things). And I do enjoy many things about the show, but my overall vibe is mixed, to be honest. I’m stating this now because people often question whether I like the show or not, becaus I do criticise it a lot, and I simply have a critic view of the things I like, which is why I discuss them a lot and it can be overwhelming.

My main issues with the show are these 3 things: (which I’ll put under the cut because this got a bit longer than I wanted to lmao sorry)

Lack of worldbuilding and loose lore: I’ve been talking about this since day one, and this mostly applies to season 1 because I can’t judge season 2 yet because it’s not fully aired yet, but the show suffers from lack of worldbuilding, especially in Lyra’s world, which is the world that sets everything in motion. I still dislike the fact they introduced Will mid-NL, I don’t think he needed all those episodes to establish something that easily could’ve been done in S2 and because they gave TSK a lot of time, other parts of Lyra’s world suffered considerably, mainly the witches and the Magisterium.

The show doesn’t really expand on those two groups, especially, and I think that’s not good, especially the Magisterium (which they have over simplified by making it one big baddie, or so it seems at least, not to mention that implying a single leader for them practically ruins Marcel Delamare’s arc in TBOD and I’m very mad about that lmao). A lot of the Magisterium plot has that infighting aspect, which creates tension on their side as well as against their enemies, but the show doesn’t really explore that or the nuances of the Church, and they also don’t explore how varied the witches are, and I feel like this is a serious mistake. (The portrayal of the witches is by far my least favourite thing in the show, if I’m being honest).

Dull parallel world (and lack of daemons): this ties a bit with the worldbuilding aspect, but this is mainly about design choices. I think the show doesn’t make Lyra’s world as unique as it should be. On its own the world looks pretty and the outfits of most of the cast are great, but when you realise that Will’s world is intertwined with that, you don’t really feel like these two worlds are vastly different.

There is an odd situation in which Marisa’s fashion feels 30s/40s, but most of the men from her social circle (not fair to compare with the gyptians) just wear plain suits and they look much more modern. And while I get that they went for a timeless vibes, with different eras and styles, Lyra’s world feels like a caricature and it doesn’t feel believable. The colour palette is mostly the same for both worlds (even in s2, it’s hard to tell much of the difference because either the scenes are indoors or at night.) This, paired with the lack of daemons (which has been discussed many times in the fandom) kinda bums me out.

Marisa’s oversimplification: I’m mentioning Marisa, specifically, because she is the one that suffers the most due to this writing issues, but other characters like Lord Asriel, MacPhail, the general collective of the Witches, they all suffer from the writing trying to take away the nuances of them and make them flatter than in the book. Marisa is the worst because without her complexity and her flaws, she simply gets dull and boring and flavourless, and it’s kinda what has been happening in the show in my opinion. All she does is weep and she has no strength that doesn’t rely on a random fit of rage that dies out and she gets upset. There’s some great moments, like when she mimics the Monkey, but most of the time she’s just a shadow of who she is supposed to be.

The show tries really hard to make her a Scorned Mother - right from the get go, they try to makes us see how she wants Lyra, how she struggles with her “bad nature” and how that affects their relationship. There is this lingering implication that Lyra was taken from her against her wishes; they make it seem like being a mother to Lyra is her driving force, the only reason why she seeks power and influence. And that is the opposite of Book! Marisa, who is a force of nature, ruthless and ambitious, with not an ounce of maternal instinct.

She does eventually decide to help Lyra, instead of harming her, but even that action comes from a narcisistic place: Lyra is to her a possession, something that belongs to her, and that she wants to preserve. The show just handles her badly, falling into overused, boring tropes that struck far from the book version.

These are usually my main complaints about the show, and they upset me every episode to the point I’m practically ignoring them now lmao The show does a lot of good things too, making Will less of a prick, restoring Lyra’s personality from the first book into S2 Lyra (so far, please keep it that way), Mary is looking great too. They have mostly a great cast, and they did improve the daemons this season (except uh, there are far less daemons to show because of the other worlds - and the Ruta Skadi daemon change pisses me off tbh).

They do have a lot of interest in the show, but the writing (the main issue to me) feels clunky and childish, with the show toning down most of the themes that make His Dark Materials so special, especially to me (which frankly I expected them to do, but it still stings a bit). They make the Magisterium a single bad entity that feels more Authoritarian-Fascist, than a theocracy (even if they sneak in the religious symbols and rituals and garments, it’s just not a good portrayal, it’s very tame and shy); and they try to justify Marisa’s actions (especially in current interviews, there’s lots of talk about how her background will play in the show to “explain why she is the way she is”). The fact the Magisterium is portrayed as pure evil makes it looks less familiar than it should be, and therefore they don’t look scary, they seem like a caricature, a joke.

A lot of the essence of the characters get lost, and the core message of the story too, like when Iorek and the Gyptians tell Lyra she can be one of them, to support her lack of “proper family”, when that is the opposite of the books message. It doesn’t make sense for them to change that, other than maybe Jack Thorne wanted to because it makes the story feels less hopeless, but it’s why he fails to adapt these character - he doesn’t capture the essence, he tries to write these character with gaps in them.

However, the thing that annoys me the most is how they portray Asriel. It’s just... it’s bad. Really bad, which is a shame cause James is talented as fuck, but he had little time to film for season 1, and then they portrayed him very poorly. That scene when he addresses Roger in episode 7 is ridiculous, Asriel would never behave that way; there was relief in him finding Roger was there too, yes, but not to that extent and not in such a cringe way. Asriel is not deranged or irrational, he is a man on a mission, and Roger was a tool (there is no pleasure in Asriel taking his life and no excuses - it needed to be done and he did it); they just needed him to sound creepy in the show for whatever reason.

I hated how they handled the bridge scene for Asriel, Lyra and Marisa, but that’s long and complicated for me to explain here. In S2, there has been some mentions of him so far, including the implication he might have ruined Cittàgazze himself and I frankly don’t understand where did they get that idea. But the cherry on the top was Thorold telling Marisa that Asriel was gonna kill Lyra and that’s just-- that’s so dumb. That’s genuinely dumb writing, because Thorold knows Lyra followed Asriel to the mountain, and while I do believe Asriel would have killed Lyra if Roger wasn’t there, there is no way Thorold should know or consider that Asriel was gonna hurt Lyra, because Roger was there. In fact, Thorold’s interactions with Asriel in episode 8 already disprove this, so either Thorold was lying in S2 for the sake of, I don’t know, chaos or whatever, or the person who wrote this was a five-star, solid gold, fucking moron.

I’m not gonna mention the lost episode because that was no one’s fault, but the fact that they discarded an episode that all information we have on imply that it was important to set up the backstory of the angels and the city, it’s... concerning. It means they wrote something parallel that should’ve been woven into the season.

The truth is, I still watch the show on Sundays, and I still like some stuff they do (especially Mary’s stuff, so far), and despite me slandering the show per your request anon lol (cause unfortunately my honest opinion is mixed, I just don’t try to overfocus on the negative on Tumblr, I mostly talk about it on discord or private), I do think anyone who has read the books should watch the show.

For me, personally, everything I love about HDM is barely on the show - complex characters, the philosophy, the oppression by religion, the interesting world - and the vibe I get is that they’re adapting a coming-of-age love story, which is the last and - being fully honest - the least important message these books give us, but unfortunately they were set to making a family show from the start, and my expectations were high and unmatched, and a family is what we’re getting: toned down, cute, pretty visuals and soulless (heh, pun intended), philosophically speaking. I expect a certain pattern going into S3, but I always like to hold out hope that they will hire better writers (apparently Jack Thorne already wrote 4 scripts, so there you go lmao), and try to give HDM the adaptation it deserves. The truth is, if you’re a picky, canon reliant person like I am, the show might be a struggle, but if you just like the story for the teen romance, or if you don’t care about overthinking a show/book, then most people can have a good time with it.

#asks #effie watches hdm #sorry it took me a while and sorry for the gigantic critique #but i wanted to be honest about my take on the show so far #Anonymous

[nighting-gale17]

3x04 thoughts

so it took me a very long time to organize my thoughts from monday’s episode. I was upset and very busy with real life and didn’t have time to get distracted, but last night i finally got my shit together and wrote this in the discord, but i felt the need to share it. I’ll probabaly have more thoughts later this week, especially after mondays episode. (ps if youve sent me an ask, im definitely working on it!!!!! i seem to be unable to make short fics so dont worry its being written)

I'm really upset with how many people are blaming buck for this. and all the fics I read are Eddie and Bobby guilt-tripping him, and admitting that bobby was right all along, and I'm really frustrated that everyone seems to be missing the god damn point of this entire thing

buck is at his breaking point 

he has said over and over through THREE SEASONS how being a firefighter is his life and he wants to help people and this entire time, through months of recovery and fighting to get back, he thought his family was right there with him. he believed his family knew he was ready to come back. he's passed every exam, every qualification, being on blood thinners is not a fucking logical reason to keep him on light duty, that would never happen in real life and they just say that for the added drama of the show.

and he finds out bobby is the reason he cant have his job back

he finds out, this whole time, he thought bobby was fighting for him against the chief and the city for him to get his job back. bc bobby has been at his side through all these months, and it's obvious how much buck appreciates that

and like buck said, it feels like he stabbed him in the back

so yeah, at this point, buck is desperate to do anything to get his job back because bobby isn't being fair or realistic. and maybe he's acting irrationally, but can you blame him? he's already said it, he feels like he is *alone* and if bobby isn't on his side, the man he looked up to as a father, then how could he expect anyone else to be on his side?

and it makes me so angry that no one is talking about the mistakes bobby is making as well. he's too concerned about buck, which I appreciate, but he's projecting himself and his own experiences on buck and he's not able to separate the two. he's not realizing that buck isn't him, buck isn't making the same mistakes he did, partially due to bobbys due diligence during his recovery. but now, buck is fine and bobby refuses to see it. for whatever reason, be it his own trauma from his own mistakes, his concern has made him blind to the point he cant even see that what he is doing is hurting buck more than helping him

and thats another thing! i know hes coming from a good place, but he cant seem to see all of this holding buck back until hes “ready” (which is another rant altogether) is doing more harm than good for both bucks physical and mental health. and he doesn't realize that keeping him from his job is keeping him from his family. like bobby said earlier in the season, buck has them. he might not have his job, or family outside of it, but he doesn't need it because he has the 118.

im just so angry that no one seems to acknowledge that yeah, buck is hurting and being irrational bc hes upset and lost and feeling alone against the world, but bobby is also being irrational and making mistakes as well and being blinded by his own trauma and experiences and mistakes

they're both being ridiculous, but im just so angry everyone seems to be placing all the blame and guilt on buck and no one is acknowledging the hand bobby has had in all of this as well.

#911 #911 fox #cait chats #evan buckley #bobby nash #3x04

[whiskynottea]

An Interruption in the 1st Law of Thermodynamics.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27,  Chapter 28, Chapter 29, Chapter 30, Chapter 31, Chapter 32, Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35,  Chapter 36, Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39, Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43, Chapter 44,  Chapter 45, Chapter 46, Chapter 47, Chapter 48, Chapter 49, Chapter 50, Chapter 51 Chapter 52, Chapter 53, Chapter 54, Chapter 55, Chapter 56

AO3

Thank you @theministerskat​ for your beta! ❤️

                                   – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – 

Chapter 57. Juggling and Swimming

Jugglers. 

People skilled enough to throw three, four, five balls into the air, and with swift and precise maneuvers of their hands, keep them flying over their head. Easily. While smiling.

I remember watching them as a child, open-mouthed, mesmerized. I always kept my eyes on the fast-moving balls, as if studying their hands would steal the magic away. As a consequence, I never tried juggling myself. I was sure that I would drop the little balls -- or lemons, I had seen a guy juggling at the side of the road using the yellowest lemons once -- even before throwing them up in the first place.

Maybe if I had tried to juggle before, my life at university would be easier. Because it felt like juggling. I often found myself lying on my bed after midnight with my eyes closed, not because I sought sleep, but because I was trying to imagine how I would manage to keep all the tasks I had undertaken -- my very own lemons -- successfully flying around me and not send them crashing to the ground.

If I finish this essay on Tuesday night, and then start with the presentation for Dr. Raymond after Wednesday’s practical…

No. 

If I first work on the presentation, on Monday…

Shit. We have the ‘Dissection Drinks’ on Monday night. I can’t miss it again.

No matter how I tried to schedule my tasks, my lemons were one too many.

Jenny had called me twice that week, and both times I had texted back, explaining that I was in the middle of a lecture and I would call her later. Texts had never been Jenny’s preferred means of communication. Which was more than odd, since she had to be the only Gen Z-er who hated texts. With practicals after my lecture and heading to the library to prepare for the tutorials after that, later had become tomorrow, and tomorrow became the day after. 

Don’t forget to call Jenny, I would think to myself at the most irrelevant and inconvenient times. Tomorrow morning. I will call her tomorrow. Before she comes down to Oxford herself and I have to justify the radio silence to Jenny face-to-face.

With Joe things were different. He demanded pictures from my college, my dorm, and my textbooks, so we could compare our respective medical schools and start bickering about whose university was better. It was utterly ridiculous and we both knew it -- since mine was the Oxford University and there was no real competition, to begin with. Not that Joe would ever agree with that notion. We usually texted when I was in the library and ended up writing in caps, our conversation nothing more than ludicrous arguments. I had choked more than once in my desperate attempt to swallow my laughter, but it was more difficult to pretend that I wasn’t aware of the irritated glances shot at me from my fellow students who were trying to study in silence. To Gail’s utter despair, Joe kept arguing with me even when they were together, and on top of that, he tried to pull her into the debate. When Gail grabbed his phone and started talking New York bagels and pancakes, I knew the conversation was over.

Apart from feeling totally overwhelmed by the workload, life at Oxford was good. More than good. Mary and I got along fine, and when we weren’t deep in the library researching for the essays we had to prepare for Dr. Hildegard’s or Dr. Raymond’s tutorials, we had late nights together with Malva and Davie, drinking beers and discussing professors and medics from other colleges. Davie had proposed we call ourselves the very humble ‘Lifesavers’, while I was inclined more towards Malva’s ‘Where’s the Finish’. We settled for ‘Four Angry Pencils’ and we were very proud of our little team.

Texting with Jamie was a constant. He was becoming more and more stressed as his meet in New Jersey approached, and I pulled out all my feel good moves to calm him down. Silly, sweet gifs in the middle of the day, ridiculous voice messages, goofy selfies... We stopped calling in the morning because he was literally running to the pool the moment he woke, and we kept our conversations short at night because he was usually exhausted and needed sleep. No matter how much I smiled or played the fool, he was getting more distant as the days passed by.

“Ye don’t understand, Claire,” he would say, again and again, even though I insisted that I did understand. “It’s very important to do well in this meet.”

