#like my mum would be less angry about the weed than she was about the fact i didnt even respect her enough to hide it if that makes sense

[stuckwith-harry]

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all.  It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

#hp #hp fanfic #fanfiction #ron weasley #ginny weasley #jessie writes #at this point if there's typos in this .... exchange 'em for cookies at the till #also i like desperately need a tag for these two but it'll be meta as all hell #brotp: i'm a can on a string you're on the end #told ya.

[reawritesthings]

Stand By You | Rafe Cameron

gif by @rudypankows

you agree to a family dinner with the cameron’s, when ward boasts about his daughter and not your boyfriend, you finally stand up for rafe.

requested: by @drewstarkey!! ( this was originally something she requested for the 100 ways, but i decided to do it into an imagine)

a/n: im not the best writer but i just thought this could be a cute little imagine for you all. I take requests if you any of you are interested, but i understand if you don’t sksks.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

You always avoided attending the glamorous Cameron family dinners, and Rafe completely agreed. From the stories he told you, it was definitely not something you could sit through. You could barely sit through a whole forty five minutes of keeping up with the Kardashians; Wheezie’s favourite.

Being Rafe’s girlfriend was a lot of work. It definitely wasn’t a walk in the park. A lot has happened regarding Rafe’s weed addiction and Ward almost kicking him out, he needed you more than ever.

“Babe..” He hummed whilst playing with your hair.

You looked up at him, staring into his blue eyes.

“I know you always say no to this but since you love me very mu-” You rolled your eyes, sitting up as you knew what exactly he was asking you. “Yes, I’ll go to dinner, which is tonight I believe?” You laughed pointing towards the fridge with recipes that Rose had out.

“How did you even know i would ask you that?” Rafe questioned.

“Rose made me clean the cutlery before you decided to wake up. She even made me be her advisor on what dress to wear. Plus, judging by the fridge full of recipes, it wasn’t a hard guess.”

Rafe was amazed, he didn’t even think he knew your family as well as you did his.

“God, that just turned me on.” Rafe smirked, connecting your face with his but you pulled away.

“It’s almost three and you haven’t changed. I need to ask Sarah for an outfit and make a good first impression.” You chuckled, getting up from the sofa stretching out your limbs before the mayhem begins.

“I’ll see you soon, baby. If you need me to help you with the zipper, let me know.” You winked, turning away to find Wheezie shaking her head at the two of you.

“Gross.” She groaned opening the fridge.

“Don’t you have to get ready?” You asked her, placing one hand on your hip.

“Don’t you have a zipper to fix?” She imitated you, even placing her hand on her own hip.

“Wheezie.” Rafe spoke, walking up to her.

“Fine, I’ll go get ready.” Wheezie moaned as she dragged herself away from the kitchen.

“About the zipper….” Rafe whispered but you walked away too, leaving a very frustrated Rafe to fend for himself.

-

Getting ready for an event like this wasn’t your favourite. It wasn’t you, you didn’t like putting on makeup or dresses just to cover up the drama that goes on inside these walls. Rose peeking her head through the spare bedroom every five minutes wasn’t exactly helping you either.

The creamy fabric of the silk dress fit nicely on your shoulders, hugging your body like a tight embrace. The colour of the dress matched your eyes, and as you turned over to check the back you noticed your boyfriend standing there, mouth open.

“How’s it goi- you look beautiful.” Rafe swallowed his pride as he noticed how your figure stood out in the dress.

Rafe never really tried to make you blush this much, but it was his raspy voice that always got your cheeks burning. Planting a small kiss on your cheek, you turned around giving one back on his lips.

“And you clean up nicely.” You chuckled as Rafe fiddled with his sleeves.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, shoving him off you as you tried to find your earrings.

Rafe nodded. He didn’t exactly have the best relationship with his father right now, and hosting a family dinner certainly wasn’t exactly the greatest redemption. But, that’s the Cameron’s.

“Dad still isn’t getting off my case about me smoking. And that I ruined some stupid business contract.” Rafe huffed, searching for something to press his anger on.

“Baby, breathe. Just ignore your dad for the night. There’s going to be like, over a hundred people here and I’m sure he will be too busy boasting about Sarah. We can hang back with Wheezie…” You chuckled as you saw her figure enter the room.

“No you won’t. I have a reputation to hand out. Plus, Mum wants us down in exactly thirty seconds or we won’t get dessert.” Wheezie threatened, looking over at Rafe who knew that was a legitimate reason to go downstairs.

“Why do we have to go downstairs? It’s not even 7?” You questioned as Rafe pushed you out of the room, closing the door behind you.

“After this, I’ll need a drink.” Rafe whispered in your ear and you rolled your eyes at how dramatic he could be.

“Listen up, Cameron’s and Y/N. Best behaviour, best manners and always be elegant. Y/N since it’s your first dinner with the family, a few little rules.” Rose cleared her throat, taking out the list she hid in her dress.

You looked at Rafe with a look, even Wheezie shook her head too.

“No kissing, no flirting, try not to start any drama and when eating, you start outwards and go in.” Rose sternly looked at you, she wasn’t playing and neither was Ward who was examining the whiskey.

“Who had some whiskey?” Ward spoke, looking directly at the both of you.

“Who do you think?” Rafe spoke, rolling his eyes as he was the only one who would drink at this time.

“How many times have I told you not to fucking drink? Especially my own whiskey. It’s like you want me to kick you out.” Ward roared causing Wheezie to cling onto your hand, which you gripped firmly.

As Rafe was about to defend himself, you opened your mouth immediately regretting.

“Stop being so hard on him, he just had a little sip and I had the rest. You never scream at Sarah when she’s drinking, and she’s what? 16?”

Rafe and Sarah's eyes widened, so did Rose’s, but Wheezie gave you a thumbs up.

“Watch your mouth, girl. You don’t speak to me like that, one more word out of your mouth you aren’t welcome here.” Ward threatened looking at Rafe to make sure he got the same warning.

The awkwardness had now invaded the room, you didn’t even know what to say, but the touch of Rafe’s hand squeezing around yours made you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Let’s just get this dinner over and done with.” Rose stuttered, walking out of the room to finish setting up the dining table.

As everyone made their way out, you and Rafe were left behind. When the door shut, you turned to Rafe but was taken back by his lips attacking yours.

You quickly pulled away, wanting to apologise for what had happened. “I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that but he makes me so angry.”

Rafe shook his head making sure the strand of your hair was tucked nicely behind your ear.

“It’s okay, but baby.. try not to start something tonight. No matter how much you want to strangle him, let’s get through this dinner and I can finally rip that dress off you.” He smirked opening the door, leading you to a dinner party you won’t forget.

-

It wasn’t too bad, there were a lot of people but you were quite happy staying at the back with Wheezie whilst Rafe was mingling with his family.

“How come you aren’t talking to your cousins?” You asked Wheezie who was tapping away on her phone which you took out of her hand.

“Because they are lame and I’d rather hang back here with you, than be with them.” Wheezie whined looking up at you but you just responded with a laugh.

You and Wheezie had an odd friendship, she would often refer to you as Buzz Lightyear and she was Woody.

“I’m flattered.. but, your mother has been staring at us for exactly five minutes. Let’s mingle with the commoners. How about later, we steal the cake and watch a movie?” You negotiated with her, knowing cake always ends up winning.

Wheezie nodded holding your hand as she directed you towards her cousins, not letting go of your hand.

-

“This is delicious, Rose. How did you make these potatoes so cheesy?” One of the aunties said, taking a sip of wine.

“Cheese?” Wheezie laughed looking at Rose who gave her a glare.

“Funny one you got there.” The aunty mimicked, but Rose just gripped onto her fork hoping no one would see.

“Did I tell you that Sarah is now applying at the top schools in NYC? She even has a scholarship.” Ward beamed at his daughter who frankly couldn’t care less, but for her mother she just smiled.

Before anyone could congratulate Sarah, Ward again, had something to say. “Also, Wheezie has gotten straight A’s in all her subjects. How did I get so lucky?”

Every word that Ward spat out, made the flames inside you burn. Every time he boasted about his daughters and ignoring Rafe, made you want to add more fuel to the fire. Your fist began to clench and Rafe quickly noticed, placing his palm over top but that didn’t stop your rage.

“I almost forg-“ Ward was taken back by the sound of your chair creaking back made everyone’s attention divert to your body.

“Anything you like to say, Y/N?” Ward faked a smile looking over at Rafe.

“As matter of fact, I do. You do realise that you have a son too? A son that tries so hard to make you see him as a human being and not a disgrace. He has worked so hard to get you to value him like you value Sarah. He’s made mistakes but he is human, he may have gotten into smoking weed, but you can’t talk, you’ve done worse. Rafe is just as clever as Sarah and Wheezie are, you may not see it and don’t believe in him, but I do!” You shouted as you noticed a lot of crumbs on your plate.

Ward was boiling, his veins we’re slowly appearing and that was never a good sign. You looked down at Rafe, but he didn’t meet your gaze.

“Rafe, take your girlfriend out of here now.” Ward sneered through his teeth as he grabbed onto the plate, gripping on tight.

Rafe nodded, pulling you harshly away from the table, escorting you towards the garden.

He was mad, you could tell from the eye contact and how tight he was grabbing your wrist. “Rafe, I’m sor-“

He cut you off, “I don’t want to hear it, Y/N. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? Why couldn’t you just let him praise my sisters and leave it at that? He’s going to kill me now.” Rafe signed, pulling his hair as he didn’t know what to do in this situation.

“How can you stand there and just let him degrade you like that? He was acting as if you weren't even there? You are just as clever as they are. I hate when he treats you like this Rafe, I fucking hate it.” You screamed kicking the swan floaty away from the pool.

“I know, baby. But, you just have to get used to it.. I have.”

“I hate how he treats you… you deserve a better father.” You whispered not wanting Rafe to see the tears that boiled up in your eyes.