I would spend the rest of the call reassuring him that I knew how much the meet meant to him and that he would do great, until at last, he would mumble that I was right and he shouldn’t be so nervous, but that he couldn’t help it. By the time we would say goodnight, he would become my sweat Scot again, sure of himself and his abilities. Until the next morning. 

The Wolverines departed for New Jersey on a rainy Tuesday -- or at least it was drizzling in Oxford. When he was with his teammates, Jamie fell back into being much closer to his old self. He was sending pictures of himself and John making silly faces or smiling like loons, and when he called, his voice sounded aloof, unconcerned. I wasn’t sure whether he strived to maintain a cool facade in front of the others or if he really relaxed around them. I could see that the strain back on his face, however, a frown establishing itself between his eyebrows, the moment he was alone.

“No matter what happens tomorrow, know that we are very proud of you and that won’t change,” I told him the night before the competition and saw him heaving a deep sigh, his chest deflating. 

“What if I fail, Claire? What if I’m not as good as they thought I would be? I can’t continue here without the scholarship and I don’t want to go back to Scotland like that.”

I looked him in the eye and put on my most serious face. “Jamie,” I intoned, trying to keep my voice harsh on purpose. “Stop doing that. It’s not fair! You’re doing a disservice to yourself, can’t you see that?”

“What if --”

“There are no what-ifs. I’ll have none of that,” I announced as if I was his mother and he was asking for another scoop of ice-cream. “You will go out there, and you will swim. Remember what I had written on your birthday cake last year?” 

I could still see the dark blue buttercream letters if I closed my eyes. Not my most beautiful work, but it had served its purpose.

“Just keep swimming,” Jamie replied, and I could swear I saw a smile crack on his lips.

“Just keep swimming, Jamie. I’ve seen you swim, I’ve been there. You swim because you love to. And you’re good at it because when you’re in the pool, you feel free. Don’t be afraid, you stupid Scot! Live it! Go out there and enjoy yourself!”

He rubbed his face with his palms, then ran a hand through his hair. “Ye’re right, I guess.”

“I am. I always am,” I amended. “You should know it by now.”

Jamie snorted, but didn’t disagree. He was smiling now. A wide, toothy smile. “I will think of you the entire time,” I said, softly. “You won’t be alone, I promise.”

Jamie nodded but didn’t speak. 

“I won’t be in the bleachers but I will be thinking of you,” I said again and felt the guilt painfully squeezing my heart. Jamie needed me and I had chosen to stay in Oxford. Not that it had been the wrong decision. It just hadn’t been the right one, either.

“I ken, babe. ‘Tis irrational, this worry.” The camera lost focus as Jamie moved to lie in bed. When his beautiful blue eyes were back on mine, I gave him my biggest smile.

“It is. Don’t let it eat at you. But first, you need to get some rest, and I need to go to bed because we have Hildegard’s tutorial tomorrow and it’s a pain in the arse.”

We ended the call and I returned to my room, my heavy steps the only sound in the corridors. Speaking with Jamie before he went to bed had made me Oxford’s resident nocturnal animal. I fell asleep the moment my head sank oin to the pillow and dreamed of swimming pools, wet auburn curls, and finishing times.

Jamie was more cheerful the following day, but I could tell he still wasn’t completely himself. I went on with my pep talk as I had prepared it, trying to boost his confidence in a break between two practicals, and promised again that I would be thinking of him. Before hanging up I risked sending him a ridiculously loud kiss while wishing no one was around to hear it. I returned to the class keeping my head low, in case anyone would identify me as the silly girl kissing a screen. 

I hadn’t wished Jamie good luck, because I planned on calling him again right before his race. It was our little tradition since we had been in Scotland. He would say “I will imagine that I’m swimming towards you, Sassenach,” and I would reply, “Come find me, then, ridiculous Scot.”

It was cheesier than I could usually handle, but Jamie insisted that he loved the way I blushed every time before I said my part. And that was the reason he demanded we hold onto our own version of ‘good luck’.

I spent a good part of the practical checking the time, counting down the hours to Jamie’s race. It was two hours later when Mary stood in front of me, asking if I was ready for Hildegard’s tutorial. I was ready to nod when I checked my bag and realized I had forgotten the USB drive with our presentations back in the dorm. And like that, we found ourselves running in the rain, boots splashing through puddles and breaths hitching in our throats, frantic to get the flash drive and be back before the tutorial started. 

We made it. We entered the class with our cheeks red, our hair matted on our faces and coats soaked in water, but we made it on time. Dr. Hildegard crooked an eyebrow but gestured towards two empty seats without any verbal comment, and I felt immensely grateful towards the taciturn professor. 

The tutorial was amazing. Dr. Hildegard was so serious and collected, that she kept making jokes we only got when it was too late. She managed to stop Mary’s stuttering while she was a few slides in her presentation by subtly praising her work, and after mentioning a few points I should have addressed differently in mine, she concluded that it was one of the best presentations she had seen from a fresher. I beamed and nodded repeatedly my thanks before I found my voice to properly thank her.

When we left the tutorial, I realized that I had missed the time window for Jamie’s ‘good luck call’. 

I had six unanswered calls and two texts on my phone.

Scot: We left the room and we’re heading to the pool.

Scot: Oh god, there are so many people here. I think the backstroke race is in fifteen minutes or so.

Scot: Sassenach?

Scot: A few minutes left, babe.

Scot: Where are you?

Scot: Claire? Where are you?

Scot: I’m going.

I wanted the earth to open beneath my feet and swallow me up. I had promised I would think of him during his race and instead I had been thinking of… physiology.

Not listening to what Mary was saying about our next tutorial, I called Jamie. It was an hour since I had received his last text and the race must be over now. He didn’t answer.

I called again. And again. 

Feeling the tears rolling down my cheeks, I texted him. 

Sassenach: How did it go?

It wasn’t enough. 

Sassenach: I’m sorry I didn’t call.

Sassenach: I’m so, so, so sorry Jamie. 

Sassenach: I was in Hildegard’s tutorial, and got carried away. 

I waited for a minute after that, then called him again. Nothing. The initial plan was to leave the class at some point to call Jamie, but with presenting my work and then listening to the others... I had forgotten. 

Sassenach: Jamie, please pick up your phone.

It wasn’t that terrible, was it? I didn’t say good luck before a race. A single race. I had talked to him that morning and every day before that. He knew that I would think of him… 

I paused on this thought. I had said that I would think of him, but I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking of him at the time of the race. I had promised.

Pulling my hood over my head I walked back to the dorm, my eyes fixed on my phone. 

Sassenach: I’m sorry. 

Jamie needed me and I had disappointed him. And even though calling him for one last time didn’t seem that important to me, it obviously was important for him. I had messed up. Royally. 

I entered my room and changed out of my clothes, but didn’t dare take a shower. He might reply at any moment. Maybe he hadn’t seen his phone yet. Maybe he was with the rest of the team, celebrating his victory. It wasn’t the end of the world.

As if there was a chance Jamie wouldn’t reply to my texts, no matter where he was.

It was irrational. He was irrational. I repeated that thought to myself, trying to smother the burning feeling that kept eating at my heart. 

Jamie needed me and I hadn’t been there.  

I wore an old t-shirt I had stolen from him when I visited Michigan and buried myself under the blankets. I unlocked my phone and kept looking at my screensaver. He was hugging me tight and we were both smiling at the camera. 

It was just a call, it couldn’t be that bad. I had always been there. People make mistakes.

I looked at Jamie’s eyes in the picture, so slanted from his smile that I could barely see the blue in them. I called him again. 

One more time. 

And again.

Two hours had passed. I saw the lemons I had flying over my head, falling, crashing down.

I set my jaw, tried not to cry, and sent yet another text. 

Sassenach: Call me. Please?

Chapter 58

#thermodynamics #the first law of thermodynamics #jamie x claire #high school AU #college AU #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction

[mythvoiced]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻 repost, don’t reblog !

𝐛𝐚��𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

FULL NAME. Nicolas Bisset; other names he’s been known to wear: Johannes Bücheler, Francis Bardot, Michele Ponzi, Declan S. Foster, Yannick Gerber, Sebastian Carmichael, so on and so forth NICKNAME. Nico is the one he’d offer; he feels neutral towards nicknames, so anything is fair game GENDER. Cis male (presumed) HEIGHT.  6′0″ // 183cm AGE. Unknown, early 30s ZODIAC. Unknown SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, German, Italian, French, Spanish, advanced Portuguese, very basic ASL, a vide variety of dialects

𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

HAIR COLOR. Dark brown, seems to be his natural colour EYE COLOR. Dark brown SKIN TONE. Fair, tans easily BODY TYPE.  Tall, broad-shouldered, fit; its often described differently depending on his posture or general appearance VOICE. Unknown accent; low and often resonating within his chest DOMINANT HAND. Right POSTURE. Varies depending on the character he’s playing; usually straight back and feet firmly planted on the ground, really carries his weight on one leg only SCARS. One on his abdomen, origins unknown TATTOOS. None BIRTHMARKS. None MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). His dark eyes have a very intrusive nature about themselves

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Unknown, speculated to be either located somewhere in France or in Canada HOMETOWN. Unknown, as above SIBLINGS. Unknown PARENTS. Unknown (romanticised theories declare them as deceased to justify his lifestyle)

𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 !

OCCUPATION. Thief & con-man CURRENT RESIDENCE. Has multiple residences he visits and stays in regularly across the globe, most frequently resides in Venice, Italy or Chicago, IL, USA CLOSE FRIENDS. Unknown RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Presumed to be single FINANCIAL STATUS.  Filthy stinking rich, it’s disgusting DRIVER’S LICENSE. Yes CRIMINAL RECORD. Unknown, though it’s presumed (or hoped, to those trying to figure out his identity) that he must have been convicted for some minor crimes in his youth, to lead up to his current career VICES. Ego-centric and prone to narcissistic attacks, only acts in his own self-interest of course and is not above taking advantage of others to do so, dishonest in every sense of the word, favouritism and unpredictability

𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Unknown, presumed pansexual (due to accounts of unknown credibility stating he’s been seen/known to ‘dance’ with any gender, although whether that generates from genuine attraction or ‘means to an end’ is unknown) PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch  PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch LIBIDO. Unknown TURN ON’S.  Wit, fighting for something or simply trying before declaring failure (whether it still results in failure or not is irrelevant, as long as you try), quick thinking and improvisation skills, someone who can keep up with him basically, blue eyes (lmao, so mundane) TURN OFF’S. Irrational and impulsive behaviour, loudness and a tendency to take things too personally, a stubbornly naive outlook on the world, self-delusion, clumsiness RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Not having them lmao

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. TBD HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Drinking wine, admiring art, sight-seeing, travelling especially in areas not visited by many people (loves jungles lmao),  LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Both PHOBIAS. Homeboy hates snakes SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Rather so, but he finds no interest in undermining others to re-affirm this; he’s a good loser (enjoys losing, every once in a while actually, keeps him motivated, he loves a challenge) and he respects those who are clearly superior to him; he’s very confident VULNERABILITIES.  Unknown (probably something as ridiculous as a peanut allergy lmao)

TAGGED BY: no one i just wanted to fill it out for this bastard tagging:  @naturalheal​ @emberlied​ @naivelost​ @delicatewiz​ @fahuo​ @enchcntd​ @refcrmist​ @mxgxnghwa​ @busanbunnie​ @liibertcs​

#the thief;about #bastard man bastard #;ooc

[lady-therion]

Close Quarters: Part 3 [Nessian]

Summary:  Two people, one cabin, plus a whole lot of love-hate tension.

Modern AU. 

A/N: In close quarters, every moment is a universe. 

***

   If Cassian thought he was fucked before, that was nothing compared to now.

   Now he was fucked with a capital “F.” The kind that was written with blood-red sharpie and underlined three times in that alarming “See me after class!” kind of way. Because in addition to discovering that Nesta actually felt things—possibly more so than anyone he had ever met—he also discovered something else.

    One, she liked romance novels.

   Two, she wore glasses.

   Glasses.

   There were only so many revelations a man could take in a single day.

   “You’re staring again,” she said, from her spot on the sofa.

   “Hn?”

   It was the most intelligent thing he could say once she turned that withering gaze on him, her eyes like blue agates intensified by the spell of those square black frames. An embarrassingly hot burn ran down the back of his neck as he sat across from her, trying to string together words.

   She gestured at the corner of her mouth. “You have a little…”

   He mirrored her, fingers grazing his lips. “What…?”

   “Drool,” she deadpanned.

   His cheeks flamed, close to scalding. The instinct to bat her wry accusation away with some crude remark was tantalizing. That had been the electric thrill of their dynamic, after all. But he sensed that if he fell back into old habits, Nesta would too.

   Because whether she realized it or not, she had been looking to him all night for cues.

   Math and music make no personal demands, she had said, after revealing that she didn’t find him as repulsive as he initially thought. It was a truth that added to the complex algorithm that made up Nesta Archeron. Just when he thought he was closer to solving her, the more compounded she became.

   At the military academy, he learned the concept of equivalency: the strategy of giving up an advantage in order to gain something of equal value.

   Against all his expectations, Nesta had given him a truth. Probably at great personal cost. So it was only fair for him to start doing the same.

   “Again,” she said. “The drooling. Should I get you a cup?”

   He grinned. “Sorry, can’t help it. I’m just really digging your glasses.”  

   “Liar,” she said. “Nobody likes glasses.”

   He spread his arms across the back of the couch, keeping a respectable distance. They were actually having a conversation! A civil one!

   “First: Friendship 101,” he reminded her. “Friends don’t lie. And second: People do like glasses. None of that bullshit like in the movies where the guy takes off a girl’s specs and suddenly everyone realizes just how gorgeous she is. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a prick.”

   She said nothing for a moment, that preternatural stare working overtime as he watched her process and dissect his words a million different ways.

   “My ex didn’t like my glasses,” she said, finally. “He said they made me look owlish. But I can’t help it. I get it migraines.”

   His blood simmered as an irrational urge to punch something coursed through him. He congratulated himself on keeping his voice flat as he said, “You don’t look owlish. I hoped you dumped his ass.”

   She smirked. “He dumped me, actually.”

   He incredulity knew no depths. “What? Why?”

   She shrugged, her expression shuttering. “I would think...the reason is obvious.”

   The pang in his chest felt as sharp as an arrowhead.

  No, he wanted to say, it wasn’t obvious.

  “Nesta—”

   “It’s nothing,” she said, brusque and dismissive. “Let’s talk about something else.”

   Cassian didn’t want to drop it, but he filed it away as another thorny variable of the Nesta Archeron algorithm. He always had this image of men—or women, for that matter—throwing themselves at her feet. Sure, she could be intimidating as hell. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worthy of someone’s affection.

   Or acceptance.

   More than anything, he wished could just say this to her. But equivalency demanded that Cassian take no more than he was given and he made too much progress to upset that balance now. So he cast around for something else to talk about when he finally settled on the books she had spilled across his coffee table.

   She had done it by accident, having upended her bag in a semi-frustrated search for those (not at all mesmerizing) glasses. Now its surface was hidden beneath heavy tomes on quantum physics, differential equations, and mass market paperbacks featuring shirtless men on the cover. He leaned down to pick through them; historical bodice rippers with names like The Earl with the Dragon Tattoo and One for the Rogue.

   “Seriously?”

   Nesta snatched them from out of his hand. “Seriously.”

   He cleared his throat. “So, your taste in reading...”

   “Tease me all you like,” she said, her tone and posture frosting over. “I won’t apologize for enjoying stories where the woman has all the power for once. I won’t apologize for enjoying relationships that survived the odds, however ridiculous or exaggerated. And I won’t apologize for liking sex.”

    He held up his hands in placation. “You definitely don’t have to apologize for that last one.” Then immediately winced at how flippant that sounded. “Wait. That came out wrong. Let me...”  

   “How do you do that?” asked Nesta. “How do you always throw me off-kilter?”

   “I throw you off-kilter?”

   “Yes,” she said, grimacing. “I’ve told you more things in the past few hours that even my own sisters don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. The answers elude me and it’s just so frustrating.”  

   There were several things Cassian could have said. All of them were wholly inadequate. So he stewed in the ensuing silence, that weird fog of tension, until Nesta rose and asked him where the bathroom was.

   “Upstairs to the right,” he said, and watched as she left him without a backwards glance.

***

   Nesta wished she had another set of clothes.

   At the moment, all she had was a blue wool sweater that was so shapeless, it slid off her shoulder like a burlap sack. Her black jeans had faded to a dull gray, making the rips and stains more apparent. In short, she looked like an underfed undergraduate. In reality, she was an underpaid doctoral candidate. Any money she received from her stipend went to her two worst vices: her caffeine habit and her shoe collection.

   Normally, she wouldn’t care how she looked. But Cassian…

   It wasn’t that she wanted to look attractive for him. That was preposterous. She just didn’t want to look like a bespectacled stray that stumbled upon his doorstep either (even if that was exactly what she was). Pride was a hard thing for her to aside. The fact that Cassian could shred through it like paper—and that she allowed him to—was terrifying beyond measure.

   And yet she couldn’t forget the way his breath had branded her skin…

   They hadn’t talked about that. How he whispered into her ear about how surprising he found her. He hadn’t said it in a snide way either, as if she were something to be owned and objectified. It was a far cry from how Tomas treated her, the memories of which she had firmly shut in a coffin until a single interaction with Cassian had coaxed it out. 

   No, really. How did he do that?

   Sighing, she took a moment to glance at her surroundings. Cassian had lent her the guest bedroom on the second floor, which also came with its own bathroom. Like the rest of the cabin, the space it was rustic and charming. It irked her. Everything from the cherry wood panels to the marble white countertops to the built-in skylights made her feel...out of place.

   Towels, she thought.

   Answers wouldn’t come to her if she was overwrought and overtired. Self-care and a hot shower would have to the best interim solution.

   But in order to do that, she needed towels.

   A cursory look downstairs told her that Cassian was no longer on the first floor. Most likely, he had gone to bed. Which was just as well. She didn’t know if she could face him when she was feeling so...exposed. Still, she couldn’t ignore the slight tinge of disappointment. Had she really grown so used to him being there, baiting her or otherwise?

   In any case, her shower would have to wait.

   And of course, Cassian appeared out of nowhere just as she shut him out of her thoughts.

   And of course, he happened to be fresh from his own hot shower; rivulets of water running down the ridges, divots, and cuts of those hard-earned muscles. Muscles that stood stark even under the whorls of tattoos that seemed like an elegant extension of his dark, tanned skin.

   And of course, she also happened to forget her own powers of speech as she surveyed the towering mass of his barely clothed presence, trying in vain to keep her photographic memory from engraving him in her mind.

   “Oh,” she said.

   Cassian blinked, finally noticing her there at the end of the hall.

   “Oh.”

 ***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

#nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #close quarters

[softbookboi]

Lovesick Schoolgirl (a snowbaz fanfic) Chapter 1

Summary: Baz is sitting in class and starts doodling all kinds of Snowbaz stuff in his notebook. When he’s snapped out of his musings and realises he’s doing it, he starts blushing. And then - curse his luck - the teacher calls on him to answer a question. He just starts blubbering and stammering and since Simon is there, its even worse. After class, he’s visited by Simon before he can sneak off to their room to take a nap and Simon insists of Baz telling what he was writing in his notebook because he thinks that Baz is plotting something. Baz refuses but Simon grabs it and before he’s able to open it, Baz lights it up on fire and then watches it burn to ashes. After Baz leaves, Simon becomes hell-bent on figuring out what was in that notebook.

Baz

I think I'm dying.

This lesson is so boring that I feel like watching Snow try to cast a simple spell without messing it up would be more interesting. (Of course, that definitely would be more interesting. Snow looks adorable when he’s trying hard to concentrate. He bites his lip, then sticks his tongue out, which looks so perky and dainty and cute, like a small child. I would be delighted to watch him try to cast a spell. Any spell.) (Merlin, could I get any more pathetic?)

I'm currently sitting in Miss Possibelf’s class, trying not to dose off. I normally quite like her class, she’s a good teacher and I get to see Simon try to cast spells, but today, the lesson (that I’ve already learned before), her ridiculous way of teaching it (she’s literally doing it so wrong that it’s going to take our class a week to master this spell) and the fact that I didn’t get enough sleep last night because I was down in the Catacombs draining rats for a long time (I hadn’t drunk in so long, I felt as if I were about to pass out) all combined together are making me hate this lesson.

I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open but I can feel the occasional magic drifting off of Snow which means that he keeps giving me surreptitious-but-not-so-much glances which are basically a siren to pry my eyes open for the rest of the class. I have a free period after this, I could go to my room and nap. But right now, I need to concentrate on staying awake and alert because the slightest little slip-up could send Snow on one of his absurd plans on making me reveal what I'm ‘plotting’ to him. Oh, that poor, beautiful boy.

I'm sure he was awake when I came back last night. I could recognize the pattern of his breathing as the one when he’s awake. He didn't say anything but I know the gears in his head were turning and he must've figured that I would be out drinking.

I can't really seem to believe that properly though. Whenever Snow deduces something related to me or my vampirism, I can't really seem to believe it. He infers that but still can't seem to infer the biggest thing that'll make killing me much easier.

I sometimes think about it. Him finding out about my feelings for him. The thoughts terrify me but he also might find them useful to him. He would know how pathetic I was and use that as a way to weaken me when we're at war with each other. (Of course, he's going to win either way. He’s the hero. I love him. I'd die willingly for him.) (But he doesn't need to know that.)

But I still do like to think about him. It's impossible not to. He's always there. In front of me, beside me, behind me, alive and breathing and carrying on. It's impossible not to act like a lovesick little 3rd Year girl and think about his brown locks or his blue eyes or his cute, scrunched nose when he's trying to open up a box or something. How can I not? These are feelings and I can't push them down no matter how much I want. (I want to. I want to so bad.)

I hate imagining him coming near me with a soft look. Pulling me into a hug. Snogging me until I've forgotten how to function. Holding my hand. Loving me back.

I hate imagining this. So much. It just reminds me of the fact that Snow hates me. He will never love me. He’s not even going to be my friend, I ruined any chance of that when I started being a git to him in 1st Year. I was 11 years old! What was I supposed to know about feelings and that mushy gushy stuff? All I knew was that there was a beautiful boy with bronze locks and blue eyes holding out a hand to me, offering peace and unity between us...and a chance to be his friend. But the butterflies in my stomach and the remembrance of that I was supposed to be this boy’s enemy caused me to make irrational decisions.

Perhaps if I had become his friend I would've known all his abysmal qualities (not that he’d have any) and not liked him because of them. Of course, that would mean that I was a horrible person but still. (I am a horrible person, though. A monster. A vampire.)

The amount of time I spend thinking about what my life could've been like if I were his friend is just ridiculous at his point. It's not like there would be a big change. I would still have to fight him. But at least we would be a bit nice to each other, or at least not fight all the time. That would've been big for me, though. Anything with Snow is big for me.

I wish I had taken his hand. Merlin, I wish I had so fucking much.

All this thinking about Snow just darkens my good even more and I feel him staring at me right now, so I look over and give him my best glare. (Only the best for Snow.)

He gives one back and I imagine him smiling at me instead. Smiling at me with admiration in his eyes. Admiration. Love. I'm feeling lightheaded now and just want to go to my comfortable bed in my room and take a long and comfortable nap.

This is another side-effect of thinking about Snow like this. As cheesy as it sounds, it makes me physically ache because I know it won't ever be true. Ugh, I'm becoming a sap because of him. And I can't think properly.

Snow’s done this to me. Why do I love someone who’s made my all my self-preservation and control go to hell? Aleister Crowley, couldn't I have found some other boy - or girl - to love? Life would be so much easier. Everything would be so much easier. But, of course. Life is never fair.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling too horrible and pitying myself, I think about us. Me and Snow. Us. Dating. Getting married. Adopting children. That makes me feel better, of course, but then I'm feeling even worse later when I'm reminded of how unlikely that is. Correction: how impossible that is. But putting aside my threatening tears because of that, thinking about Snow and I dating really makes me feel better. No matter how unlikely it is, I like thinking about Snow waking me up in the mornings with kisses and calling me darling. Him and I dancing slightly to Elvis Presley and him holding me in his arms like I'm something precious. Him waking up early just to make me food. Him caressing my cheeks and telling me he loves me. Our wedding cards. The invitations. Our first child’s name. The engraved words on his tombstone (“thy freckles that sit upon thy golden skin are beautiful and marvellous”) (That's all I have so far.) (I'm quite shitty at old English.)

But if it were old English, then I guess we'd have to-wait.

”All I have so far”?

What does that mean?

I whip out of my musings of Snow and I and - Merlin - discover that I had been writing in my notebook all along. But not notes.

They're little doodles of what I was thinking about earlier and they're everywhere.

My whole notebook page is filled with them. They're near the corners, on the margins, some of them are even covering my previous notes.

I feel heat rushing to my neck and cheeks when I see a particular doodle of me and Snow kissing, surrounded by hearts of all sizes and “Snowbaz” written at the top.

Snowbaz? What is wrong with me?

My widened eyes explore the expanse of the contents of the page and when I see a tombstone of him, and underneath it, the inscription I was preparing for him, I look at myself from someone else’s point of view and realise that I'm acting like a lovesick person and get freaked out by own myself.

As soon as I see a small drawing of Snow with (once again) hearts surrounding him and a little speech-bubble beside him saying, “I love you, Baz. So fucking much, ” I practically slam the notebook shut and it makes a loud sound. A few kids sitting near me peer at me, curious as to what I just did and why I did it, including Snow.

I specifically ignore Snow’s eyes because I know I'm flushed harder than I've ever been. And I know that it's visible and that the students can see it because some of them are eyeing my cheeks now. I resist a look at Snow cause I don't wanna know what look he's sporting and just state straight ahead, hoping that people will get back to their own business.

But of course, my life has never been that easy.

They all seem to look away, thank God. But then Miss Possibelf eyed me up and down and decided to be the worst teacher ever. She asked me a question.

More specifically, she asked me what was the spell best for what we just learned.

I wasn't listening to what they just learned. I was too busy doodling Snow like a little girl. The thought makes me blush even more and now I'm stammering.

Stammering.

Holy sweet cheese, what has become of me?

I start blubbering too, just like Snow and I feel humiliated.

Basilton Pitch, stuttering and blubbering like an idiot.

I spent so much time creating a cool reputation of complete calmness in all situations. Always calm and collected. Always relaxed. But now all of that is gone and I'm left looking like such an idiot.

I look at the other students in the room and they're all looking at me with incredulous on their faces, obviously noticing my weird change in behaviour. I look at Snow and Crowley, his eyes are blown open and one brow is raised. That's my look. Snow is nailing my look. Oh my God.

He’s noticed my blush too because he's staring right at it. And then he moves his gaze to my eyes. We’re making eye contact and I feel my breath knocked out of my lungs because of those unexceptional eyes that are boring holes into mine, unveiling all of my secrets and deepest desires.

I quickly move my head away and look right to Miss Possibelf. “Uhh, sorry Miss, I-I don’t know the answer.”

She shakes her head and I swear I hear someone gasp a little.

“Alright, sit down then, Baz. And try to pay attention next time in class.”

Even Miss Possibelf looks a bit fazed by my sudden change. I sit down and avoid everyone’s eyes while Miss Possibelf once again drones on and on and on.

Snow doesn't look at me when I sit down. He looks forward and doesn't look my way the great of the lesson. I kind of want him to turn around so that I could see what his expression was and try to read it but I also don't want to because there will be no expression on that face which I want to see directed at me from him.

I still feel a few eyes on me when the bell ring and I practically gallop across the room before anyone else. I force my legs to move faster and take me away before Snow finds me and interrogates me, which I know he will, based on my behavior in the class and how he was looking at me.

But no luck on my part.

I was out in the hall, in front of the students now trailing behind me, trying to get to their next class. (They seemed to lose interest in me now. It was good but I was still terribly humiliated.) I was trying to get out of that place but somehow, Snow ended up in front of me. (I would say he came out of nowhere but that would be logically incorrect.)

He stood in front me, his eyes narrowed in a suspicious way, all trace of the look he was giving me before in class gone. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and he's swaying slightly on his feet, not like he's drunk but like he's trying to figure something out, considering by how he looks me up and down with a frown on his face.

I cross my arms too and glare at him. “What, Snow?”

He snaps out his daze. “What?”

“I said ‘What, Snow?’. I haven’t got all day you know. I have a life.”

He glares at me as well and then I sneer at him. It’s not as sharp as it was before because of the embarrassment but I don’t really care right now.

It seems that Snow does because he looks at me and raises a brow. Just like he did in the classroom. Merlin, how did he learn that? He must’ve practiced in the mirror in the room just to piss me off.

Well, if that's the case, then it worked. Not only am I seething at him for stealing something that was mine, but he has the audacity to smirk about it. That bastard definitely practiced it to piss me off.

He drops the look, unfolds his hands and then stuffs them in his pocket, obviously trying to look all cool and nonchalant and calm as I do. I’m ecstatic to say that this he doesn’t pull off that well. Of course, I love him. I would like him however he was but if anyone else were to see him like this -  anyone who wasn’t in love with him - then they wouldn’t think that he looked cool. I decide not to tell him that and let him wander around school looking like this. I smirk at the thought.

He frowns, catching my smirk, but pulls himself together.

He, then, gets straight to the topic.

“What were you writing in that little notebook of yours?” he asks, voice icy with a hint of something undetectable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I answer, now trying to be the calm and collected one. I try to walk past him but grabs me by the waist. My breath silently hitches and I pray he didn't hear it.

Lightly, he shoves me back in the position I was in. “You know what I’m talking about, you git.”