Rafe shook his head, lifting your chin up as he pushed away the hair from your face. “I love you, and I’m fucking glad to call you my girlfriend.” He smiled, softly kissing your lips as you slowly moved back to make more space between you both.

The kiss deepened, his hands were firmly tight on your bum as he lightly gripped it causing you to chuckle.

“Your family is inside.. they can see.” You whispered through the kiss but Rafe didn’t care, he was already embarrassed enough. As Rafe took a step closer to you, cupping your cheeks, your shoes got caught in the flare of your dress causing you to fall into the pool.

“Rafe!!” You screamed swimming up to the surface, looking at him whilst he was laughing his head off.

“Are you okay baby?” Rafe laughed, ripping off his suit jacket and jumping in causing the water to splash against the window.

“We are in so much trouble….” You giggled, looking over at the window as you saw someone pull the door open.

Wheezie.

“Can I join?” she asked looking at the two of you.

Rafe nodded, holding out his arms so Wheezie could jump in

“I hope you never break up with her, Rafe. She’s the best sister I ever had.” Wheezie complimented you, as she pulled you into a tight hug.

“What about Sarah?”

“Eh, she’s alright.” Wheezie scoffed, embracing you into a bigger hug that Rafe suddenly ruined.

You may have lost all privileges from the Cameron’s household but in this moment, you didn’t even care. You were happy that you stood up for your boyfriend, and extremely happy that Wheezie finally accepted you. It was definitely a night to remember, and you couldn’t wait until the next one.

If you get invited…

masterlist | TAGLIST

#outer banks #outer banks cast #outer banks imagines #outer banks masterlist #rafe cameron #obx cast #drew starkey #outer banks imagine #rafe fluff #outerbanks rafe #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader

[ineloqueent]

dialogue prompt? “don’t kiss me ‘cause if you do, i’ll kiss you back.”

this is long, and quite dramatic. oops.

gif by @imladrs , which i had to include because it’s absolutely beautiful.

⭒

1977

The room was full of strangers.

They called him a friend, when in reality they knew nothing about him.

They knew of his fame, sure, how he’d built his guitar from scratch and was in a band with three others, three others whom he had named equals in family to anyone who shared his blood.

But they knew nothing of him.

Not how his heart ached in its loneliness, not how he dreamt of belonging to another, because he could not imagine a purer form of love than that of sharing your entire world with another person, enthralled by them, indebted to their kindness though they never expected a repayment, someone to share one’s happiness with in its entirety, someone to promise him that he would make it through the darker hours of his life.

Somebody to love.

Oh, he loved, there was no doubt about that.

He loved so much that it hurt, and though he wasn’t always good at showing it, he would have died of grief had he lost any of his friends, or his mother or father. He had so much love to give, and no one to give it to. He longed to hold someone’s hand for the sake of holding their hand, to dedicate his touch to their skin and prove to them that they were loved, to show them how much brighter the world looked when they looked upon it with a fondness for life, a fondness for being alive, like gazing up at the moon and being in awe of its beauty, thinking of how lucky one was to see such a glow, even from so far away.

Brian had never in his life felt special. And he knew that it was a ridiculously self-deprecating thought, but he supposed he was simply never meant to feel special, because if everyone was special, then no one was special. He knew in his heart that no one would ever love him as much as he loved them. He knew he would never be special. But damn it all, he wanted to make someone feel special. If he could make someone happier, then he would be happier too; he would die happily in his accomplishment.

But there was no one to give his love. With each passing day he felt lonelier than ever before.

Until she walked into the room.

⭒

Much to your dismay, there was not a quiet corner to sneak off to at this party.

Every corner was occupied by lovers or friends, and though you had come here with a friend, you suddenly found yourself entirely friendless, surrounded by strangers and people you vaguely recognised but did not know well enough to strike up a conversation with.

You had never been a talent in the realm of small-talk, and you weren’t willing to start a career now.

The room was full of people, and yet you had never felt more alone in your life.

Deserted by the one person you knew, you sighed and fought the urge to sink to the floor in despair. She hadn’t meant to leave you, but she’d always been like that— self-assured and well-adapted— and was easily swept away by a tide of companions that might have repulsed you, if you had not known how kind she was, and how that kindness ebbed and flowed, and attracted every human in sight.

You had always been bluntly honest, and few people, very few people indeed, valued honesty to the degree where they did not mind a slight offense to their character if it was the truth. Even you understood, because you were honest, but struggled to deal with the honesty of others. Particularly when it involved romantic involvement.

In the past year alone, four people had confessed attraction to you, and you had broken down each time, crushed by the horror of having to hurt them and say that you did not feel the same way, as well as the sinking feeling of how perhaps you were incapable of loving anyone, for but the idealised versions of people that lived within your head.

But many years ago, there had been a person you had loved, though perhaps you had been too young at the time to understand what it was you were feeling.

Since you’d left the place where he existed, you’d turned bitter and cynical.

You chose your friends carefully, not out of haughtiness, but out of a fear of being hurt, of trusting the wrong people with the terrible fears of your heart— ones that would certainly make them love you less, if they loved you at all.

And yet. You idealised the memories of people to an extraordinary degree. Far too often.

The ones you trusted you hefted upon a shrine of goodwill, embracing them longer and more fiercely when they departed your company, never ceasing to speak of them to anyone who would listen, thinking of them every day. It wasn’t an obsessive habit, you told yourself. It was just like everything else.

It was a desperation to be loved.

To be loved despite your faults, despite your vices and your numerous, unyielding virtues, to be loved even in the face of everything that made you unlovable.

And so you idealised those who made you feel loved, even when they ignored your letters or shunned your sentimentalism, because you knew that deep down, they wanted to be loved as much as you, but simply deigned to have more shame than you.

But you’d been ashamed for too long.

Now, you would be ashamed no longer, and would live in the dreams of your head if that would make you happy, because you were tired of being unhappy. And you were as good as addicted to the version of life that you’d created inside of your mind.

More often than not, however, the idealism caused you no end to grief, when years later, you would reunite with someone and they would turn out to be so very unlike the person you had dreamed them to be.

But there was one person. One person who, every time you ran across him, unbidden but never unwelcome, renewed your faith in humanity, and in being loved. Because he always made you feel loved, important, special. It was like there was no end to the love he could give to you, through his smiles, and the way he held your hand, even though the two of you had never been anything more than friends, through his quiet laughter at the silliest of your musings.

You were never quiet around him, as you were with most people. In fact, when you were in his company you had absolutely no filter at all, because he was the least intimidating person you had ever met. He wasn’t intimidating, because he was honest. Like you.

But he was also endlessly kind and endlessly romantic— he lived his life by the light of the stars and the music that hummed beneath his words, as though he found everything beautiful in some way or another.

You were angry at the world. He was in love with it.

Better still, you had never idealised him to become that person. He just simply was.

And you would never see him again.

He’d always been in and out of your life, but this time, it was over. You were sure of it.

You’d known him since the two of you had been no more than five years old, and you’d been in the playground with your all-girl friend group.

Even from a young age, you’d spent much time occupied by your thoughts, and standing in the middle of the playground on that summer’s day, counting to a hundred in this game of hide and seek, you’d thought it odd that you’d ended up with only girls for friends, when your very first friend, at age one, had been a boy.

You had wondered then, opening your eyes to find that your giggling friends had all hidden away, whatever had happened to him. When you’d started a new school, you’d lost contact with him…. Jacob. Yes, that had been his name.

And at five, insecure in the onslaught of new culture that surrounded you, you’d been overwhelmed by the terrible thought of your name fading from someone’s memory.

You’d started to cry.

You hadn’t meant to close your eyes a second time, having finished counting and intending to go and find your friends, but it was an easier way to hide your tears from any teacher who might have wandered past and asked you what was wrong. But in closing your eyes, you had dimmed your senses, and were thus startled by a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

“What’s the matter?”

You’d opened your eyes to find a boy staring at you.

“I— I can’t find my friends,” you lied.

His smile was quick. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you. If you want..?”

Feeling strangely at ease in his presence, you’d nodded, unsure of yourself, but sure of the kindness he embodied. He took your hand into his own, and without a thought, kissed your cheek.

Baffled, you blinked.

He seemed to sense your startled reaction.

“It’s what my mum does whenever I’m sad,” he said. “She says it means she loves me, and that she’ll be there for me, no matter how lost I feel.” He shrugged. “You looked lost.”

And with that, he’d pulled you along at a jog, smiling a gap-toothed grin and going around the playground with you until you’d found each one of your friends.

Everyone had teased you from that day on, about how he was your boyfriend. They’d said it in such a sing-song way, though, and you couldn’t help but giggle at their remarks, to smile when he smiled at you and witness the oohs that chorused from the kindergartners around you.

So you’d let them tease you, and begun to call him your boyfriend.

He became one of your closest friends, taking you to the cinema on ‘dates’, paying for the tickets and the concessions with his own pocket money, the money he’d earned from whatever little chores he could pick up from his neighbours— weeding out the garden, walking dogs, polishing shoes.

He taught you how to play chess, how to swim faster than anyone else, and how to stand up for yourself, even when the people you had to stand up to were adults, ones who had proclaimed themselves older and wiser than your young, knobbly-kneed self.

You’d grown older, and when six years had passed, the remarks about him being your boyfriend had turned earnest. Your friends asked constantly whether you would ever kiss him, whether he’d asked to kiss you, and your parents joked about the two of you marrying one another when your ages eventually passed into the twenties.

But at the time, you were only eleven, still naïve and innocent of mind, and when you’d moved away, you’d thought next to nothing of your last day of seeing him, thought nothing when he hadn’t hugged you goodbye, because you were eleven, and hugging people was an intimacy reserved for family.

Over the years— once in every five, to be precise— you’d returned to your old home town to visit, and you and he had gotten on as well as you always had, though now he would hug you properly and tell you how tall and beautiful you’d grown in the time you’d been away. If he hadn’t always been so honest, you would have scorned him for lying to you, because you knew you were not beautiful, and he had always been taller than you.