“I really don’t, Snow. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to my next class.”

Once again, I try to walk away but he pushes me back. I can tell a few people are eavesdropping on our conversation. I glare at them and they resume walking. When I turn back, Snow is looking at something between my fingers.

The notebook. Oh, bloody hell.

I was so eager to get out of the goddamn class that I forgot to put it back in my bag and just carried it. Ah, fuck.

He looks at me again and lowers his voice an octave which sends shivers down my spine. “What were you writing in the notebook, Basilton?”

Shit. He’s hardly ever called me by my full name. (It’s really fucking sexy.) He only does that when he’s desperately on edge. Ugh, did he somehow get triggered from me writing in a notebook in class? Although, if he does call me by my real name “Basilton”, then there’s always something horribly wrong. What’s wrong this time? The last time he used the full name was when he started following me everywhere in 5th Year.

“What do you think, Snow? Notes for class, duh. Didn’t think you were this thick, Snow. Maybe you’re just incredibly stupid, or have too many problems.” It’s a stupid insult and it barely counts as one, I know. But right now, I’m trying not to get a different type of problem in front of him that's caused by his low octave and the stare he’s giving me. A very different kind of problem.

“No, you weren’t. I saw you, Baz. Everyone saw you. You were writing something and then you slammed it shut like it was poison ivy. And then when Miss Possibelf called on you, you started stuttering and blubbering and you weren’t paying attention to her before. And you were blushing, positively way too much for a vampire."

I feel my cheeks redden at his last comment and force them to cool down. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a human too, you know. I blush too.” It seems like the wrong thing to say, but right now, I don’t really know what to say. “So, for Merlin’s sake, leave me alone. It was nothing but notes, Snow. And I merely dozed off a bit. I thought you, out of all people, would understand that since you have the most experience with it than any other 8th Year. Now, for fuck’s sake, I’m leaving.”

This time, I straighten my posture and force my chin up and bump into him while walking away. But he seems prepared for that, and snatches the notebook as I try to walk away.

I whip around in an instant, heart suddenly speeding up stupendously, and see him standing there with a glint in his eye and says, “I’ll find out what you’re plotting, Baz.”

His dialogue is so utterly ridiculous that it just makes me more angry.

He thinks I’m plotting something? The nasty git. What would I plot where I would have to make a fool out of myself in front of my classmates and blush horrendously too. And why would I actually carry it out? I have too much dignity and too good a reputation to do something like that. I’m not Snow.  

I grit my teeth. “Snow...give it back.”

“No."

I lunge at him.

It’s half a fist-fight for the bloody notebook and people are watching us but I don’t care. I’ve dealt with worse before. And I can’t let him read what I wrote/drew. It would be too humiliating for a day. I would be outed.

I press hard on his shoulder to push him down and myself up when he holds the notebook over his head and easily grip its spine. He starts to tickle me, the wanker. I grunt, squirm and try not to giggle but it's hard, and he keeps tickling until I start to squirm a bit too much. And the he pushes me off him and my grip on the spine of the book is lost. He turns away from me, holding it tight in his hands.

Suddenly, I’m hit by a humongous wave of panic and nausea. Is he about to run away with it? Is he going to read it if he does? Merlin, yes, he will. I need to get that back.

I’m desperate to. I’m so desperate to get it back that just as he starts to turn away. I mutter a spell and flick my wand a but from my pocket and the notebook burns. Literally. It actually scorches until it’s just ash. A teeny bit of ash in Snow’s palm. Such a small amount that it’s not even overflowing from his palm. Snow and I both just stand and stare it at as it turns. When it finishes, there’s a heavy smell of smoke in the air that's quite similar to Snow’s magic, so I don’t know if it’s the burning of the notebook, his magic, or both.

I’ve had just about enough for today. Without looking at Snow, I turn around and just walk away without another look back.

Snow doesn’t call after me.

Simon

I just stand there and Baz walks away, speechless, looking back and forth from the ash and Baz’s walking figure.

Long after he disappears (to our room, he has a free period and so do I), I come to a final decision.

I gently sit down on the ground and slowly rummage through my bag to find a small bag the size of a hand. It can only fit the teeniest of tiniest things. (Penny gave it to me. Her roommate had given this to her and she said that she doesn’t want anything from Trixie.)

I softly open it, careful not to accidentally drop a bit of the ash in my other hand on the ground. I place all of the ash of the notebook into the bag and then lock it up tight.

I then get up and move to go to the library to study a bit (but I know I’m just gonna end up thinking about that notebook and Baz) and then after this period, it’ll be lunch so I’ll tell her about what happened in class and how I need her help to somehow find out what was written on that notebook.

I know it sounds really pathetic but I swear Baz is up to something. Something bad.

Something like that has never happened before in class. Or ever. And by something, I mean Baz losing literally all of his cool and blubbering and blushing in front of everyone. And that’s not even the whole thing.

Last night, Baz was out late and I’m 100% sure that wanker was down in the catacombs, draining rats. Ugh. He came back really late. After midnight. I waited up for him to see when he’s come back and when he finally returned to the room, I acted like I was sleeping. I think he knew that I wasn’t since my pattern of breathing had gone rapid and off-beat because Baz just kind of suddenly came in when I was starting to think that he was going to spend the night somewhere else. But where would he spend it, of course?

He had surprised me, and since my breathing was the only sound in the room, he must’ve heard it and figured I was awake. I’ve memorised his pattern of breathing when he’s asleep. So I can tell when he’s awake. Roommate thing. Not creepy. I’m pretty sure he’s memorised mine too so that it’ll be easier for him to drain me in my sleep.

When he came in, he just climbed onto his bed and fell asleep. Didn’t change, didn’t take off his shoes, didn’t brush his teeth. Just came in and dropped on his bed. I think he was probably tired from plotting all night while draining rats, the vampire.

This morning, in all the classes we had together and outside of classes too, I noticed he was quite tired. Well, why wouldn’t he be? He stayed out almost all night and barely got 4 hours of sleep. He’s probably insanely tired. He really should take a nap, which is why he went into our room, I suppose.

Anyway, I was paying a lot of attention to him, trying to catch a slip-up on his part. Like dozing off in class, so I could confront him about it and ask him where he was last night. Or not paying attention in class. These are things that Baz would almost never do. If he does do them, then it’s entirely un-Baz-like and that means he was doing something tiring like plotting. And these things are exactly what he did.

I caught him in the first lesson almost dozing off. His eyes were so droopy that you could barely see the wet pavement colour in them. (Baz’s eyes always fascinated me. They’re a mix a different tinges of grey. A little dark grey on the outside of the iris, morphing into a deep blue into the sclera. They’re a light hue of a storm perhaps in the middle of the iris and then descend into this dark black-grayish colour in the pupil. All formed together, it looks like a beautiful painting, something a very famous Normal artist might make. Like Picasso. I really envy his eyes, mine are just blue and that's it. Such a pity that those astonishing eyes got wasted on a berk like Baz. Though he is a handsome git. He has slight abs from playing football and he’s one of those guys who could pull off a manbun. Ugh, blighter.)

And then in the previous class, he started scribbling away in his notebook instead of paying attention to Miss Possibelf. I was already sure he was planning something because he was so engrossed in whatever he was writing that he didn’t even notice me stealing glances at him. And that's odd.

A few minutes after I looked away, I - actually, everyone in the class - heard a big slam. Like a notebook getting smacked shut. And we turned to see who had it and of course, it had been Baz. But that wasn't what surprised me. Baz was flushed. You could actually see the red in his cheeks, even if you were sitting far away from him.

This obviously shocked me because vampires can’t blush, can they? I guess they can a little bit, something that's barely noticeable. But Baz’s was noticeable. Easily noticeable. But then I remembered that he went to the Catacombs last night and since he stayed so late plotting, he must’ve also drunk a lot.

His luck was poor today. Oh, poor Baz. Just as the peers were starting to move on with the lecture, Miss Possibelf called on him to tell her (and the class) about a spell best for what we just learned. And since Baz wasn’t paying attention before, he didn’t know anything at all about what we were just studying. So he started stammering and shit. Like, getting flustered and not being able to form a proper sentence! He started acting like the way I acted, exactly like the kind of behaviour he gave me shit for!

This was good. Now, everyone was looking at Baz with weird looks and I kinda started feeling bad for him. If I were in his situation, it wouldn’t be that bad for me. But Baz had a cool reputation. He was the kid who knew the answers in class and was hot and athletic. Someone who oozing confidence. But then, all that went to hell a bit when he started stuttering. And he was also blushing very hard now. Like, his whole fucking face was red.

You could see his embarrassment from a mile away and I was too entranced in his flustered and blushing state to look away or put on a masked expression. He actually looked quite cute in this state and I could tell that a bunch pf the girls seemed to think the same thing. They were ogling Baz with lovesick looks, no doubt making him uncomfortable.

I was actually a bit more focused on his crimson cheeks, and when I looked up, I figured that I better take advantage of this situation. I practiced Baz’s signature expression in the bathroom last night. The raised brow. I did that to him when he looked at me and his eyes widened. Meanwhile, my eyes travelled over his cheeks once again, and I was left to wondering how...adorable they were. (Holy Mother of God, did I just call Baz adorable?!)

But when I once again looked up at him, I was stunned. And apparently, so was he.

We were staring deep into each other’s eyes and I was pretty sure that I had an awed expression on my face. And it just amazed me that even though this is the first time we’ve locked eyes in this type of way, it strangely felt...comfy. Homey. Familiar. And when I noticed Baz’s face, he looked the same. At least, I think.

And that's not even the worst part.

A few micro-seconds after that, I felt this thing in my stomach. It felt like my stomach was doing somersaults or had creatures in it that were flying around haphazardly, and were causing my breath to speed up like a race car.

Like butterflies.

I’m not stupid. I’ve felt that kind of thing before...with Agatha. I know what it means.

But I can’t admit it. It can’t be true. I can see why I would feel homey looking into Baz’s eyes (actually, I don’t) but this? Nuh uh. Not true.

Although...no! Not true!

But...it does make sense a bit, though. Just a bit.

I quickly looked away when I felt that. And Baz told Miss Possibelf that he didn’t know the answer. After that, I spent the whole lesson pondering over the...possibility. I didn’t dare sneak a glance at Baz, though. Not after the hunch I just had.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. How obsessed I’d been with Baz in 5th Year. How I find his smell of cedar and bergamot like home. And his eyes too. How I love the shade of his eyes and am almost always thinking about what shade the middle changed to this time. How I always felt a bit bad after our rows. How I stayed up last night to wait for him to come back!

Oh Merlin, was that just an excuse to wait up for Baz?

This all makes so much sense that it’s scary. I can’t possibly have feelings for Baz. Thats absurd. And he’s my enemy. And arch-nemesis. And we’re going to have to kill each other. (Hmph, I can’t fight him now. After discovering this.)

No. No, I’m wrong. I can’t be right. I’m probably too hung up on Agatha (even though I seemed quite fine the last few weeks) so now I’m just making up crushes. And even if I actually like Baz that way, it’s only a crush. It’ll go away.

(Although, I highly doubt a 7 year long crush is just a crush.)

The bell indicating that lunch has begun startles me out of my Baz-filled musings and I practically run out of the door to our usual table and sit down, waiting for Penny to arrive so I ask her help on what spell would help me read what was inside the notebook. At least what he wrote today.

I look over at Baz’s table.

He’s not there. He’s still asleep upstairs.

I fiddle with my jumper. This could be a Baz plot! To make me have feelings for him and then break my heart! It could be!

I need Penny’s help with this, desperately. I have to find out what was in that book. And I’m pretty sure that I’ve heard Penny say something about these types of spells once. That help you put together broken things. I’m not sure if it’ll work on something burned, but I have to try. I can’t just accept these feelings for Baz and try to hide them.

What if this actually is Baz’s plot? Oh my God. Please let it not be. I’m still not sold on the fact that I have feelings for Baz. That’s not really something you easily believe, especially when its your arch-nemesis who you lov-like!

Who you like. Not love.

As I was saying, I’m still not sure, but every moment that passes, I keep getting more and more convinced of this. And I’m going to have to tell Penny about this and ask her for advice.

Oh Crowley, that’s going be an awkward conversation. I am not at all looking forward to that conversation at all.

Maybe I’ll tell her later. When I’ve discovered what the contents of the notebook are. Yeah, that’ll be the perfect time to tell Penny.

And while I think about Penny, I see her walking over from her class to the our table and wave frantically. She gives me a puzzled look but then starts jogging to the table.

As she sits down, she asks, “What’s up?”

chap 2, chap 3 (last one)

#snowbaz #headcanons snowbaz #simon snow salisbury #baz and simon #simon snow #simon and baz #rainbow rowell #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 link #short story #fiction #fantasy #romance #fluff #cute #blush

[peraltasames]

until the night turns into morning

Amy has a bad day and realizes even the worst days aren't quite as bad with Jake Peralta.

Notes: canon divergent, set post-2x21 (det dave majors) but before johnny and dora. jake supports amy so much and i have a lot of feelings about it. based on the song new york by ed sheeran

read on ao3

Usually, after a particularly bad day, Amy will go home immediately after work, run herself a hot bath and read one of her favourite books. The familiarity of the words and the effortlessness of comprehending them soothe her brain until she begins to forget about her troubles.

Tonight, though, she only makes it a couple blocks from the precinct before she’s parking her car again, almost in a trance as she walks across the street and into Shaw’s.

She doesn’t want to read. She wants to drink.

“Heisler, please,” she says in a gravelly voice, muttering a quick “thank you” to the bartender and heading off to the darkest, quietest corner of the bar.

Unfortunately, the corner booth, her envisioned destination for at least two or three more drinks, is occupied (even more unfortunately, by her coworkers).

“Amy, hey!”

She knows the moment she hears Boyle’s voice that it’s too late to down her drink and head elsewhere. Her colleagues, her friends, would never allow her to drink alone on a Friday night.

“Hey, guys.” She plasters on a fake smile, begrudgingly sitting next to Gina, across from Rosa and Charles.

“You seem a little down in the dumps, did the stationery store close?”

She doesn’t have the energy to reply to Gina’s snark (the last thing she needs is to think about losing Quills and Things), taking another long sip of her drink.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbles, setting the already half-empty drink down in front of her. “Actually, guys, I should probably just go home.”

“Whatever’s wrong, it might help to be with people who care about you,” Charles suggests with an encouraging grin, raising his beer.

As much as she appreciates the support, she really doesn’t feel like seeing any more looks of sympathy like the one Holt gave her half an hour ago after getting off the phone with the chief.

“Thanks, Charles, but I should really-“

“Hey, Santiago!” The unmistakeable voice from over her shoulder makes her freeze in place. Of course, it was foolish to think that he wouldn’t be here on a Friday with all of their other coworkers, but given her disaster of a day, she thought maybe the universe would cut her some slack. No such luck. “Did Holt find out if you got the task force?”

She stares down at her lap to avoid the looks of comprehension from her friends as they piece the situation together, to avoid Jake’s faded smile as he meets Charles’ gaze and everyone is now acutely aware of her failure.

“They decided to give it to Kyle Gregory.”

Jake is speechless for a second (a rare occurrence) and she hopes and prays that maybe he’ll just drop it and start talking about one of his cases or his ranking of the Die Hard saga. Of course, he won’t do those things, because completely notwithstanding her own will, he is probably her best friend. He cares about her and supports her - it’s the very reason that when she proposed her task force idea to the chief with Holt’s support and he said he would strongly consider her to take the lead on it, her first instinct was to call Jake and enthusiastically ramble to him in the hallway outside the chief’s office for twenty minutes.

“You are way more qualified than him.” Rosa breaks the silence, looking slightly more pissed than normal.

“Yeah, and the chief’s a sexist jerk,” Gina pipes in, “he calls me sweetheart when he calls for Holt. I usually transfer his call to Hitchcock instead.”

Amy cracks a small smile at her friends’ benevolent remarks, but it’s nothing she didn’t already know, nothing that really eases the dull ache in her heart. She knows all about the bigotry that runs deep in the NYPD, but it doesn’t make it any easier when things like this continue to happen.

Jake slides into the spot next to her, the booth now crowded enough that his thigh is touching hers, even when she shifts closer to Gina to make room for him. She doesn’t know if it’s the physical contact or the soft smile or him sliding his own beer that he just bought over to her and drinking from the one that was probably meant for Charles instead, but she feels a little bit warmer inside.

The warm feeling grows ever so slightly as she sits back silently and listens to Rosa and Gina rant about the patriarchy while Charles and Jake nod and mutter agreements, occasionally getting up to get another round of drinks.

She isn’t sure how many hours pass, but eventually she has enough to drink that she can feel herself getting caught up in her own irrational thoughts of not being good enough and never reaching her goals. It must show in her face, because Gina pauses during a story about herself to ask if Amy’s okay in a rare, genuine tone and Jake’s hand inconspicuously grabs hers where it rests on her lap.

“It’s just not fair,” Amy mumbles in response to Gina’s question.

“It’s not fair,” Jake agrees, squeezing her hand (god, she hopes the blush creeping on her face can be blamed on the six beers she just had). “You’ll show ‘em when you’re the youngest captain in the history of the NYPD though, right Ames?”

Amy’s brain shifts its focus from disappointment and anger to replaying Jake’s sentence on an incessant loop, breaking it down into facts: he listens to her goals, he believes in her, he called her “Ames” again…

She really doesn’t know if it’s just the alcohol or a result of every emotion of the past year since he told her he wanted something to happen between them and promptly disappeared for six months, but being with Jake - just Jake, despite how grateful she is for the support of her friends - is now her number one priority.

“Can we go somewhere?” Her lips are close to his ear as she whispers the question, trying to avoid being overheard.

Something flashes in his eyes and she’s worried for a moment that he’s misinterpreted what she wants - she doesn’t even know what she wants -but he just nods wordlessly and smiles.

“Wait here, I’ll go pay the tab.”

They make their exit as discreetly as possible, Jake muttering some halfhearted excuse about them splitting a cab even though everyone in their group knows they live in opposite directions from the bar.

The warm breeze of the mid-summer night embraces her as she steps out of the doors, Jake’s hand firmly placed on her upper back keeping her steady.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he offers, attempting to hail a cab as they approach the street. “Or we can get something to eat, are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since lunch, right?”

It’s true, and she tries not to overanalyze how closely he pays attention to her. He’s a detective, it’s in his nature…right?

“Not hungry,” she murmurs, following his lead as he opens the back door of the first taxi that pulls over, sliding in next to her.

“Where to?”

Jake looks blankly at her while the driver taps his fingers impatiently against the wheel.

“Can we just…” She thinks for a moment. She doesn’t want to go home yet - home means being alone and letting her thoughts consume her. At two o’clock in the morning, though, she isn’t really sure where else to go.

“Just drive around for a bit, please,” Jake tells the driver.

She looks over Jake, but unlike her typical stolen glances and quiet longing, she lets her eyes linger on him: brown hair, a little messy, not much more so than normal; a dark grey t-shirt, navy blue hoodie, black jeans, white sneakers; the lights of the city reflected in deep brown eyes, still looking at her; lips slightly parted, lips that she’s been dying to feel on her own for months, years probably-

“What are you thinking about?”

She gulps, diverting her gaze elsewhere. “I…I love this song.”

It’s not a complete lie. The Cyndi Lauper song playing in poor quality through the cab’s radio brings back fond memories of her mother cooking dinner with the sound of her record player flowing softly from the next room. It brings her a feeling of security and warmth that only grows when Jake begins to sing along dramatically, completely off-key, basking in the eighties cheesiness.

“If you’re lost you can look and you will find me…time after time!”

“Jake, you’re ridiculous,” she says, a grin spreading across her face of its own accord.

“C’mon, Santiago, don’t leave me hanging…” he says as the song builds to the final chorus, his hand falling against her leg. “If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting…”

“Time after time,” she joins in, harmonizing terribly with him and creating a sound that makes the cab driver wince a little, a genuine laugh rising in her chest for the first time all day.

Both of them laughing out loud, she clumsily drops her head to his shoulder and lets it stay there. After a few moments of comfortable silence, she feels his arm wrap around her shoulders and tug her entire body closer, her right leg crossing over her left one and resting on his.

The fact that this is the most intimate they’ve ever been is not lost on her, the weight of his arm around her pulling her down to earth and sobering her up more than the glass of water he made her drink before they left (he’s always taking care of her in some small way, it seems).

Nobody else in the world could find her when she’s broken and make her feel more whole than she has in her entire life. Nobody else in the world is like him.

“Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah?” His breath, smelling of beer and mints, is hot against her cheek as he speaks.

“Today sucked. But…you made it a lot better, so, thank you” she murmurs. “You’re the best.” She doesn’t add partner or friend or colleague, they’re past the point of pretending that’s all he is to her.

She smiles as she says it, waiting to see the astounded look on his face before burying her face in his shoulder again. He grips her even tighter, and her heart nearly jumps out of her chest when he kisses the top of her head. This is uncharted territory.

A few more old, familiar songs play as they drive through the streets of Brooklyn, which are gradually emptying as most people find their way home. When she starts to think about how high of a cost they’re racking up on the meter, she casually gives the driver her address, remaining placid in Jake’s arms until they park.

He pays the driver despite her protests - New York cab fares are a nightmare and he already spent enough on drinks - and slips his hand into hers as soon as he closes the car door behind him.

“I’m just gonna walk to Charles’ and crash there,” he says, gesturing in the general direction of their friend’s apartment, only a few blocks east. “But, um, call me if you need anything, okay? Like, if you want to talk or go see a movie or egg the chief’s house or-“

He staggers backwards a little bit as she grabs his face and presses her lips firmly against his, which quickly part and kiss her back with equal fervor. His hands slide around her back and pull her into him as she runs hers through his hair like she’s wanted to for longer than she cares to admit.

They separate much more slowly than they came together, his eyes still closed when hers open, their arms still wrapped around each other.

“Don’t go to Boyle’s,” she breathes, hands resting lightly on his chest.

He nods slowly, a million emotions passing over his face as he holds her gaze with the same intensity.

“Okay.”

They walk up the steps to her apartment with joined hands. It’s not his first time here, but it’s certainly his first time here at three in the morning after she’s kissed him passionately and officially abandoned any attempt to conceal her feelings for him.

She pours them each a glass of water and passes one to him, taking hers into the bedroom so she can change out of the pantsuit she’s been in for way too many hours and try to wrap her head around the events of the last few minutes. She pulls on tiny silk pajama shorts and a black tank top, only slightly sexier than what she may normally sleep in, because freaking Jake is in her kitchen at three in the morning. She would be flat-out lying if she said this exact scenario hadn’t occurred in her dreams, paralyzing her with guilt while she was still dating Teddy and making her terribly uncomfortable a few different mornings at work. She even dreamt about him last week after coming home from a date with one of the most attractive, charismatic men in the NYPD. Dave Majors was charming and intelligent, but unfortunately had the same critical flaw as every other man she’s dated recently - he isn’t Jake Peralta.

“Amy.” His voice is a little steadier than before as he walks over to meet her when she re-enters the kitchen and gently grabs her waist. Some combination of him being much taller than her now that her heels are off and his loving stare makes her melt against him. “I know you’ve had a really tough day, and you’ve had a few drinks, so if all of this is just, you know-“

“Jake,” she cuts him off, surprising even herself with her certainty. “I like you. I’ve liked you for…a long time. This is real.”

He exhales and flashes her a relieved smile, his eyes shining even in the dim light of her kitchen.

“Is this okay?” he asks, bowing his head down so their noses are almost touching. His thumbs brush the small strip of skin exposed between her top and shorts.

She kisses him instead of wasting their time with words, her lips a little softer and less urgent this time as they move against his. This kiss doesn’t just appease her burning desire for him, it sets an entirely new fire in her soul that she hopes never goes out. It electrifies every inch of her body.

She kisses him until she loses all concept of time, only aware of the fact that she is kissing him, and until her body can no longer keep up with her desire to continue kissing him for the rest of her life. She lets out a small yawn as they separate.

“Am I boring you already, Santiago?” The teasing is very typical, the awestruck grin and lips a little red from kissing her so much are not.

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours.”

“You wanna go to bed, then?” he suggests casually, like them going to bed together is an everyday occurrence.

She smiles again - she never imagined today would end with so much smiling - and pecks his lips one more time before dragging him to her bedroom. It feels even more natural than she expected when she climbs into bed with him next to her and he flings an arm around her waist. They fit together so perfectly that part of her thinks this whole thing is bigger than the two of them, that this was bound to happen eventually.

Very soon, the sun will creep through her curtains and shine on her sleeping figure, still tightly wrapped around his. She will be dreaming of him, not of her fears of failure or lack of approval. When she wakes several hours later, she will talk to him about those things and he will listen and stroke her back, and then he will kiss her because they finally, finally get to do that. Tomorrow, the world will be brighter.

#otp: you're not allowed to fall in love with me #b99 fic #peraltiago #its almost 3am so this is probably ~jake peralta voice~ riddled with spelling errors #will i ever stop writing amy obsessing over jake? no #myfics

[crackmadhi]

Cutting Ties

Friday, 7 June 2030

Panda❤: hi Yuta. listen i’m sorry, but i have been thinking and look i don’t want this for you… i’m a horrible influence and i don’t have the energy nor the determination to pretend i could hold this up any longer i never lied when i said i love you but i can’t do this anymore i can’t be in this relationship anymore it smothers me and i hate being smothered for your and my best let it end here no obligation to talk to me any longer, no calls, nothing at your next visit you don’t even need to greet me as long as we stay civil about it my best wishes simon

I had stared at the message for several minutes. This idiot. He really thought he could get rid of me. Calmly I laid my phone down, stood up and walked up to the high window in my room. He really believed he could just break up with me like this.

Ridiculous. But still, he knew what he was doing to an extent. I could not reach him like this. It had no use to text back, he was a far more skilled writer and I could also not call him, since he would simply decline it. I actually had to wait this out until my next visit to the States, and that was a whole month away.

Seriously, what was he just thinking? Why would he do this? What had I done wrong? I felt sadness and anger rise in my chest and tried to swallow them down. It was no use.

He did not want this, I told myself over and over again. He did love you and he had proven in the past that fact quite persuasively.

And still I felt myself slowly drifting into self-pity and almost saw how my expression lost its calm. It made no sense and I was helpless. I could do nothing to change my situation and I knew that Simon could not be happy about this. I knew he wasn’t.

“I didn’t want to get too attached. But now it’s too late for that and honestly letting one of you go sounds almost more horrible now than being hurt again. No, it would definitely be worse.”

Determined I put my hurt feelings aside and reminded myself that these were Simon’s own words. That this was what he had just confessed a month ago and I knew that he was suffering. And I would not let him to this to himself. Not again.

Someone knocked at the door. Royally I straightened my back and turned to the door.

“Who is there?”, I asked in khura’inese pretty sure that it could only be my sister or Apollo who were the only ones who did not introduce themselves straight after knocking.

As expected, it was Apollo who asked me if he could come in. He had still been around in the palace, because of a meeting with some of the council members, but I was still surprised by his sudden appearance. Normally, he would go home on a Friday night and just lay back for some time, after such a demanding week full of work.

I allowed him to enter. His expression was earnest, and his eyebrows knitted together in worry. I sighed. How on earth did he already know about this?

“Are you alright? Klav just wrote me. He had been up for a second to get some water, only to find Simon down sitting in the living room staring at his smartphone and suddenly declaring that he had dumped you?”, Apollo explained as he came closer and finally laid a hand on my shoulder.

“So, he really…?”, he asked after I looked to the side with a painful sting in my heart.

I nodded. “Yes. But I don’t think he wanted to do this.”

And there Apollo shot me the most unbelieving and confused look, he had on stock. Unconvinced he put his hand on his hips and asked: “How exactly could he not have wanted to break up with you? You don’t accidentally send somebody a break up text. Or do you think he was blackmailed into breaking up with you? You know that's stupid, right? I’m sorry if that has been your coping strategy, but that idea really holds no water and-“

“Apollo, stop.”

I coldly looked at him and he did not say another word. Frustratedly I let myself drop on the bed and sighed. Apollo followed, and I run my hand down my face and tried yet again to make sense out of all this.

“I am aware that he sent it on purpose. And the possibility of him being blackmailed or threatened into leaving me is laughably small, so I know that this isn’t either what’s going on right now.”

I looked at my hands and turned my right palm up. There was the dragon. But where was the power it yielded? I surely could use that determination right now.

“But I know”, I told Apollo and looked in his sympathising face, “that this is not what he desires. He loves me in all the ways he can, and he knows that he needs all the support he can get right now. He’s being unreasonable, and normally that means that he’s pushed in a corner, and I don’t know what put him in this position!”

I remained silent for a second before the always recurring problem with Simon dawned me, and I shot up in pure rage.

“IF HE ACTUALLY THINKS THat he would PROTECT me with this fucking stunt from his own miserable hell, I’m going to straight up slap him in the face the next time we meet!!!”

Shocked Apollo looked at me pacing around in fury and asked with a small voice: “What?”

I turned to him and shook my head and Simon’s stupidity. How could he always do this? Why did he want to suffer so badly?

“He has done it before”, I explained still agitated but no longer furious to my brother’s luck. “He actually does it all the time. Pushing people away because he fears that they would get hurt in the process of helping him… Which actually makes sense to him because Metis died after he had asked a favour of her”, I added as this suddenly hit me.

Apollo gaped at me and I gaped back before I fell back on the bed and thought about how on earth, I was supposed to get this out of Simon’s stubborn thickhead.