So perhaps it was a fantasy to think that you should see him at this party tonight, in the city where it had all begun.

But still you hoped, because despite how your other friends had told you about his various new girlfriends over the years— real girlfriends, because you had been too young to ever be that to him— a part of you still dared to think that he could love you, as no one had ever loved you before.

⭒

She was here.

He walked with her in memories, had savoured her touch even when they’d been only eighteen, shivering, terrified beneath her fingers when they skimmed his arm, because he was afraid of acting upon his feelings, lest she rebuke him for crossing an unforgivable boundary— the boundary between friends and lovers.

It was a cliche, he knew, but his terror was real.

And seeing her now made him think he was dreaming, because she was standing alone, in precisely the manner that had characterised her solitude when they had been five.

Only this time she was not weeping. She had learned to stem her tears, as all children eventually must, and in her resolve, she was more beautiful than ever.

Anyone else might have found her eyes cruel, surveying the room as though the world was hers, and hers to judge, but he knew what she was doing.

She was doing what she had always done, compartmentalising and rationalising her fears until they withered beneath her incessant will to be stronger than that which scared her, and looking for a place to escape to, beneath the dim lighting and close-crowded bodies of the party.

If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have said she was looking for him.

But Brian was nothing if not honest, and so he quelled that train of thought before it was even fully formed.

Still.

It couldn’t hurt to say hello, could it? By some quick head-maths, he reckoned they were due for a reunion. It had, after all, been a good deal more than five years since he’d seen her last.

He downed the last of his drink, flexed his shaking hands, and began to carve a path through the crowd toward her.

⭒

“Y/N?”

Your heart had already been in your throat, but by god, surely it had ceased to beat at the sound of your name breathed from his mouth.

You turned around and your stopped heart nearly broke at the sight of him, standing there short of breath, tall as ever, those hazel eyes liquifying you completely with the earnesty of their gaze.

“Brian, hi.” You were as breathless as he, and when you stepped closer to him, you found that you were dizzy too, because you nearly toppled in your low-heels when he smiled.

“H-ey, watch yourself, love,” he gripped your hands before you fell, and you flashed him a grateful smile.

“Sorry,” you said, and, to your dismay, blushed.

He shook his head, gentle laughter bubbling up over his lips. “It’s okay,” he assured you.

You stared at him for a moment before the words fluttered from him like a net-full of butterflies, newly freed, only to choose their new home to be your stomach. “It’s so good to see you,” he gushed, and wrapped his arms around you.

Caught by surprise, your arms found residence around his neck, and when he leaned his head against yours, you breathed in the fresh-linen smell of his curls, the slight musk of his skin that was between vanilla and sage, impossibly both rain and perpetual sunshine.

“Why do we wait five years every time?” you wondered softly against the shell of his ear, like the honest person you were.

This was the most honest you’d been in years.

Because your honesty seemed to hurt others, and so you forewent honesty for honeyed lies, to spare them of the pain your words might otherwise have caused.

It was draining to lie all the time.

But you never had to lie with Brian, because where your honesty seemed to hurt others, it enamoured him. He told you so, as often as he had the chance.

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispered back, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He pulled back at the sound and smiled again.

You suddenly couldn’t bear to spend another minute in this room full of strangers.

“Outside?” you said, and he nodded, taking you by the hand just as he had done all those years ago.

Outside, it was quiet and cold, and without a second thought, Brian had his arm around your shoulders, his warmth a welcome replacement to the coat you hadn’t thought to bring.

“So what brings you back home?” he asked as you sat down with him, by what appeared to be a garden pond. The water babbled with the presence of a small, adjourning stream, and the surface of the pool brimmed with blush-pink water lilies. The moon’s friendly light showed you as much.

And it showed you the marble-carved contours of Brian’s face, the bow of his pretty lips.

You licked your own, willing yourself to glance away, but finding the action utterly inviable.

“Oh, you know,” you began half-heartedly, “old friends to meet, new memories to be made.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Old friends?” he said. “And here I thought you were here to see me.”

He was joking, but his closeness abruptly dampened your skin with a nervous sweat. You wrinkled your nose and pushed his arm off of your shoulder before he noticed.

“Shut up, Brian. You know I mean you.”

Brian chuckled, carding long, elegant fingers through his tousled hair. “No, don’t worry. You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

The air was pulled taut as a string when his eyes met yours.

“Never,” he responded quietly. He made no movement for but that of speaking. He did not blink, and you did not breathe.

“I always come back to you,” you said, and now that the words were flowing, you could not stop them. “Because no matter how many years pass, no matter how much other people change—” you had to take a breath before it physically killed you. But it was a sharp breath, and Brian hung on your every word, so when you inhaled, he gravitated toward you.

“You,” you whispered. “You never change.”

He let out a little sound, something like oh, like a realisation.

And you couldn’t keep yourself from your honesty any longer, because you leaned in to kiss him.

His thumb curved over your lower lip, depriving you of that final touch, the one which held you suspended before him, with no modesty left, no secrets, no shame, no nothing.

No end to the love which you carried in your heart for him, like a candle you had held shielded for years, cupping your hands around the flame, even if your fingers burned, because keeping that candle alight mattered more to you than the suffering of pain, more than anything in this world.

“Don’t kiss me.”

How easily three words could shatter a soul.

“Wh—”

“‘Cause if you do, I’ll kiss you back.”

You dared exhale, and his eyes fluttered shut when you kissed the pad of his thumb.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Brian’s eyes opened, as his thumb tugged softly on your lip again. It was difficult to keep quiet when he touched you like that.

“Then despite our proclaimed honesty,” he said, “you’ve lied to me every day of your life.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Brian. You just haven’t let yourself hear what I’ve been telling you.”

His eyes widened, and you were staring into a hazel-ringed abyss, a black hole super-positioned over dying nebulae.

Brian’s thumb slipped from your lip, and he replaced its pressure with his mouth.

Exhilaration surged through you and wound itself around your heart, turned your brain to nothingness as his kiss turned you to treacle, thoughts abandoned in favour of returning the tenderness of his touch.

It felt like he’d waited forever to kiss you, from the way he cradled you in his arms. And you felt suddenly desperate that he should never let you go, that he should stay this way forever, with the curve of his hips melded against yours, the press of his chest and the fold of his hands keeping you closer to him than you could ever have hoped to be, a breathless whine escaping his perfect mouth as he kissed you deeper, more desperately, as desperate as you felt. You were his equal in your want, in your need, and the understanding between the two of you set you free, because never had you felt such an easy, mutual understanding as this. It was the simplicity of his kiss that killed you a little— how plain he was in his emotions, how willing he was to show them to you. He had the same honesty as you, even if it manifested in a different way— a better, more loving way— because he understood how truth grounded you, and in revealing to you his affections, without the intent to play games or string you along, he understood you as well.

He was quick to love and slow to judge, and though his movements were languid, his kiss was not, dissolving you like sugar beneath his lips, wet from your tongue or his— it was difficult to tell. His senses were yours, his desire a divinity when you needed his touch as hopelessly as he needed yours, and you craved for the world to always hold him this close to you.

When he brought your lower lip between his teeth, you allowed yourself to shudder, and he smiled, pressing another quick kiss to your mouth.

“Why did we wait so long with being honest?” he murmured.

You laughed in response, winding your arms around his slim waist and kissing his shoulder. You felt him kiss your hair, and you nestled further into his hold.

“Never again,” you said.

He repeated the words in his lilting voice, and combed his fingers through your hair— lingeringly, lovingly.

And in the cold and the dark, you knew he would continue to be honest with you forever, because Brian was unlike anyone you’d ever met before.

Brian was special.

#tina’s writing #brian may x reader #fic

[athina-blaine]

MoMM Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors (Preview #2)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors (Preview #1)

Martin snapped up straight, the book nearly tumbling out of his hands, but Jon didn’t seem to notice him at all. His eyes were cast down on the dinner tray as he glided right past Martin and his spot on the lounger.

Bollocks. What did Martin do now? It was one thing for Jon to notice him as he came walking down the hallway and for Martin to strike up a conversation; it was another to shout at him, clamouring for his attention like a child.

Jon was almost out of the foyer. Now or never.

“Jon?”

Jon yelped, the tray jumping in his hands, and Martin covered his mouth, face warming. The cavernous space of the foyer made everything seem louder– his voice had sounded like a crack whip.

“Sorry, sorry, I just, um, uh …” Dammit, what should he say? Nearly two hours of fake-reading a book and he hadn’t thought up something clever and interesting to say in the meantime?

Recovering from his fright, Jon straightened. “Is there any particular reason you’re out here?”

It was so much harder to hear that chill in Jon’s voice when Martin knew what it sounded like soft and gently amused. “Just, you know–” he weakly held up his book “–getting some reading done.”

Jon’s eyes flicked from the book, then back to Martin. “I see. In any case, I have your meal prepared. Would you prefer to eat it here?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Thank you.”

Strolling over, Jon placed the tray on the small table. Martin waited for him to inquire about the book (“–I see you’re almost finished with Kinsey, what do you think?” “Oh! It’s really good, thank you so much for recommending it to me! Would you like to take a seat and maybe we could talk about it some more?” “Yes, Martin, that sounds lovely, tell me what you thought about chapter 3, personally I felt that–”) 

But Jon straightened. Turned back towards the hallway. “I hope it’s to your–”

“Wait, wait.”

Jon paused, and Martin yanked back the hand he’d thrown out. Still too loud. He couldn’t just let Jon walk away, though, not without … something. “I-I was thinking, actually, that, uh,” he glanced down at the tray, “that you don’t have to keep bringing me food.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah! I mean, well, I’m feeling much better. Definitely all patched up by now, and I know my way around the kitchen and everything. So, yeah, you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“I … see.” A soft flush dusted Jon’s face. “My apologies. I tried to make something more palatable–”

“Oh! No, no, it’s not that at all. I just …”

But Jon’s expression had cooled once more, and the words curdled in Martin’s throat. “I will of course abide by your preference. If you’ll excuse me …”

“Wait.”