“Well”, Apollo mumbled and stared cluelessly at the wall, “at least, you know now what the problem might be.”

“Ah, yes that will be a great help”, I moaned sarcastically and shot him a look.

He just shrugged and kept me in company until I had calmed down and he had to go home.

Saturday, 8 June 2030

The morning prayer was over, and my mother had asked for my presence. Obediently I followed her orders and went to her private quarters. I was not sure what she wanted to discuss with me but questioning for her reasons rarely bore any results, so I just waited until I finally met her face to face in her office.

Finally, I was allowed to enter. The room had a high ceiling, fair, meticulously worked patterns on the walls and heavy looking furniture in deep red and golden ornaments. A place that surely did the queen justice with its aura.

Right now, she sat on the massive armchair next to the window, a book on her lap as she looked outside and watched some birds.

“Your Mercifulness. How can I assist you?”, I said formally while bowing.

Mother made a light hand gesture and signalized me with it that this was not a formal meeting and that she wanted to talk to me as her child and not as a regent. So, I straightened up and went closer to her and took a seat on the footstool in front of her. I could have chosen to sit on the other armchair, sure, but the footstool was closer to my mother and it ticked her off when I behaved unroyally.

She merely moved a muscle as she told me calmly: “I was told by the guards that they have heard you shouting yesterday evening, after your brother had come to visit you. Since he did not leave right after this incident and you seemed to be at good terms this morning while the prayer, I assumed you did not fight with him. I did my research and learnt that this Simon did break things off. Is that correct?”

I cost me all my strength to not snap at her for prying into my social life. She knew how much I hated it.

Forcefully I took a deep breath and told my mother with a nod: “Yes, that is correct. Simon texted me that he could no longer hold up this relationship and wanted to end it.”

Mother raised her eyebrows. Well, that certainly was a strong reaction for her.

“He texted you? Not even a call?”

“Mother, I don’t think this is what he really wanted. I don’t believe that he really wanted to end it but felt like he had to end it now in order to stop me getting more involved with his problems. He couldn’t do it otherwise. I don’t think his voice had managed to tell me what he needed to say but did not want to say.”

Openly showing her scepticism she eyed me up and curled her lips in displeasure. My answer did not sit well with her apparently.

“Nahyuta”, she began her speech being harsh and clear, “do you not think that you overanalyse this? This explanation is far-fetched. It is way more probable that he simply did mean what he said and wanted to end it as quickly and comfortable as he could.”

“You don’t know him”, I hissed keeping my voice as low as possible. “He would never be so cruel to me and if he had wanted to do it quick, he had done it a month ago, when I was in the States and not now.”

“This is what you want to see, my child. You’re being delusional and interpreting things to your liking. And I understand that. Heartbreak is horrible, and I understand that you are upset about this, but you need to let go of these false hopes. It will do you no good. And how well do you even know him? You see each other at best once a month and otherwise you just call him. Do you really know him as well as you believe?”

Unbelieving I gaped my mother. She couldn’t be serious about this. She could not be telling me that I was being irrational, when she had no gasp of my relationship with Simon, his current state of mind and my actual feelings at this moment. She hasn’t even asked if I was upset. She just assumed that she knew what I was feeling right now.

And even less did she have the right to devalue my relationship with Simon just because we didn’t see each other on daily basis. How could she claim that this wasn’t real or valuable enough? How could she say in my face that I did not know the one person I loved?

“How dare you!”, I cried my whole body shaking. “How dare you saying that I wouldn’t know Simon, after he helped me more than anybody in this wicked palace did! He helped me find myself and helped me getting the courage to express myself, and nobody ever did that for me in my entire life!”

She looked at me in absolute shock. I had never spoken up against her like this before.

“And you know what?”, I continued loudly. ”Yes, I am upset now. But not, because of the breakup, but because you don’t listen to me! I am sad and agitated about it, and I feel helpless for not being able to talk with Simon and sort this out properly. But you would know that already had you asked… Instead you just assume things and accuse me of being irrational. That’s a big help.”

She looked at me with hurt in her eyes. Yes, I had been harsh, but she had been harsh as well. She should be able to swallow what she serves.

Suddenly composed again she met my eyes before she slightly bowed her head and said: “I see my mistaking. I should have asked about your feelings in this matter first before advising you. And I should not have said these things about your relationship with Simon. I will not repeat that mistake in the future.”

A bit suspicious I eyed her up but eventually said: “Thank you.”

A brief smile with a hint of sadness in it rushed over her lips before she put the book on her lap on the little table next to us and folded her hands in her lap.

“Then, do I understand correctly that you want to fix things with Simon?”, mother asked eventually.

“Yes, I do.”

I saw her repressing a sigh but tired not to let her frustration and sorrow show through it.

“Can you tell my why you want to fix it?”, she asked further.

I straightened my shoulders and told her: “I love him. And I know that this is not what he really wants. I can’t just give this up. I can’t just let him walk away.”

Almost immediately mother tried to say something but stopped herself. She contemplated for a moment and then started anew: “I am sure you do love him. And you are right, you know him better than I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that he has hurt you, Nahyuta. – She put her hand on my knee in visible dismay – And it also doesn’t change the fact that he has broken up with you. No matter how much he might not have wanted it, in the end he went through with it. Do you really think that you should give him a second chance? After he did this to you?”

Had I been more reasonable or less frustrated with my mother’s treatment of me like I child, I had probably seen that she had a point.

But I wasn’t more reasonable and so I told her without any doubt in my voice: “Of all people I know he’s the one who most definitely deserves a second chance. And I will give him just that.”

She sighed at the fire in my eyes but nodded. Now her royal calm had come back to her again and she took her hand away from my knee. The discussion did not end right away, she asked me when I would go to the States to confront him and if this matter should be addressed at a later point. I told her that I would leave for the 9 of July and that I did not want to talk about it anymore. She then thanked me for my time and let me leave to my relief.

Saturday, 15 June 2030

It was after eleven in the evening and the palace was dark for the most parts. In the whole wing of my brother only out of one room shone a light through the door cracks. And it was Nahyuta’s. I stood in front of it, on my own since I had sent the guards away. I did not want our mother to know about this. I did not want that things got even more complicated between these two.

Without bothering to knock I entered. They sat at their desk, papers from work scattered around, their hair loosely falling out of the braid. They should have stopped working hours ago.

I sighed, and they looked up in confusion. There still was some old panic in their bones from our aunt’s horrible all-time monitoring of them. There had been moments when they startled even more.

“You didn’t knock”, they said with a voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used for ages.

I smiled sadly and walked over to them.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I startled you.”

I held out my hand and waited for them to take it. Slowly they took it and I led them over to the bed. At least they had changed into their nightgown already, I thought as I softly pulled them behind me. I sat down on the bed and motioned them to do the same. They followed without a word.

Our silence continued for quite some time, both staring at the wall of the room. Eventually it was I, who spoke up.

“I know what happened with you and Simon.”

Finally, their apathic expression disappeared and they looked at me in shock. With a small voice they asked: “Who told you?”

“You just now. I hadn’t been sure, and nobody wanted to say anything, but I was pretty sure that this is what has bothered you in the las few days, so I just thought I should approach you directly with it.”

I took their hand.

“What happened?”

“He texted me that he wanted to break up.”

“Yes, but what happened between you two that it let to this?”

They looked at me. Their look was so lost, and shoulders hung so low.

“I’m not sure.”

I bit my lips and gripped tighter on their hand. I felt how heartbroken they were.

They continued, shaking their head and staring at their knees: “Things weren’t different between us, when I left. We had been on good terms and the chats and video calls were just like they usually were. I guess it might be something that came up when he was talking to his psychiatrist that made him believe he had to do it… But I’m not sure. Maybe it was something I said or did? He didn’t leave me any clue to work with.”

Sadly I met my brother’s eyes and pulled them into a hug. They did not resist and put their arms around me, as I patted their back and felt their longing for answers and closure for Simon’s actions. I slowly ended our hug and leaned at their side. Nahyuta put their arm around me pulled me against them and we sighed together. It was weird how in synch we were sometimes.

“Why haven’t you told me? I am there for you, you know”, I asked after a while.

“I know you are, but it’s not your duty to console me. You have enough on your plate for a sixteen-year-old. Spiritual training, history and political lessons next to your other school education, the Dance of Devotion and your other religious duties are a lot to shoulder and I don’t want to stress you more, because my panda left me.”

“Yuta… There’s always room for you. If I had relationship problems, you would always make some time for me and listen to my sorrows or just let me cry. I thought you knew that by now.”

They let out a huff and mumbled: “I should, shouldn’t I?”

I sat up and realized that Nahyuta had started crying. Vehemently they tried to hold the tears back and stop themselves from shaking, but the tears were already flowing, and they had lost any chance to win against them anymore.

“It’s fine. Just let it out, there’s no shame in crying”, I said and stood up to get some tissues from their desk.

Bravely smiling I handed them the tissues and sat back beside them. They often held back their emotions here in the palace. I had realized it soon after they had started to live here. Whenever they walked through the halls, sat in the dining room or stayed in their own quarters, they always tried to hold up a regal appearance. It only broke when Apollo or Datz were around. And even then, they never let themselves show any weaknesses.

Eventually they stopped and dried their face with a tissue. Sadly they sniffled their nose one last time and spoke up: “I know it’s ridiculous but you just reminded me of him. Simon always tells me to express my feelings, that I should never feel bad for take up his time.”

They sighed and laughed at the same time.

“But he never allows himself to do that. Klavier was so right when he accused him of not following his own advice. And I did not even see it. Because I wasn’t there. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid Yuty! You always knew that Simon is hard to read. Otherwise he could not have faked to be a murderer for seven years straight. Come on, let’s rethink. Maybe we’ll find out where things went wrong”, I tried to cheer them up.

Apparently, it worked, as they nodded and straightened up to rethink.

“Okay. Let’s try that”, Nahyuta agreed with shaky determination.

I smiled and encouraged: “So, have you ever talked about staying together or ending things before? Has something like that ever come up?”

After some thinking their eyes lit up and they told me with their brows knitted together: “Just after we got together, he once asked me, if I was really happy with him, since he’s aro and he was afraid that I wouldn’t feel appreciated enough. But we cleared that up right afterwards, so that shouldn’t be it… The only other thing that slightly goes into this direction, was on the Friday night after his break-down.”

“What was it?”, I asked feeling as if we were on the right track.

“He had woken up because of a nightmare, he couldn’t remember, I had just come by his room. I entered and talked to him. Before I got him to lay down and go back to sleep, he asked me, if I would stay, would he ask me to.”

“What did you answer?”

Surprised they looked at me and said as if it was the most logical thing on the world: “Of course I would stay! And I told him exactly that. Why would say I something else? He’s important and definitely one of my priorities.”

For a moment I thought about their answer. It hurt to hear how much they were able to sacrifice so quickly for him-

With big eyes I looked at Nahyuta and carefully said: “What if it scares him?”

“That I care about him and would do stuff for him?”, they snorted

I shook my head and explained: “No, that you would give up your current life for him! That you would sacrifice so much for him. Didn’t you tell me that he still is hung up on all the things his sister did for him, when he was younger? That he feels like he took her twenties away?”

After that Nahyuta looked at me as if I was a magical being, who had just told them that I granted them three wishes. Slowly their expression softened, and they started nodding mellowly. Then they shot me a smile and put their hand on my knee.

“I have been thinking about a lot of reasons why things turned out like this, but with this I slowly start to see the whole picture. I think I’ll be ready to talk some sense into him, when we meet next month. And that might be just thanks to your clue.”

I mirrored their smile and their gaze became softer. Gently Yuta started to draw circles on my back and then said: “And you should know that I won’t leave my whole life behind for him. I love him, and I would find a way to stay with him but there is no way that I would ever abandon you. You’re my little sister after all and I deeply care for you and love you just as much as Simon. You two make my life worth while and I’m not going to leave one for the other. Okay?”

“Okay”, I mumbled with tears in my eyes and let them pull me into a hug.

Of all the things I lost and gained two years ago in this terrible revolution, Nahyuta was the best thing that came into my life. I was glad to be their sister. And I was glad they could count on me just as much as I could count on them.

Link to the rest of the fanfiction on ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330195/chapters/40771271

#ace attorney #aa #ace attorney fanfiction #simon blackquill #nahyuta sahdmadhi #blackmadhi #a lot of other characters #the khura'inese royal family #the prosecutor office and police hq #many are mentioned #break up and get back together fic #simon is stupid and nahyuta doesn't let him #because yuta is stubborn #love him #my soft boys

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 110 Review

#cultoferen4life edition

You know what’s a face you don’t want to find yourself making during a high stakes poker game? Confusion and surprise.

The fact that the EFC has the upper hand in this game of political cat-and-mouse is becoming more obvious by the chapter - no, by the page.

In this one chapter the Eldian Freedom Caucus has: 

Infiltrated the military. 

Killed Paradis’ leader. 

Busted Eren out of jail. 

And turned the people against the government.

Let me be clear here: this is it. It’s game time. Zero hour. The EFC is making its move, and as for our heroes?

“What’s going on right now?”

They’ve been caught with their pants around their ankles!

And so the trend continues. The EFC acts, the moderates react. They leak information to the public, Paradis reacts by jailing them. They secretly meet with Eren, Paradis reacts by jailing the volunteers. And the one time Paradis tries to take the initiative, by labeling Zeke DOA and feeding him to Historia, is foiled, presumably by Zeke’s machinations. The extremists are always five steps ahead, meanwhile the moderates are struggling just to keep up. The bad guys are winning, here.

Words cannot describe how fucked they all are right now.

But on the plus side- things I predicted that have been confirmed by this chapter: 

The presence of a right-wing nationalist faction among the population.

That these people look to Eren for leadership.

That they do it because he’s a war hero and has the Founding Titan.

Bow before me for I am your new King!

It’s not surprising at all that Eren is in league with the nationalists. Yeah, Eren cares a lot about his friends and about the Eldian people in general. That’s not a bad thing. That’s also not the point.

I cannot stress this enough.

It’s beside the point that Eren is (presumably) doing this because he wants to protect what’s important to him. Eren is a bad person because he thinks in a bad way. He thinks like a nationalist. And it’s not just him.

Floch, Louise, and reaching into our world for examples, Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, these people and Eren are all cut from the same cloth. They all think the same way. That is what binds them.

The thing that’s important to understand about these people is that dominance plays a huge role in how they assess the world. People like Eren have a very brutalistic worldview. They think there are only two kinds of people in this world: strong people and weak people, with the strong naturally dominating the weak.

That Eren sees things this way is made clear in the very first chapter of the series. In fact, it’s the very first thing he says:

“That day, the human race was reminded of the terror of being dominated by them and the shame of being held in a bird cage.”

The narrator is obviously supposed to be Eren and that’s been clear since chapter 1. The tell is when Eren describes humanity as being in a bird cage, which is exactly how the narrator described humanity’s state of affairs in the opening.

(As an aside, if Eren is the one telling the story of SNK to us and he’s still caught up in his right-wing nationalist mindset, then that basically tells you everything you need to know about how the story ends.)

The titans keep humanity from going out beyond the walls and Eren frames this as humanity being dominated. Furthermore, and tellingly, Eren describes this situation as being shameful.

Think about that.

How would you describe humanity’s situation?

Dire? Untenable? Awful? Besieged?

Now look at how Eren describes it.

Shameful.

Humanity has been forced to live on a limited tract of land with limited resources and the only thing Eren can think about is the indignity of it.

Like a nationalist would. The indignity of injustice being visited upon a tribe is a common trope amongst nationalists. It’s what fuels the sense of grievance they use to propel themselves to power.

Eren hated the titans even before they attacked Shighanshina. The reason why was expounded upon in chapter 73. It’s because they prevent him from experiencing the world outside the walls. This fact makes Eren feel an unnatural amount of anger towards the titans, even though the titans aren’t sapient and thus are unworthy of that anger.

The titans are not intelligent beings, they are, as far as the walldians know, a force of nature; being Eren levels of angry at them before the Grim Reminder is like being angry at the laws of physics for preventing us from exploring the universe.

“And that’s when I knew I wasn’t free. I realized I had been living in a birdcage all that time. And that gravity had taken my freedom. The universe was so big, but it’d forced me into a tiny cage. And when I realized that I knew I could never forgive it.”

The irrational animosity Eren displays against the titans reveals a certain kind of egomania on his part. Eren is pissed at the titans because he thinks they’ve taken something that belongs to him. He thinks he has a birthright to the world. We know he does because he flat out says so in chapter 14.

“Why did you ever want to go to the outside world?”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s because I was born into this world!!”

That’s ridiculous.

Eren, and everyone else for that matter, has no birthright to the outside world. As a person, Eren has the right to live as he chooses and that includes the right to live where you choose. But a couple things:

First, rights are not absolute. They can be justly limited, and there are exceptions to them. You have a right to freedom of speech, but you cannot slander others. You have a right to freedom of movement, but your right can be limited in the form of being required to fill out paper work and have a passport to travel. You have a right to life, but, under some circumstances, someone can kill you and not be in the wrong. Self-defense is the go-to example of this.

Second, rights cannot be violated by non-persons. Titans are not people; they are incapable of intelligent thought. Because they are not people, they are also not moral agents. Being a moral agent means you are capable of being held morally responsible for your actions. Because of that, titans are exempt from moral judgement. They cannot take your freedom any more so than a tornado can. To make such a claim would be completely irrational.

Yes, the titans physically limit Eren. Because of them he cannot go where he wishes to go. In that sense they have taken away his freedom. But it is important to distinguish between freedom as it pertains to getting what you want and freedom as it pertains to enjoying certain rights you are entitled to.

When it comes to Eren, the object of what drives him is the former, but he thinks of it in terms of the latter. In other words, he thinks he has a birthright to something by virtue of the fact that he wants it. He believes he has a right to see the outside world in the same way one may think they have a right to fuck a really hot person. Because “I was born.”

Seeing the world? That is a luxury. Especially in a world where 90% of the population lives in poverty.

Eren wanted to see the outside world but was prevented from doing so, and he hated the source of that prevention, the titans. He hated them because they dominated him, because they had power over his life. The fact that they had this power over him was not unfair. Concepts like fair/unfair, just/unjust, right/wrong cannot be applied to non-persons, as I just said. He hated them anyway because of the position of powerlessness it placed him in.

This is indicative of his dominance-centric mindset.

Implicit in Eren’s dominance-mindset is zero-sum thinking. Zero-sum thinking is a way of thinking about the world. People who think this way believe that if you win, someone else necessarily loses. There are only two kinds of people in this world: winners and losers. The strong and the weak. The dominators and the dominated.

Prediction time! I’m sure some people were floored when I pegged Eren as a right-wing nationalist as early as chapter 105. Now I’m back with an even wilder prediction: I think Eren might be a racist.

Seriously. His dominance-centric worldview. His zero-sum thinking. The underlying fundamentals of racist thought are there. Add in the fact he rejects the notion that the races can coexist and it’s hard to not speculate.

Racism here refers to the belief that there are fundamental differences between the races and that because of this the only way they can coexist is in a society where one dominates the other.  

Eren’s focus on dominance leads him to obsess over strength and being strong. If you think we live in a world where the strong dominate the weak, you naturally want to be strong. You want to be the dominator. Eren’s obsession with being strong is a through line for his character.

When Hannes is killed, Eren wails about how he’s still too weak to protect anything he cares about.

As they’re making preparations for the Battle of Orvud, Eren flashes back to his mother’s death. She died because he was weak. That’s what Hannes told him, though in a more tactful way. As recently as the end of the Uprising Arc, that’s how he thought of it. He punches himself, trying to beat a “useless, pathetic brat” out of him. Implicitly, he’s pledging to be strong and make a meaningful contribution.

Because they see the world in terms of dominance, Nationalists naturally are also obsessed with strength and shows of strength. Chest-thumping bluster is a common hallmark.

These two facets of Eren’s thinking, dominance and strength, come together in the moment he vows revenge on the titans.

“Mom’s gone!! I’m never going to see her again. Why is this happening to us? Is it because humans are weak? Is crying the only thing the weak can do?! I’m going to destroy them!! Every last one of those animals that’s on this Earth!!”

Revenge is another common nationalist trope. In a nationalist context, the term for it is revanchism. Revanchism, the word, is derived from the French term for “revenge.” After losing a war with Germany in the 1870s, part of France’s territory was subsumed by Germany. French nationalists vowed revenge. The Germans had taken their land from them. They were trespassing on land that belonged to the French people. Not the French government, but the people of France.

In more modern times, people like Donald Trump speak in revanchist terms. They speak of taking back what was theirs and punishing the ones who took it from them. Eren thinks the same way. Taking back America and punishing Obama and his followers. Taking back Wall Maria and punishing Reiner and Bertolt. Revanchism is the common denominator.

That moment in this chapter when Eren takes the proffered Hoodie of Douchebaggery and assumes the role as EFC leader has been a long time coming. It is a culmination. Eren has matured. What he has matured into is monstrous.

The titans may have been eradicated, but Paradis is still crawling with mindless monsters. They congregate near government buildings where their calls can be heard for miles.

“Slaughter the Marleyans!”

“Eren Yeager will deliver us unto the Promised Land!”

“Eren is soo hot!”

You know at least one person in that crowd was thinking that.

So you’ve got this guy. He’s an outlaw, but not just any outlaw. He’s an outlaw because he speaks the truth. He’s an outlaw because he stands up for the little guy and fights the corrupt, incompetent establishment. As far as the people of Paradis is concerned, that’s basically Eren, right? We can all agree on that, right?

Yes? Okay, good, in that case I’m probably going to have to skip the next chapter because if this is what Eren is to the people then you know what’s coming.

Eren Yeager: Folk hero.

God have mercy on us.

This is all Eren’s fault.

What did Eren spend the whole first half of this series calling for? He spent it calling for the people to see themselves as part of a singular group whose survival was at stake and to fight back. His plea was basically a nationalist one.

(Nationalism is, arguably, not inherently bad. If you are a genuinely oppressed group, some degree of nationalism could be a good thing.)

Well, Eren got what he wanted. He won. The people see themselves as a singular group under threat and are prepared to fight. Now they’re calling for genocide.

Killing all titans makes sense. Giant, non-intelligent animals that are a threat to you? Yeah, knock yourself out. But human beings? No, God no.

Eren has always called for the walldians to fight the titans. Implicit in that is the fact that this would be a fight to the death. Only one side was going to make it out of here alive. Either the titans kill all humans or humans kill all titans.

Eren’s plea, implicitly, was for the walldians to kill all titans.

That is what he was calling for and he got what he wanted. By the start of the Return to Shighanshina Arc, the people were cheering the Survey Corps on.

But titans aren’t the enemy anymore. The enemy is other human beings and you just can’t call for killing all humans because that’s fucked up. And yet here we are!

“Slaughter the Marleyans!”

The situation has changed but the kill all titans mentality Eren strove to cultivate in the minds of the people has carried over. The Eren’s plea for more walldian nationalism has well and truly backfired, though that’s assuming Eren himself sees this development as unfortunate.

Which he may well not.

And yes, if the walldians lose they will all be killed. But just because the Marleyans are swimming in the gutter doesn’t mean the walldians have to join them. This doesn’t have to be a “loser dies” type of situation. It only becomes that if both sides are committed to genociding the other in the event of victory.  

What Paradis needs, what all sides to this conflict need, are more people like Armin. People who are willing to be compassionate and forgiving even to their mortal enemy. People who are willing to de-escalate the situation and turn away from the brink.

The same is true for Marley. If some Armin-type character were to gain power in Marley then the chances of peace would shoot up dramatically. That’s how situations like this usually end up with a peaceful conclusion. Both sides are willing to make a good-faith effort at peace.

But that doesn’t seem to be coming. On Marley, no one in a position to do so is calling for peace. That’s not surprising given the attack they suffered. On Paradis, people like Armin are in greater supply, but they feel, accurately, that they have to fight to survive.

We are moving, inexorably, towards disaster and the brakes aren’t working. Even if the titan powers were to excised from the Eldian people there would still be war. There’s just too much bad blood at this point.

You know, sometimes I can’t believe my luck. When I first started covering this series my biggest worry, aside from my poor grammar, was that I would struggle to find material with which to write about. I suck at character analysis; I just don’t have the attention to detail for it.

But wouldn’t you know it? I have a deep interest in politics and it seems I’ve jumped aboard just when politics is starting to dominate the narrative.

This recent batch of chapters have been very political in their content, and, it turns out, in a way mirrors American politics. The scene where Zackley gets boehnered by the Eldian Freedom Caucus is hilarious. And who can forget Jean grimly wondering what Eren and Zeke discussed, especially in light of the former’s inexplicable pro-Zeke attitude? I can’t believe that moment actually exists!

It’s actually hilarious how much the situation on Paradis parallels the Republican Party. Seriously, just think about it:

Floch and his team – The House Freedom Caucus, a group of right-wing extremists who’re a constant thorn in the side of the more moderate Party leadership even though both factions actually agree on what they want. Among all Republican politicians, they are the most obsequious to Trump.

Zeke Yeager – Russian dictator Vladimir Putin, a clear threat who seems to exercise some sort of control over Donald Trump.

Eren Yeager – President Donald Trump, the shithead President of the United States who inexplicably acts as though he’s under Putin’s control.

The denizens of Paradis – The Trumpistas, the faction of Republican Party voters who support Trump to an almost cult-like extent. Unfortunately for the party leadership, which is seriously put off by Trump, these people are actually the majority of the party’s membership. This forces leadership to be accommodative towards Trump for fear of a popular uprising that will destroy them.

Paradis’ leadership – The Republican Party leadership, the leaders of the party who fight hard for what they believe in but find themselves surrounded by fucking stupid people. Ostensibly, they’re on the same side as the Freedom Caucus, but in practice they’re actually at odds with each other because the HFC thinks they aren’t extreme enough in their methods. Even though they’re the leaders, the majority of party members don’t actually like them, but those same members fucking love Trump, so leadership is forced to live with the threat of a popular uprising unless they kowtow to this fucking twerp even though his impulsive actions are counterproductive. Leadership is seriously put off by Trump, mostly because of his coziness with Putin. They deal with this situation by trying to be “the adults in the room.” They try to mitigate Trump’s worse impulses and stand ready to pull the plug on him entirely if things get too hairy.

Needless to say, this all amuses me to no end.

#snk 110 #snk chapter 110 #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #spoilers #eren jeager

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

Teenage kicks  Chapter 2

A/N: Another chapter, new fun! Just a warning: this series is going to be full of crude language, a hat/hate/love-relationship and some VERY heated sex. I’m really in love with this story, and I can’t wait to share it with all of you! This is born from a request from the always lovely @theboundlesssoul!

This story is dedicated to @redeyedvixen, because she is without a doubt, the best person I’ve ever met, and she is one of the few people who can push myself to do even better every time I write something new. I love you, you wonderfully weird and perfect person.

Remember, I always say yes to requests, and feedback feeds the writer (seriously, guys, please comment, like, reblog or even send me an ask/message about the story, it warms my heart and makes me want to keep writing!)

 MASTERLIST

 Teenage kicks masterlist

Warnings: Language

READERS POV

Summer 1995

Your father had dragged you – very much against your will – to Bobby’s, when he had gotten a call. You were not having it, biting, snapping and sassing your dad at every turn, or as an answer to every question he had asked; you knew it was probably a bit too much, but hell, you were a teenager with heartache, and he would just have to live with it.

When he had pulled up to the old house, you had groaned and rolled your eyes; you dad had snapped his head towards you. “Shut it, Y/N. Stop this shit, right now, I don’t want to hear it. This is what’s going down, and that’s final, got it?” He had hissed at you, and you simply nodded – you knew better than to anger your dad further. You didn’t need a new bruise. You slowly stepped out of the car, the hot, august air breezing gently over your skin – you closed your eyes for a second, enjoying the warm wind against your skin, but your dad had yanked your arm towards him, eliciting a yelp from you, and dragged you towards the house and Bobby. “Ease up, Martin, she’s a kid, not a ragdoll.” Bobby had grumbled as he saw the grip on your arm. Your dad let go of you, but you didn’t dare move from his side. “You good, kid?” Bobby whispered. You nodded. You weren’t, not really, but you guessed it was a part of the life – your dad was overprotective as shit, and you didn’t really think further of it. You swung your hands lightly back and forth as you tuned the conversation between your dad and Bobby out, looking around. It was a mess, if you were honest, but that’s how you liked it. Nothing better than a bunch of overgrowth and tall grass, all swaying slightly in the light breeze. You hoped you could stay for a while. Bobby was like an uncle to you, and he doted on you every time you were here; being a girl in the hunting-life had its perks.