Jon whirled around, eyebrows flying up, and Martin could have cried from the mortification of it all. How was he still so loud? “Do you want to read together, sometime? I-I started Kinsey and I think you’re right about his writing style and I was– I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it …”

He trailed off under Jon's unblinking stare and forced down the rest. Is this what an ant felt like trapped under a glass panel? But then, Jon's eyes, with a curious light, flitted to the stack of books. Martin's stomach lifted with hope–

But Jon held up a hand. “Please, you don’t need to worry about me. Carry on.”

He left the foyer, footsteps clicking on the tiled floors before fading.

Martin sighed, long and draining, his shoulders sagging. His eyes dropped to the dinner tray– a sauté today. Jon’s been getting really creative these last few days. The tea looked to be Earl Grey. The vibrant flavours tickled his nose, eliciting a low growl from the pits of his stomach.

He’d best savour it, he thought, taking a small sip of his tea.

.

Okay, so. Jon wanted to be alone. Martin had known that already; frankly, it was a little embarrassing he hadn't backed off before now. Jon didn't owe him his company just because he had no real choice but to board Martin in his home– not unless he wanted to throw Martin out into the blizzard. Besides, Martin had plenty to entertain himself, anyway, things that didn’t include bothering Jon.

It wasn’t long before it became obvious, though, that that wasn’t really true.

“You know, I think I’m really starting to miss working in the castle.”

Phillipa looked on from across the aisle as Martin speared a patch of clean hay into the trough. It had been such a relief when he’d learned that the feeding hay Jon had on reserve was normal and not some freaky collection of worms or something. Phillipa was much luckier than him in this regard.

“Yeah, working there was stressful,” he continued, wiping a hand across his sweaty face, “God knows with the way Griffiths shouted at us all the time. But at least I was doing something, you know? Keeping my hands busy.”

As Phillipa grazed, Martin leaned against the stall door, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, sure, it was mostly grunt work. Anyone could have done it, but I did it, you know? I was at least making someone’s day a little bit easier. I wasn’t …”

The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed them back down. Blast it. He really needed to move on, already.

“I just wish I knew if he was angry with me,” he murmured. “Then I could apologise, right? Make it up to him somehow?”

Phillipa butted his shoulder with the brunt of her nose, and he startled before settling back down. He reached up to pat her nose, running his thumb over the white strip pattern of her face.

"I suppose I can just make my own work. Roll up my sleeves, do a little dusting, maybe? Pluck some weeds? I mean, it's only fair. Not like I'm paying rent or anything. My mum always said idle hands were the devil's playground or something."

And then, maybe, Jon could see Martin could be helpful. Useful.

And then maybe they could talk again.

He just wished that they could talk …

He glanced over to Phillipa. “What do you think?”

She lipped at the wisps of his hair, and he sighed. He felt a bit better now, though. He had met few conversational partners as willing to put up with him as Phillipa. He should probably start getting inside now, though– didn’t want to risk an encounter with John, the dog.

A sudden, sharp pain exploded in his ear and he cried out, jumping back. Phillipa had nibbled on the soft bit of his ear.

“You-” he started, cradling his sore ear. Phillipa lifted her head with him, continuing to chew, content– probably on a bit of his ear. “You’re a very naughty horse, do you know that?”

She snorted in his face.

.

It was decided, then; he’d do a little tidying up in Jon’s greenhouse. Pluck some weeds, clear the pathways of debris, or however else he could make busy. It was certainly the easier task than dusting, anyway– his sinuses wouldn’t stand for it, not without any supplies.

Besides, Jon harvested the vegetables roughly every two or three days, so it might make for a nice surprise, coming in to see the space neat and orderly. After all, nothing cheered Martin up like a little spring cleaning.

He’d found an old cloth and broom in the kitchen cupboard and, after lunch, he ventured into the storm. The winds pummelled his side and he dug his feet into the cobblestone when a strong gust buffeted his side. He knew it’d be a trek, obviously, but he’d no idea it would be this brutal. The wind cut through the fabric of his cloak and, even though the walk was short, by the time he closed the panelled door behind him, his body shook with fierce tremors, his fingers and the tips of his ears burning.

Rubbing some warmth back into his extremities, he hung his cloak and took hold of the broom’s handle. May as well get the easy bit out of the way. He’d always liked sweeping– it was easier than polishing or mopping, at least. Less back strain.

Dirt and dead leaves littered the path, likely from the freaky vegetable patch, and he swept it all into a tight pile on the dustpan. Easy and quick to complete, yes, but, as Martin surveyed the clean floors, he let himself savour the pinprick of pride. It was nice to be working again. At least he was making a difference, even if it was a little one.

Now, the plots.

Rolling up his sleeves, he settled down by the plot closest to him, crouching on the cold floor. It had been ages since anything had been planted here, the dry and dusty soil crusting under his fingernails as he plucked out twigs and cracked roots. As he stood to move to the second plot, a jolt shot through his knees and weeks.

Two weeks of a comfortable bed and skipping out on proper hard work and he’d already gone soft. Not good. He’d need to build back up his stamina.

The second plot took even less time than the first. He settled back on his haunches, dusting off hands. This wasn’t taking as long as he thought it would, but that made sense. The only plot that needed any real tending to was the one with the dead rose bushes, but with the way Jon reacted when Martin had seen them, it didn’t seem right to weed them without his permission. Maybe Martin could ask–

A loud slam. Martin jumped, whirling around.

Jon leaned against the entryway door, eyes closed, letting out a slow, relieved breath. Snow clung to his cloak and dappled the curls of his hair. Martin's heart thrummed with anxiety– he didn't think Jon would come here now. It was supposed to be a surprise.

Before he could think of what to do, Jon opened his eyes, and they locked on Martin. Jon stiffened with surprise and Martin sat there, frozen.

He lifted a shaky hand. “H-hello.”

“What on earth are you doing out here?”

Martin took his hand back, nearly a flinch. Bad start. “I-I thought I could help tidy things up. Um, I was thinking about maybe dusting next. You know, make myself useful.”

Jon let out a long sigh through his nose, riddled with exasperation and impatience, and Martin just barely stopped himself from curling up with embarrassment. “Martin, please. Despite the circumstances, you are still my guest– there’s no need for this.”

“No, no, I really don’t mind–”

“I promise that the manor doesn’t need your attention.” Carving a path to the vegetable patch, Jon crouched down, reaching for the stem of one of the radishes. He hadn’t even turned around when he spoke to Martin. “Please, take this time for yourself.”

Martin wanted to say something– was desperate for it, actually. It’s really no trouble and I just need something to keep myself busy and please just let me do this, I need this.

But Jon made himself clear. He didn’t need, or want, Martin’s help.

Martin stood. Hesitated, just a moment. But Jon had moved on to the eggplants. He didn’t look back as Martin approached the greenhouse door, and closed it behind him.

-

END PREVIEW

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #long post #momm

[sunnydaisy1]

Flights Delayed

SAM WILSON X READER

A/N: why is this not my life??? I love Sam and this beautiful human being who sent in this request. I loved it and couldn’t wait to post this piece. Hope you like it :)

REQUEST: I saw your call for Sam Wilson requests on your arts and crafts fic, which was excellent by the way, and I thought I might send one in! How about reader as an avenger who either can’t make it home for Christmas, or doesn’t have a home to go to. And Sam stays with them at the compound and they stay up watching Christmas movies, until reader falls asleep on his shoulder. I’m a sucker for some Christmas fluff! ❣️🎄🎁 - Anon

You thanked Happy as you climbed out the car, pulling out your suitcase and shutting the door. You giddely walked towards the airport entrance, finding the right area for Terminal 2. This Christmas you were staying with your family for the first time in 2 years. You couldn't wait to arrive home and feel the familiar comfort of your childhood home and forget about the stress and panic of the world for a few days. Soon, you found the waiting area for flight 227 and sat down amongst many awaiting adults, eager to go home to see their families. You checked the flight board, smiling at the green notices saying all flights were on time and that yours left in 35 minutes. Pulling out your phone from your puffer jacket, you noticed that you had a notification from the groupchat you shared with Nat, Sam, Steve and Bucky called SPYKIDS. Sam: hope your flight is good y/n, have a nice christmas x Steve: gonna miss you at the compound :) Nat: enjoy the break lovely xx Bucky: Sam is waiting for you to reply Y/N i can see him checking his phone every 30 seconds. Sam: am not Steve: liar Sam: shut up Bucky: dont be rude sammy Sam: I hate it when you call me that and you know it 😑 Nat: not when y/n says it you don't Steve: ....exposed ☕ Sam: wish id never said anything now 🤦‍ Nat: hehe You chuckled and sent back a text Y/N: thanks guys haha, have a lovely christmas sammy x You clicked on spotify and opened some music up, putting in your headphones to pass the time. Around 10 minutes later you noticed a lot of people were starting to talk louder and there was a bit of commotion. You turned round to see where everyone was looking and your heart dropped. Snow. It was fricking snowing outside. Normally you would have been ecstatic at the sight of snow at Christmas, but right now it only meant one thing. Delayed flights. You glanced up at the flight board and saw only one flight had been delayed. Crossing your fingers and praying to any power there may be, you sat down in your chair and searched the weather on your phone. Just 10 minutes later, the airport was chaos central. Almost all flights had been delayed and the frustration of tired people was rising. You had been flicking between the glass windows which looked out over the runways and showed you the increasing precipitation to the flight board. Your flight hadn't been classified as delayed yet and you could sense everyone around you was waiting with baited breath at whether it would change to delayed. You shifted in your seat and watched with utter sadness and irritation as the letters next to your flight number switched to state DELAYED. You groaned alongside the other awaiting passengers, just hoping for a miracle so the snow would clear up soon. This frustration unfortunately didn't fade away and as the minutes passed by, you felt a christmas surrounded by family slowly drifiting away. The snow was falling heavier now and you dreaded looking at the flight board, knowing the glaring orange letters would not ease the tension in the atmosphere. You glanced down at your phone, seeing it had been over an hour since your flight was meant to have left. A sudden speaker crackled and everyone looked up in hope, "We thank everyone for waiting patiently for information on their flights. Unfortunately, the snow has not cleared and the runways are becoming increasingly dangerous. It is expected that their condition will not improve so we must regrettably inform you that all flights scheduled for today have been cancelled. Our staff will be happy to help you find temporary accommodation and we will continue to update you on flight statuses. Thankyou." At once, the airport exploded into an uproar and angry passengers stormed towards the information desks. Your heart sunk as the flight board wiped out to display all cancellations. How were you meant to arrive home in time for Christmas now? You didn't want to spend christmas eve at an airport. Tears threatened to fall from your blurry eyes as your perfect christmas slipped away. You sniffled a little and unlocked your phone, deciding that texting your mum was best. You explained the situation and you got an instant reply, stating she was incredibly sorry and that they would all miss you tomorrow. You arranged with her to fly home on the 27th so you could still spend some of the holiday with your family. Sitting back in your seat, you looked around at the mania of tired passengers and wondered what you were going to do now. You had no clue if anyone was even staying at the compound over Christmas. Racking your brain for someone to call, you decided Tony would be the best as he would know everyone's wearabouts. He picked up after the second ring: 'Hey kid, everything okay?' he asked, concern in his voice. 'Urh no not really, all flights today have been cancelled and I don't know where to go.' You replied, trying not to burst into tears. 'Oh Y/N im so sorry. I can get someone to pick you up and drive you to ours if you want, I'm sure Morgan and Pepper would love to spend Christmas with you.' You sighed at Tony's kindness but the least you wanted to do was intrude on their private time and plus, the drive would take at least 8 hours in this weather now. 'That's really sweet but the roads are jammed Tony. Is anyone staying at the compound?' 'Yeah, Sam is currently there now and Steve and Bucky are going over tomorrow.' Tony replied and you sighed in relief. 'Okay thanks, I think I'll stay there with them.' 'Okay kiddo, call me if there's anything you need.' 'Will do, merry christmas Tony." "Merry Christmas y/n." You hung up on Tony and searched for Sam's contact, clicking on it and hearing it ring a few times before his gravelly voice came through. "Y/N i thought your flight had left?" He asked and you rubbed your forehead, a headache weeding itself into your brain, "Uh no, all flights have been cancelled because of the snow." At once, you heard Sam get up and his voice fill with concern, "Love I'm so sorry, I'm coming to pick you up now." You nod and sniffle, "Okay, thanks Sammy." "No worries, I'll be there as soon as I can."He replied. You picked your stuff up, heading for the terminal exit to wait in the pick up area. You sunk down into one of the padded seats, closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall. God you hoped Sam would arrive soon. Sam walked into the pick up waiting room, scanning the huge crowd for your familiar body. He weaved in and out of people until he spotted your defeated frame, slumped in a chair. His heart sunk at your sniffling and tear-stained cheeks. "Oh love I'm here." He said as he squatted down in front of you. You opened your eyes to see his face, brows furrowed. "Sorry for being a pain." Your hoarse voice croaked out. "Nonsense. Let's get you home." Sam replied, wrapping an arm around you and carrying your bag and suitcase despite your attempts to stop him. You shivered as you exited the building into the nipping air and Sam pulled you closer, heart breaking at your shivering form. He took you over to the car and opened the passenger side, letting you slide in before shutting it and placing your luggage in the back. He climbed into the drivers side and turned the engine on, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his lap and hug you whilst you cried. But, that would cross over the boundary that clearly defined your relationship as 'Just Friends' so he had to make do with holding your hand across the console. After a while, you stopped crying and your body had relaxed into the warmth of the car, easing your throbbing head. You softly spoke to Sam, "Thankyou for coming to get me, I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your Christmas Eve." Sam chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your hand, "Its alright love, driving home a snotty girl definitely wins over watching another of Steve's movies." You laughed slightly, greatful for Sam's attempts to cheer you up. Sam beamed as he glanced at you, "how does me and you and some Christmas movies with a shit ton of food sound to cheer you up?" You smiled and looked at Sam, "that sounds lovely." When you had arrived back at the compound, Sam had told you to go and get showered and change into comfy pyjamas whilst he got some food ready and you couldn't muster the strength to disagree when that sounded perfect. You walked into your room, freshly clad in a pair of warm joggers and an oversized tshirt, feeling a lot more relaxed about the situation, knowing a Christmas spent with 3 of your favourite people would be amazing and that you would see your family very soon. Sam knocked on your door when you were finding a pair of fluffy socks, one of his hoodies in hand. "Thought you might want one of these, I know you steal my hoodies when you think I'm not looking." You felt heat rise to your face, embarassed but taking the hoodie none the less, knowing the cozy fabric and relaxing smell would calm you. "Thanks." You replied, making Sam grin. "Foods ready, where did you want to have it?" He asked, watching you tug the hoodie on. "Oh uh if you don't mind my bed is looking really inviting right now." You replied, tugging on the ends of the hoodie's arms. "Sure thing." Sam winked at you before walking in the direction of the kitchen. Your heart fluttered at the gesture and you shook the thoughts out of your head as you scooted under your bed covers and sat up against one side of the headboard. Not 5 minutes later, Sam returned, quesadillas and popcorn in hand, grinning at your swamped form in the bed. "Oh you're a godsend." You said as he handed you a plate of your favourite food. Sam chuckled and placed the popcorn on the bedside table. "Do you still want me to join you or do you want to be left alone?" He asked considerately and your stomach jumped at how sweet he could be. "No there's room for you, scoot over here Sammy." He grinned and clambered in bed next to you, his own plate of quesadillas resting on the duvet covering his lap. "So what will it be Elf or the Holiday?" You asked Sam, mouth already full of cheesy goodness. "I don't mind." He said, watching you with so much adoration on his face that if Bucky or Nat had seen him they would have shipped him off to a deserted island so they didn't throw up at the sickening love radiating off him. "the Holiday it will be then. I'm in the mood for some Jude Law." You giggled, taking another bite of quesadilla and grinning at Sam. You continued to watch the movie together, finishing your food and somehow migrating towards each other while sharing popcorn, both of you excusing it as needing to be closer to share the bowl. You were gradually growing more tired, struggling to keep your eyes open as the rollercoaster of emotions you had experienced today had wiped the energy out of you. Sam tensed when he felt your head rest on his shoulder but relaxed when he saw your dozey gaze watching the TV. His body filled with warmth at this moment you were sharing and he dared to put an arm around you, pulling you closer to him so your head was now resting on his chest. He feared he had overstepped the boundary but you made no complaint and placed your hand beside your head on his chest. A small smile flickered across your face as you snuggled into Sam, his warmth washing over you and making you even more tired. Sam watched the credits for the movie roll out and was about to speak to you when he noticed your eyes were closed and your breathing had regulated out. His heart flipped at your sleeping form and he brushed the hair out of your face, turning the TV off and moving to get up. Your hand tightened on his sweatshirt though and a soft grumble came from you, "Dont leave." You mumbled, holding onto Sam. He nodded and scooched down in the bed so you were both comfortably laying down, "Night love." He said, stroking your back soothingly, "Night Sammy." You whispered, falling back asleep. You woke up, surprisingly warm and went to stretch when you felt a hard object in your bed. Your eyelids flickered open to reveal a softly sleeping Sam sprawled out onto your bed, your legs entangled. He looked so peaceful asleep, the creases that often littered his face due to worry smoothed out and leaving him looking even more heavenly. You smiled and went to get up, suddenly feeling an arm tighten around your waist and pull you towards Sam. "Where do you think you're going love?" He murmered, voice deep and laced with sleep. Your heart pounded and you looked at Sam who still hadn't bothered to open his eyes. "It's Christmas morning Sammy." You said, laying with his arm draped over your stomach. "Exactly- Buck and Steve won't arrive for another 3 hours yet so we can cuddle for longer." Sam replied, eyes opening to look at you, a smile cheekily spreading onto his face. "What-no-" You started, not understanding Sam's reasoning at all. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on you, moving so he was closer to you as he was lying on his front. "Just shut up and cuddle me." He said, smirking as he already nuzzled into your side more. You gave up, knowing you really didn't want to pass up the free offer to cuddle your favourite avenger for a bit longer. Maybe Christmas without your family wouldn't be so bad after all.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #sam #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson oneshot #sam x reader #avengers #marvel oneshot #can i marry him #x reader

[unseelie-bitch]

Season 1 Episode 6: A Fanatic Heart [Part Two]

I mean Fara is doing her best to be a good leader but I'm still pretty convinced she's going to die

FakeMusa is doing her best and I support her

Actually fuck OFF Terra you have NO RIGHT to ask that of her, much less EXPECT it

Also just a lil bit of FakeMusa analysis, she is not only feeling her boyfriend dying, but also all of the pain and terror and regret and anger of everyone else in that room. Of fucking COURSE she's going to get overwhelmed

Also also imma say she like, felt the death of her parents or something because that's been a building subplot all series

"He's in pain" ...so you want FakeMusa to feel it instead. Wow real good friendship there, Terra

Also it's bad enough that Terra's asking this, but for her dad, a TEACHER, to ask this of a first year who hasn't even learnt that technique yet, is fucking ridiculous

Called that

Well they kept the Musa Dead Mum plot... and now I'm upset

Don't FUCKING touch her Terra. People shouldn't have to expose their trauma to be allowed to say no - FakeMusa needs a hug but NOT from you. You want to talk about consent issues? Because this whole subplot is a big fucking red flag.