“Y/N!” A voice, very teenager-y, voice cracking at odd places, rang out and you turned around – Sam Winchester was running towards you. He had grown a lot, since the last time you’d seen him, all long and gangly, but still with the stupid hair flopping everywhere; you grinned and accepted the hug. “Hey, Samson! What are you doing here?” He nodded casually towards his dad and a brooding boy, who was leaning against the wall next to him. You raised your eyebrows as you took him in; he was wearing a leather jacket, two times too big, and a pair of acid-wash jeans. He was tall, and there was a bad boy-vibe all around him – he had full lips and hair, that begged to have fingers run through it. He must have girl swarming over him everywhere he went. Fuck, he was pretty. You cocked your head towards the bench further down in the garden, and Sam followed you, talking avidly about school and books he had read. You both sat down, and he told you about the last Lord of the Rings book, he had apparently just finished. He was gesturing wildly, and you could see his brother approach you, walking with a certain amount of swagger and tousled hair – he looked damn fine, if you had to say so yourself. You didn’t know much about the Winchester-boys, other than what Sam had told you, the one time, you met him. Dean seemed, for a lack of better words, like a god. He was always smirking a little bit, and when he got close, you could see freckles on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes were really pretty. He could be a Rockstar, if he wanted to. “And Aragorn was so badass, you know? He was just slaying people and leading them, and it’s so awesome. I like reading, you know.” He had said, almost shyly. Dean had sat down, seemingly not interested in your conversation. “That’s supercool, Sam. I do too.” You could see the very well-known movement of eye-rolling next to you, and you snapped towards Dean. “What?” He sneered and eyed you quickly, sending a slight blush to your cheeks; he was sizing you up. “Nothing. Nerds.” His voice was deep, and something about the whole ordeal made you super pissed – Dean Winchester, the Boy who could do it all, wasn’t about to reel you in. You knew better than that. “What, like you’re any better? I’m guessing you wear that stupid leather jacket to look cool, you have a bad-boy rep, and you’re a pain in the ass, probably to cool to get anything done, other than kiss chicks, drink before you’re old enough to do it and look at cars.” You said in a lofty, albeit snarky voice, turning back to Sam to continue your conversation with him. “What?” Sam snickered a bit, and Dean’s eyes narrowed at his brother, a finger pointed at his chest. “Shut it, Sammy.” You turned slowly to you, his eyes shooting daggers, and you almost recoiled under the intense stare, he gave you – but you would not let him win. “I don’t care what a goodie-two-shoes like you think. I bet you’ve never had any friends, have you? Fucking prissy.” He said bitingly. You could feel your stomach drop down to your knees – you had for some reason, hoped that Dean would just laugh haughtily at you, and leave it be. His words hit you hardIs words ,lgbmn, and you mustered the last bit of snark in you. “Fuck you, Winchester.” You stood up angrily. “Fuck you too, no-name.” He said casually. Your stomach curled, and you tried to bite the tears back. You turned to Sam, who looked a little scared, and softened your expression. “Sam, I’m happy you’re at least a decent human being, when you’ve got ass-clown over there as a brother.” You nodded towards Dean, before stomping off.

When you were far enough to no longer hear the brothers, you let the tears fall. You weren’t a soft-hearted girl by any means, but you had your fair share of self-esteem issues. You were a goddamn teenager after all, and his words brought back some very vivid and uncomfortable memories back. High school wasn’t easy, and you had been picked on so much, since you were always the new kid – it didn’t help, that you were somewhat gangly, not really “pretty” by the normal high school standards (plaid flannel all the way), and you had bruises everywhere; either from your dad, or the few hunts he let you go on. Mostly from you dad.

“no-name” rang through your head as you walked towards a very old swing-set, that creaked dangerously as you sat down. Fuck Dean Winchester and his smirking, stupid face.

 Present day

You sighed deeply, as you drove towards the motel, the black Impala trailing you. God fucking damn it, of fucking course it was the goddamn Winchesters, that would fuck this up for you. You hadn’t seen them since that horrible summer in ’95, and you had intended it to stay that way, but apparently, some god with a sick sense of humor had fucked that royally up for you. You sighed again, and slammed your hands on the steering wheel, cursing the best you knew, at the whole situation. You had spent so many years, trying to forget that fucking summer and that fucking ass-hat, but of course, he would be the one to screw up an operation, that had required so many weeks of prep-work, and you were blaming him so much – even though it might have been irrational, because he didn’t know, but still. He was a dick.

You pulled over, turning the engine off, before stepping out of your truck and without waiting, went into your room, leaving the door open. Sam stepped inside first. He was a giant; big, muscular, tall and still with the ridiculous hair flowing around his face. He smiled tightly at you, but you could see, that he was in pain – the cut above his eyebrow was still oozing blood, and you were slightly concerned about a concussion. That meant more time near these two dolts, which you weren’t really in the mood for. Dean stepped inside too, and he rubbed his neck – he had taken a few hard hits, you knew it, but anger still boiled at the sight of him. He was a douchebag of epic proportions, and you intended very much to let him be very aware of that fact. Who the fuck flirts after almost dying? You nodded towards the couch. “Just… Throw your shit there. If you touch anything of mine, you’re dead, Winchester.” You said with narrowed eyes at Dean, who simply held his hands up in a gesture of peace, and threw his duffel on the worn couch, before he slung himself on it, as well. He was about to put his feet on the table. “If you get your fucking blood-filled, ugly, dirty boots on this table, I will rip you a new one.” You snapped. He quickly put his feet down again, a scared look in his eyes, mixed with something you weren’t sure of. You snickered a bit, slightly happy you could scare him so much. You unzipped your jacket, letting it slide off of your arms, revealing the black tank top underneath, and you pulled your boots off as well, before you pointed to the bed. “Sam, sit down, before you pass out.” You said softly, and he obliged – he didn’t look too good, and it worried you. You quickly pulled the first aid kit you had in your bag, out, and turning towards him, assessing the damage.

He was already bruising slightly on his cheek-bone, but that wasn’t something to worry about. What was worrying, was the fact that his eyes were swimming and his breathing was slightly ragged. “What the hell did they hit you with?” You mumbled and tried to still the bleeding, before it ran into his eye. “Sharp.” He mumbled back. You rolled your eyes. “Wow, I had no idea, especially when your head is gushing blood, you ass. Sit still, I’ll try to patch you up.” Silence fell in the room, as you worked Sam over – the blood had finally stopped pulsing from the wound, and you could stitch it up just fine. You let a finger wander in front of his eyes, and he could barely focus on it. You sighed and turned to Dean, who had been watching the whole thing – apparently, he had been watching something very specific, because his eyes shot up from your backside, a faint blush on his cheeks. “He’s concussed.” “You cuss.” Sam mumbled as he fell backwards on the bed. You rolled your eyes. “As I said, concussed. You guys got rooms close to here?” Dean grimaced and shook his head. “We barely got into town, before we went to the barn. We didn’t have time to get one.” He said apologetic. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fucking shitfuckergoddamnitasscrackonjesus.” You looked back at Sam. “Fucking fine, you’ll stay here. I’m not happy about it, and you’re still a dick, but I’m helping Sam, so deal.” You moved a little closer to Dean, looking him over briefly. “I need to check that eye, idiot.” You said lightly. He nodded and leaned a little forward, so you had better vision under the shitty lighting. “You’re… Good at this. How is that? Most of us suck at stitches and injures should be walked off, so…?” Dean said, clearly trying you start a conversation. You grunted. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but when my dad died, I went to med-school. Pre-med, so I learned a bit.” You put an alcohol-soaked rag on Dean’s bruised eye, and he winced in pain. “Fuck off, you big baby. You’ve had worse, from what I hear.” You snapped. He smirked. “You’re gonna fix me right up, doctor? I know just what the thing would be, to get me right-side up.” He winked, and you slapped his shoulder – hard. He winced again. “Stick that right back where the sun don’t shine, Dean. I’m not going to fuck you, not in this goddamn lifetime, you pompous dick.” He smiled despite your insults and clutched his hand in his t-shirt, right where his heart was. “Aw, you called me Dean!” You snorted. “Don’t get used to it, dickhead. Wake Sam up in half an hour, I’m going for snacks.” You mumbled – it was very hard to hate this man, if you were honest. Before you slammed the door behind you, you shouted out to him. “Don’t think for one second, you’re gonna stay long, ass-hat.” As soon as you were outside, the cool air hit you, and you breathed deeply – your anger towards the older Winchester ebbing out a little, as soon as you couldn’t see his smirking, fucking face. He was still good looking, but all of the choice words he had directed towards you in your youth, swam in your head, along with that day.

You groaned and walked to your truck. Fuck Dean goddamn Winchester and his good looks.  

 CHAPTER 3

TAGLIST: @hobby27, @trustnobodyshootfirst, @wingedcatninja, @supernatural-idjit-95, @superrandomnatural

FOREVERLIST: @redeyedvixen, @supernaturalmagicfolk, @al1y, @roonyxx

#Dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #reader x dean #dean #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn #spn fanfic #spn family #spn fic #sam winchester #sam #reader insert #x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #supernatural family #spn smut #dean winchester smut

[chrliekclly]

do you think charlei and dee had sex because they mistook their genuine platonic bonding as attraction? (serious question, steming from thatlesbian dee post). I never thought of it that way, and I'm interested to hear that side !

YES that’s actully smthn i lose my sht abt !! iv blown up ppls mssgs with this kinda talk like, im a mess. ok lemme type right nd lemme type A Lot Again Anyways cz thos 2 giv me Way too many feelings (im spposd to b working on a final rn christ…)

okay…i scrolled back up after finishing nd turns out i went…literally insane…aka Much too far…so i need to under-the-cut it. mobile…viewers…i’m rly so sorry. swipe hard to leap ahead…hell im sorry fr computer viewers too. my theme is rough.

to start, my HCs surrounding chardee are rooted in charlie being on the ace spectrum and dee being gay (or like @ least bi, but imo all the men stuff is straight up compulsory heterosexuality).

i will always cling tight to the deleted scene wherein charlie says he thinks sex is gross and will genuinely get sick when he thinks about it unless he thinks about it with one specific woman. i know he shows sexual interest a decent amount of times throughout the show and has canonically had sex (on camera too, yeesh) but i see each time as very out of the blue moments (coming onto dee @ multiple points while worked up, agreeing to bang tatiana cuz she says to, that kinda thing) or relating to his long standing and delusional obsession with the waitress. in that vein, he’s also canonically enjoyed sex, and I don’t try and blind-eye any of it, because ace doesn’t always mean sex can’t be enjoyed in the moment. charlie definitely has a libido, and bodies be bodies. hell, sex-repulsed can sometimes even flip 180 in the right conditions. shit is one fun spectrum i’ll tell you that…but either way, to start with him, i think him going forward with banging dee was very much a misjudgment of what feelings are and being extremely caught up in a moment where he felt real, genuine, closeness with someone else who he was having a damn good time making terrible poetry with.

as for dee, i, first of all, just agree with everything in that post. in the context of chardee, as much as i will lose my mind in tags about how hard i ride or die the ship, it’s mostly my obsession with their dynamic. i don’t think chardee is meant to be endgame. i absolutely 100% believe that dee, too, is misinterpreting her feelings. i think part of it is her consistent comp het, and the other is she’s never been close with someone the way she has been with charlie, and she doesn’t know what she’s meant to do with it. i think she was similarly caught up in a moment in which she showed her own vulnerability, opening herself up to someone who could easily just ridicule her as she’s used to (”right now? i’m scared”), and she receives support from him instead (”you’re not gunna bomb, you’re gunna do great”). we’ve seen how much dee craves validation, thats her entire thing. i’m not shocked she dropped her pants in this moment lmao. she probably felt her damn heart flutter cuz she got told by someone who she at least somewhat trusts that she really is good, even if she doesn’t think so. the only rational explanation for the feeling associated with that person is that he’s The One right? pretty big leap

just…basically i dont think either of them know what a relationship is.

charlie’s lived nearly his entire life deluding himself into thinking that, 1. he and the waitress have a relationship that is anything other than creepy, and 2. that the warped-ass mess of an image he’s created in his brain for what he and the waitress are to each other is what love is. he thinks he’s making progress in getting close to her when the only thing she’s Ever done pre-s12 is ask him to leave her the fuck alone. he’s never even attempted to look past the waitress before, and the only time he shows interest in other people it’s purely his libido talking. he doesn’t pursue romance, and the one time we’ve seen him do so he was using her to get to, who else?, the damn waitress. 

dee’s lived her entire life having to prove herself to every single person she interacts with, and its familiar to her to getting ahead by using men, usually as sexual objects. i’m hesitant to bring this up on a post wherein i speak on dee’s sexuality because i don’t want to link this trait to it in any way as if its related, but to be fair, dee is as much a serial rapist as dennis is in that regard. the gang are shitty people, we know that. she will get men drunk to have sex with them, or pressure them into it, or trick them into it. she’s not having sex with these men for pleasure, she’s literally doing it for power. it’s absolutely fucked up, but so is she.

when she Is romantically involved, she’s shown to leap headfirst into those relationships and blow them out of proportion on 0 grounds for it. she buys a promise ring for a guy who didn’t think they were dating, it’s implied she’s going to actually go ahead with the brad fisher marriage thing after the episode ends, she gloats about how important she is to a stripper who was literally shame-crying during sex (also? she says “we BOTH wept,” and she can say that’s because it was that good, but i really doubt it). i mean the woman GAGS when talking to men she’s “nervous” around, something she takes as meaning she’s attracted to them? lmao uh???

at this point i’ve probably repeated myself over and over, my brain is on backwards and my train of thought went off the rails years ago. but i’m still gunna retype an old set of tags i found:

i hc that neither of them end up together but they do go through a relationship-ish phase, but dee’s gay and charlie’s okay with that (and always ace in my mind) because they finally move on from their own irrational drives to adhere to what they think is expected of them. i dont think either of them have any idea what a relationship is meant to be and they pathetically grasp at each other because they’re kind-ish to one another and that feels safe for once. chardee may be my main ship but i purposefully backtrack on myself because i know they’re two people who barely know love and have found each other, both as underdogs in their environments, and feel an electrifying Something that they Cant Name wen theyre together, and that something just so happens to be friendship and they don’t realize it cuz they’re doofuses who’ve led really unfortunate lives where friendship and hatred are always intermingling.

i’ve never brought it up here, but i often imagine a timeline of their relationship, because i enjoy the idea of them figuring themselves out through each other, just because they are genuinely amazing (platonically) together, and they get into some of my favorite shit. the thought of late night talks and confessions about their worries and confusion about their feelings while lying in bed, just close because they feel comfortable that way, realizing they can keep loving each other and not force it to mean something it doesn’t, the relief that comes with that, a final kiss that really doesn’t mean anything but thank you, not losing what they had but rather gaining a whole new kind of intimacy, and still getting into absolutely ridiculous situations. maybe dee realizes shes, ironically, found herself with a crush on the waitress and it cracks charlie up. he doesnt mind. he’s finally learned that if he Is going to be with someone it should definitely be with someone who makes him feel at Least half as comfortable as the way being around dee does, and knowing he doesn’t have to make himself look for that, but when he knows he will know. plus, he cant imagine dee pulling that one off. but maybe one day she does. dees gentler around the edges, and she gets butterflies when talking to women, but she never gags. charlie’s a terrible wingman but he keeps convincing dee to let him try. she brings a girl home for the first time and charlie all but backflips in an empty pool that day. they’re still shithats but they’re learning to let that go. people can get better. AA would probably help.

iv gone too far goodbye

#chardee #charlie kelly #dee reynolds #maybe this is sort of #meta #ramblings #headcanon #rape ment #im so sorry this was not wat u askd for flnsjkfgh #anon #ask