The one thing Fate got right - which I am certain wasn't intentional - is the neurodivergent coding of Musa. Like, the headphones to block out painful or too much stimuli is actually really well done (hence why I think it was an accident)

Sorry was Terra actually unbarricading the door? Sacrifice the many for the few is it, Terra?

Oh shit it JUST wants Bloom

Fara Bloom literally TOLD you they were just after her

I'm actually so mad that FakeMusa is negotiating her personal boundaries due to an adult and her supposed friend bullying a child

Oh Bloom's floating. Okay. We don't have the budget for wings but the fire fairy can float for no apparent reason

FUCK OFF SHE ACTUALLY JUST GOT FIRE WINGS FUCK OFF THAT'S ACTUALLY WORSE THAN NO ONE GETTING THEM OH MY GOD AT LEAST STICK TO YOU OWN SHITTY WRITING RULES

Why are some of them super easy to kill and others take like... a whole thing

Oh shit she can turn them back into people. Right okay, feel like that should have come up sooner

Dowling is such a good mother and I'm so afraid she's going to die. There's way too much time left for nothing else to happen and Rosalind is just rocking about

FARA LOOKS PROUD AND SHOCKED BY HERSELF OH NO I'M SCARED

Sorry Terra that crossed a line. I actively hate you.

Oh Beatrix just fully lied about being an orphan, she has a dad

Oh no he's not her bio dad

So Riven and Dane are villains with Roz now. Right

"Cooler?! I love Tinkerbell!" "Of course you do" good friend banter but I despise Terra now so can someone else have banter with Stella instead?

Aisha you didn't even introduce yourself how would Bloom's parents know who's talking to them

"Bloom transformed" no she fucking didn't she got shitty fire wings that have made me SO ANGRY. That's not a transformation it DOESN'T COUNT

None of you are considering the possibility that the whole "Blood witches" thing was a lie? No? Eveyone just tells the truth all the time always, even Rosalind?? Right okay. I hate this bullshit show

Also you canNOT just throw in a term like "blood witches" in the last fucking episode. That's a fucking joke Weed Boy

Sky is having Sad Boy Hours

Ooh a Sad Boy montage

See Bloom's going to talk with Dowling and I feel like it's going to go badly because NO ONE IS LOOKING FOR ROSALIND

Bloom is finally being open and honest with Dowling and accepting her as a mother figure so she's DEFINATELY going to die. These death flags are waving in my fucking face

BLOOM ASKING FOR A HUG AND FARA'S LITTLE FACE OH MY GOD I'M SCREAMING THIS IS SO SAD AND CUTE

Also from Fara's face: when was the last time she got a hug oh my god

AWWW THIS IS SO SOFT AND SAD

FARA IS FUCKING CRYING OH MY GODDD

That's just not what a figurehead is. You wanted to becime a symbol. There's a rather large and important difference

THE REASON FARA'S UPSET IS BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T WANT TO BE SO UNAPPROCHABLE THAT BLOOM HAD TO ASK FOR A HUG SO UNCERTAINLY OH MY GOD

I'm so angry that she's getting this development now. In the last 20 fucking minutes of the season

SHE BROUGHT THE WHOLE SQUAD BACK HOME LMAO MIKE'S FACE

Stella is so awkward and cute I love her why didn't we get HER FROM THE BEGGINNING

Also if this important conversation happens off screen I will feel robbed

And it's happened off screen. That is bull-fucking-shit

Sad montage of their baby... yikes

Oh the mother is leaving. #NotMyVanessa

This montage is bullshit I wanted a CONVERSATION

Okay but the Winx actually acting like friends is cute

So Riven and Dane went missing the night the school was attacked and no one's seen them and you just... aren't worried about these literal children? What kind of bitch-ass school...

Oh the Solarian army has FINALLY arrived

Stella ain't here lads

Oh fuck OFF Queen Nightlight

You're arresting Silva??

Sorry there is literally NO fucking way Sky's dad is alive. I mean he clearly is and is clearly Beatrix's dad but that makes no sense. Shit writing at it's shittest

Stella's mum is CLEARLY involved in this shady shit

Also what kind of justice system...?

Hello there Bitchboy King

Fara vibing with the freshly burried corpses

Okay Rosalind is here and I'm scared for Fara's safety

Also apparently no one was aware the Burned Ones used to be people. I had assumed that was common knowledge but apparently that was supposed to be a secret reveal at the end that I worked out... so long ago. Come on lads

Also also I'm so scared because Sword Dad is being arrested and now Fara is alone with Rosalind and I feel like Fara is going to get murdered and replaced by Rosalind while Sword Dad is replaced by Sky's Dad

Oh Rosalind knew about the Burned Ones being people

Rosalind is a really good villain but she scares me and also her actress is still shit

The dragonfire is now the "Dragon Flame" and created the Burned Ones. I just. I'm so out of fucks to give

And Bloom has it too. Shook

Of course she risked kids to test Bloom - have you MET this woman she's shady as fuck

Dowling is talking about how she finally saw the light when she stepped out of Rosalind's shadow and clearly this a whole "I've escaped your abuse" thing and I'm so happy for her. And also terrified because she's definately about to die

If I leave this on pause Fara doesn't have to get murdered

And Queen Exposed Wire is in fact a part of the coverup. Shocked

I like that Rosalind is explaining everything. I genuinely do appriciate a good villain monologue

FARA DON'T GET AGGRESSIVE WITH HER SHE'S GOING TO KILL YOU STOP I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE

DON'T WALK AWAY FROM HER OH MY GOD YOU THREATENED HER THEN TURNED YOUR BACK SHE CAN AND WILL KILL YOU FARA WHY DO YOU THINK SHE'S ABOVE THIS

I'm so fucking upset. She just. Snapped her neck. Lifted her up and murdered her. I'm actually on the verge of tears it was so brutal. I cannot believe they made me care about Fara in the last fucking episode only to KILL HER OFF

Did she just speed-rot Fara's body?? I'm so upset. I'm so fucking upset

And now all the Winx who were actually happy and getting along are coming back to this shitshow

Brian Young is a fucking criminal. Thank fuck that's over

#fate spoilers #fate watch #fate: the winx saga

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ PLEASE LIKE ME / 2.06 –– 2.07 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

“I just think I have really bad morning breath.”

“Are you sad?”

“I can’t believe how much I suck.”

“I have to tell you something and it’s not good.”

“I think I’ve been leading you on.”

“It’s just a bit confusing, because I really like you.”

“I like spending time with you. I like hugging you, I like kissing you. I just don’t want to have sex with you.”

“I really think it’s important to be honest about this type of stuff.”

“They broke up with me. Well, we weren’t really together but they ended it and now they’re just playing playstation in my home.”

“He told me it was because he didn’t like my sex, but we never even had sex.”

“He said the truth is important, but truth isn’t important.”

“I wish he had told me it was because I was like, unlikeable or mean or unfunny, but not my sex.”

“I had an erection when he was telling me that he hates the idea of having sex with me.”

“He’s just sitting in the living room shooting zombies as if the zombies were my heart.”

“Don’t you think perhaps the happiness and joy of the zoo won’t just compound my sadness?”

“Perhaps I’ll start crying at the panda exhibit when I learn that pandas are going extinct because they refuse to have sex with each other.”

“You probably think I’m rubbish at sex, but that’s because I wasn’t interested in having sex with you.”

“I’m just trying to take some sad people to the zoo.”

“More or less, he thinks I’m disgusting.”

“Are you sure he didn’t break up with you because of your personality?”

“I’ve never seen meerkats and a sad person at the same time.”

“It says over there that the alpha males eat babies to eliminate competition.”

“We should celebrate his life rather than dwell on his death.”

“I think everybody really likes butterflies.”

“That does not sound like a good way to get popular.”

“I’ve just got a lot going through my brain.”

“I promise you, we do not need to spend any more time together.”

“I’m not crying about this, okay? I’ve just had a weird day.”

“I’m just a bit nervous about everything.”

“I’m just afraid we might have forgotten something.”

“Don’t feel like you need to fill all the quiet, okay?”

“Try not to be the Donkey to my Shrek.”

“Macaroni and cheese, yes, please, macaroni and cheese.”

“People don’t generally like touching me.”

“It’s a horrible idea for you to be home alone so here we are in a creek.”

“I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t want to tell me because she knew I’d stop her.”

“Are those all drugs?”

“Have you ever wanted to try and kill yourself?”

“There’s been a few times where, like, I didn’t want to feel anything anymore and it seemed like a nice idea, but all those times passed.”

“I don’t think it’s a big deal, to want to kill yourself for an afternoon. That’s normal.”

“I don’t really want to reflect on the decisions I made as a teenager, to be honest.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you have an opinion on anything.”

“I don’t believe in god, but I don’t like it when you go around telling people he doesn’t exist.”

“But god doesn’t exist.”

“God is clumsy like that.”

“I don’t understand how you never got angry at me.”

“I just try and understand when you do things like this that you’re doing them because you’re ill and then I don’t get angry, the same way you wouldn’t get angry at someone with a cold for having a runny nose.”

“My anger just never felt like a priority.”

“Weed makes me cough and it makes me scared.”

“I am trying to build a fucking bonding moment here.”

“Peer pressured into doing drugs with my mum.”

“You’re bad at interacting with people when you feel self-conscious.”

“You’re always questioning things and seeking approval.”

“I tried to have sex with a watermelon as a teenager. I wasn’t fussy.”

“I thought everyone would be happy if I was dead.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences #KIND / SENTENCE. #KIND / IN CHARACTER. #BASED ON / TV SHOW.

[the-quiet-winds]

So Much More than Royal (part one)

alright, lads, we have reached the final installment (for now). @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts has admitted this is her favorite part, and i have to say it is really good.

this is part one of five, with another dark story coming your way. trigger warnings for the whole story: death, ransom, violence... that’s all i can think of for now.

[Part 1: Still So Young, Desperate for Attention]

nine years had flown by in the blink of an eye for jane.

edward had grown into a charming, mischievous boy, inquisitive and silly, and katherine, meanwhile, had absolutely blossomed. she had grown like a weed, physically, but jane was much more impressed with her intellect. she was now fluent in latin, french, spanish, and italian, and was working on russian with parr. the ice between her and henry had cooled. they were in no way close, but they could at least be civil now.

jane couldn’t be prouder or happier.

much to jane’s joy, her children got on wonderfully and were as close as siblings could be. they had small arguments, of course, but nothing that ever lasted for longer than a few hours. that is, until one day.

it started out much like any other. edward had lessons with his tutor in another part of the palace, and katherine and parr spent the morning engrossed in the russian language. katherine’s own relationship with parr had also changed as katherine grew into a young woman, becoming more like friends than tutor and student, and their lessons tended to be based around discussion rather than parr teaching. by the time parr left katherine was in great spirits, triumphant at finally managing to master a piece of grammar that had been bothering her for weeks. edward, on the other hand, was not so happy when he traipsed in. unlike his sister, edward struggled with languages, and several hours of latin felt like torture to the young boy. he slams the door as he enters the room, a sulk plastered on his usually happy face.

katherine turns at hearing the sudden loud noise. she frowns when she sees edward’s less-than-great mood.

“what’s wrong, eddie?” she asks.

“stupid latin,” he grumbles. “i keep messing up my translations and i don’t know what to do.”

“can i see?”

edward hands her the paper and she skims it over a few times. “you’re mixing up your ‘t’ endings and your ‘nt’ endings,” she states. “it’s okay, i did the same thing a lot at the beginning.”

edward huffs and crosses his arms.

“what, eddie?” katherine asks gently. “it’s an easy fix.”

he throws his arms out, “look at me!” he mocks in a high falsetto, “i’m katherine and i know everything about languages because i’m soooooo perfect!”

katherine raises an eyebrow, folding her arms in front of her. “come on, eddie, don’t be like that,” she says, gentle but firm. edward scowls.

“you think you’re so perfect,” he challenges. katherine frowns.

“i don’t think i’m perfect.”

“good, because you’re not. you’re mean and ugly and horrible.” edward stomps his foot and katherine rolls her eyes. she’s not particularly affected by edward’s immature insults, and she wasn’t interested in watching him have a tantrum because he was frustrated about his latin work.

“is this really what you’re going to get upset over?” katherine asks, a bit sarcastically.

eddie scowls, the best a nine year old could do. “you’re always so mean to me!”

“who’s mean to who?” a gentle voice calls. jane enters the room, looking confusedly at her children.

“katherine is always mean to me!” edward declares fiercely. “she always thinks she’s so much better than me!” he whips his head back towards katherine. “guess what! someday i’ll be king!”

katherine gives a shrug. “and i’ll be there helping out.”

“i don’t need your help!” edward seethes. “i never do!”

“eddie,” jane attempts to soothe, “calm down now, love. katherine didn’t mean to upset you. she’s just trying to be a good big sister-“

it’s then when edward explodes. “why do you always treat her like she’s perfect?! she’s not even related to you! i’m your son! she’s not even your real daughter!”

there’s a moment of absolute silence, katherine frozen where she stands. then, jane speaks, voice quiet and slightly shaking.

“edward, don’t ever say that about your sister-”

“but it’s true, though!” edward huffs. “dad told me! he says that she’s not your real daughter, and she’s not my real sister either. he said a piece of paper saying she’s yours can’t ever measure up to blood.”

katherine suddenly turns around and leaves the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

jane watches her leave, and for just a moment considers chasing after her. she knows what that brought back in katherine’s mind: all the fears she harbored for the first year she was with jane, that she’d be kicked out, she was illegitimate. there was even one point where some less-than-friendly members of staff referred to her as ‘the queen’s bastard’.

but she also knows katherine needs space and time. she’ll be back.

jane turns to edward, possibly more angry than she had ever been towards him. “how dare you say those things about your sister?” she asks, voice so dangerously low.

edward shrugs, not seeming to understand the gravity of his words; and in a sense, he didn’t. he was parroting what his father had told him during one of the rare moments they spent time together.

“you always side with her,” he grumbles. “it’s not fair.”

“edward,” jane continues, barely restraining the anger in her voice. “no matter what your father may have said, katherine is your sister, and she loves you and looks out for you. you have no right to say those kinds of things about her, do you understand me, young man?”

edward rolls his eyes. “sure, whatever.” he turns away.

“don’t you walk away from me, edward,” jane challenges.

he turns back around, sits down in a chair at the table, and looks up at her expectantly. “well?” he asks.

jane quirks an eyebrow.

“i’m ready,” he says plainly.

jane still doesn’t understand.

“i’m ready to hear ‘the speech’.”

“what speech?” jane asks, genuinely confused.

“‘the speech’,” edward reiterates, “the one where you tell me ‘katherine has had more hardships in her life than you know,’ and ‘you really should be nicer to her in the future’,” he quotes, pushing his voice up to sound like jane.

jane stares at him, practically unable to believe that her sweet, mischievous little boy was coming out with such cruel things.

“where did all this come from?” she asks. “you know she’s your real sister. you love her.”

“you love her, more than you love me,” edward says, crossing his arms and frowning.

“i do not!” jane protests, and edward scoffs.

“do too!” he shifts his voice up again to mimic jane. “be nice to katherine, katherine’s so perfect, never say anything bad about her ever or she’ll cry herself to sleep again, katherine’s my favourite even though she’s only the queen’s bastard.”

jane’s face transforms into one of shock and rage. “where did you hear that?” the phrasing was too specific, edward had to have heard it from someone, and she didn’t know anybody still referred to katherine as that.

something seems to click in edward’s mind at hearing jane’s reaction to what he said. he shrugs. “i heard dad saying it to one of his...” he struggles to remember the word. “courtiers! one of his courtiers. thomas, i think.” his voice is smaller, less sure than it was before. then he looks at jane curiously. “what does it mean?”

jane looks very, very pale. “it’s a very mean and very rude thing to say about your sister,” she says faintly, before turning back to edward. her voice is dangerous, serious, and somewhat cold. “and i hope to never hear you say it again. no matter how mad or upset you are. do you understand me, edward?”

it finally seems to sink in that edward has said something he really shouldn’t have, and his defiant tantrum starts to fade. he gives a somewhat subdued nod.

“yes, mum.”

“good.” jane takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “now, you listen to me. katherine is your sister, and i love you both equally. i don’t want to hear any more fighting about it, because i love you both more than life itself. do you understand?”

“yes, mum,” edward says again in a quiet voice, looking at his hands.

jane gives a tiny nod. she crosses the room to give edward a kiss on his head. “and don’t you think that your sister doesn’t feel the same way,” she says quietly. “she’d give her life for you in a second.”

he nods ashamedly. “i know,” he whispers.

“good,” jane says with a nod. “are you alright now?”

edward shrugs. “i’ll go find dad,” he says, standing up. “or maybe thomas.” he avoids jane’s eyes as he leaves the room.

jane watches him as he leaves. she knows edward has a good heart, and he’s got a lot to think about at the moment, so she lets him leave. she’s certain he’ll apologise to katherine later without jane telling him to. for now, however, jane wants to make sure katherine’s alright.

it doesn’t take long for jane to find her. years on, and katherine’s favourite place to be alone is still by the lakeside in the forest, and sure enough jane spots her perched on a rock at the water’s edge.

“kat,” she calls softly as she approaches.

katherine stiffens. she was really hoping that this would be the one time jane didn’t follow her. but her mum is too sweet, too kind to ever let katherine wallow alone.

“leave me alone,” she calls back, surprisingly firmly.

“kat, i think we both know that won’t happen.”

katherine turns halfway, looking at jane through the corner of her eye.

there are no tears on her face, jane is surprised to see. no tears, no evidence of emotion whatsoever.

jane comes to a stop a few feet away from katherine.

“i had a talk with eddie,” she says softly. “i helped him realise why what he said was completely wrong and i don’t think he’ll ever be saying it again.”

katherine turns properly to face jane now, and her expression is almost eerily calm. it’s strangely unnerving; tears, jane would expect, maybe even anger and frustration. but this odd calm puts jane on edge.

“kat?” jane asks. she twists her fingers around each other, looking at katherine nervously. she feels like she is staring at a tiger without a cage, a bomb waiting to explode. anything.

katherine doesn’t look at her. “alright,” she says quietly, then turns back to face the water.

“kat, love, what is it?” jane asks. she closes the distance between them, laying a hand on katherine’s shoulder. she runs her thumb up and down over the raised patch of skin beneath the dress - the awful shoulder injury she had sustained from henry had left behind a nasty mark.

katherine moves subtly, pulling away from jane’s hand. “nothing. i’m fine, really.”

“kat,” jane sighs softly. “i’m your mum, i know what he said hurt you.”

“it’s not his fault,” katherine says, voice even. “he’s only repeating what other people say. honestly, it’s a wonder this didn’t happen sooner.”

jane blinks, slightly confused. “what do you mean, love?” katherine lets out a dry laugh.

“i mean, i’m sure henry has some things to say about me, and i don’t think he’d be the type to care if edward heard him. henry made it pretty clear he’d never consider me part of your family long ago. perhaps somewhere after the time he broke my shoulder and threatened to send me to a brothel, that’s when I realised he’d never accept me. can’t think why I finally got the hint.” she laughs again, although her voice is without humour. “so yes, it’s surprising it took this long for edward to resent me. and i’m fine. i’ve had a long time to think about it.”

those words strike jane. she, too, knew that henry would never accept katherine, even though they had warmed to each other enough to hold stifled conversation over the nine years katherine lived with them. “edward doesn’t resent you,” jane protests. “he was just mad and took his anger out on you. he realized what he said was wrong, and i’m sure he’ll apologize soon enough.”

katherine drops her head with another quiet, mirthless laugh. she turns around. “that’s not the problem.” she looks at jane calmly.

jane, admittedly, had been expecting one of katherine’s pleading looks, which always was answered with hugs and long spills of quiet sentiments.

but katherine was calm, steely, even.

“maybe...” katherine sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “maybe it’s time for me to move on from court life.”

jane’s heart drops like a stone. “no,” she says quietly, “no, love, you don’t mean that.”

“it’s okay,” katherine gives her a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “i’ve been thinking about it for a little while. parr has some family up north, i was thinking i could call in one last favour as the queen’s ward and ask to be housed there. there’s a community of scholars there who i could get in contact with, and i suppose i’d be happy enough.” she didn’t sound happy to jane; no, she sounded empty.

“but-” jane chokes out, eyes rapidly filling with tears. “but don’t you want to stay here? with me and eddie? with your family?”

“a long time ago,” katherine speaks slowly and evenly, not looking properly at jane, “you promised me that you’d support me whatever i chose to do. well, this is what i choose.”

jane remembers that moment vividly. standing on the riverbank ten feet behind her, promising that katherine would never be forced to leave, and jane had promised to support her in her future endeavors. a bit selfishly, jane supposes, that had meant more towards katherine never wanting to leave court, which made logical sense at the time.

“but love,” jane protests weakly, “i can’t bring myself to support it if it isn’t what will make you happy.”

“it will,” katherine insists quietly. “i’ll get to learn from experts, from other intellectuals. help spread parr’s message about women getting an education.” there is a faint conviction in her voice, but it still isn’t enough to convince jane that it’s what katherine truly wants. “it would be fulfilling work.”

“but... it’s so far away, love,” jane’s voice is close to pleading, trembling slightly. “several days by carriage. only seeing each other on the rare occasion, barely seeing your brother. is... is that really what you want?”

katherine doesn’t answer, instead staring out at the water. “it’s what’s best,” she says finally. they both know that wasn’t the question jane asked, but the silence stretches out between them for several moments longer.

“i can’t just let you go like that, love,” jane says.

katherine straightens her back slightly. “i don’t need your permission,” she answers. her tone was biting at all, just matter-of-fact, but it hurt all the same.

“i’m still your mother, though.” jane hates how weak and pathetic to she sounds, but she can’t just let katherine leave.

“you always will be,” katherine states. she turns to face jane again. “i just need to do this.”

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #catherine parr #julie and jess write #so much more than royal #hold onto me you're all i have

[flowrxchild]

🌼Get To Know Me Tag🌼

Thanks @satans-helper for tagging me!!! This is gonna be a long one so if anyone feels it’s necessary, please tell me to shut up! oke doke les do it❤️

1. What’s your middle name?

Olivia!

2. How old are you?

20, very cool and very funky years..

3. When’s your birthday?

January 8th

4. What’s your zodiac sign?

Capricorn 🐏 also an Aries rising, Libra moon if anyone cares lol

5. What’s your favourite colour?

Rn it’s yellow!

6. What’s your lucky number?

Ok I rlly gotta pick one soon cuz I just don’t have one lol

7. Do you have any pets?

Used to have a chubby brown lab but she was an old girl:( BUT recently I have fed a stray cat enough for him to come back everyday so he is now mine by Ricky Law™️

8. Where are you from?

Toronto, Canada baybee

9. How tall are you?

5’5

10. What shoe size are you?

7 and a half? I think?

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Not that many like 5 tops lol

12. What was your last dream about?

Last night I dreamt about going horse back riding?? I woke up like ...she’s a horse girl, I knew it..

13. What talents do you have?

I can draw/paint?? Also I’m a pretty snazzy photographer

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I’m definitely intuitive...I’ve experienced some very strange coincidences in my life...

15. Favourite song?

Jimi Hendrix’ Voodoo Chile

16. Favourite Movie?

Moonrise Kingdom

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

*stares in Josh Kiszka yearn*

18. Do you want children?

Erm not sure yet

19. Do you want a church wedding?

Lol I want whatever the opposite of a church wedding is..

20. Are you religious?

Nope.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

Yes. I’m so clumsy I am a danger to myself at this point...

22. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law?

No I’m literally a baby chicken and will cry if u raise ur voice at me

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

Not formally? I’ve seen a lot of random celebrities just walking around tho cuz I live in a big city

24. Baths or showers?

Showers, practically but I love me a good bath now and again

25. What color socks are you wearing?

Im not wearing any ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ;-) Sam Kiszka tease ;-) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

26. Have you ever been famous?

One time my painting was put into a community art gallery and they took my photo for the local newspaper except they made the centre fold of the page fold into the picture around my face so it got all distorted and it was like when Mike Wazowski was in the Monsters Inc commercial...

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

Not rlly..

28. What type of music do you like?

Rock, folk and indie but I will listen to anything

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

Yes. Me and my friends do it every year as a cottage tradition!

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

3...I need to be snuggled AND supported

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

I don’t sleep unless I curl up into the smallest ball possible like a friggin cat

32. How big is your house?

She smol

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

Literally just coffee most days. I love anarchy

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

Nope. Don’t have the desire to either.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

I have not but I’ve always wanted to!

36. Favourite clean word?

Cozzy

37. Favourite swear word?

Cunty but like as an adjective

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

Not rlly sure...probably only a day. I’m a very sleepy person

39. Do you have any scars?

Yep

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

If I told you, they wouldn’t be secret ;-)

41. Are you a good liar?

No not at all. My face gives it away so badly

42. Are you a good judge of character?

I like to think so. My first impressions of people tend to be true.

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

Ya but not well ahsgag

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I don’t think I do, but my family from the states always says we have the stereotypical “Canadian accent”.

45. What is your favourite accent?

I loooove Irish accents. I find them very pleasing to hear!

46. What’s your personality type?

INFP-T to be precise

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

My prom dress I think? I got it a Free People for 90$ and at that store, that’s a steal...

48. Can your curl your tongue?

Yeth

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

If this is referring to my belly button then, innie

50. Left or right handed?

Right handed

51. Are you scared of spiders?

Ew ya

52. Favourite food?

Ok my fave food is also my fave foreign food and it’s Indian!

53. Favourite foreign food?

^

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

messy...ITS CAREFUL CHAOS OK?

55. Most used phrase?

I really am not sure...

56. Most used word?

probably ‘like’. Yes I’m gen Z, yes I have trouble articulating my thoughts. And what about it???

57. How long does it take you to get ready?

I need at least an hour...I like to plan

58. Do you have much of an ego?

I don’t think so??

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

If you bite lollipops, you’re in jail now, I don’t make the law.

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Yes, I’m the funniest person I know.

61. Do you sing to yourself?

Yes, funny you ask, I’m not only the funniest person I know, but also North America’s greatest entertainer!

62. Are you a good singer?

No! But I will preform for myself and the spiders living in my room. Yes, we exist!

63. Biggest fear?

Losing the people I love, being trapped.

64. Are you a gossip?

No yuck i hate it.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

this is too broad and difficult but The Witch. It’s spooky and dramatic.

66. Do you like long or short hair?

I don’t rlly have a preference...

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

Probably if I try really really hard lol as a Canadian, this is a good road trip game

68. Favourite school subject?

Art or English!

69. Extrovert or introvert?

Introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

No but something about makes me anxious

71. What makes you nervous?

I would really love to find something that doesn’t make me anxious. Let’s start with that.

72. Are you scared of the dark?

No! I find it comforting sometimes actually

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

Depends. I hate confrontation so I only do it if it really matters...

74. Are you ticklish?

Ok I wanna know who isn’t! Like whomst is not ticklish??

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

I hope not...I would feel very stinky

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

If by authority you mean telling my sister to get out of my unassigned-assigned spot on the couch even though my voice cracks a little as I do it causing her to laugh even harder, than yes.

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Yes. *police sirens grow closer*

78. Have you ever done drugs?

I have done a weed or 2. Yes

79. Who was your first real crush?

My neighbour lol

80. How many piercings do you have?

3! My ears and also my cartilage! Used to have my septum, but it caused me too many problems so i let it grow over :(

81. Can you roll your R’s?

Ya!

82. How fast can you type?

So fast *spongebob voice* wanna see me do it again?

83. How fast can you run?

I would probably be the first to go in a horror movie

84. What colour is your hair?

Dark brown

85. What colour are your eyes?

Brown

86. What are you allergic to?

Nothing substantial.

87. Do you keep a journal?

Ya I do!

88. What do your parents do?

My mums a school secretary and my dads a fraud investigator

89. Do you like your age?

U know what, ya..I can’t complain.

90. What makes you angry?

Injustice and rudeness

91. Do you like your own name?

Ya I don’t mind it

92. Have you already thought of baby names if so what are they?

I mean I have names that I like but it’s not something I write down so I always forgot lol

93. Do you want a boy or a girl child?

I really couldn’t care less

94. What are your strengths?

Physically, I’m a sack of bones with the upper body strength of a new born baby but I like to think my sense of humour makes me tolerable *finger guns*

95. What are your weaknesses?

I am one frightened human bean.

96. How did you get your name?

Tru story: throughout my moms whole pregnancy, everyone including the doctors were convinced I was gonna be a boy because they could never get a clear look at me in the ultra sounds so my parents had only picked out boy names until I was born to which they changed their choice of “Eric” to Erika :))

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Not at all lol

98. Do you have any scars?

Did I already answer this one? I think I did?

99. Colour of your bedspread?

White with pink floral pattern! (From ikea lol)

100. Colour of your room?

It’s an off-white

Ok I wanna tag these lovely beans @pe2chie @turntonightfirelight @camomillacatalina @witchgoddess @blackdressedtinyone 💗💗💗

#tag game #get to know me tag #ty!!

[only-kiwi]

Demons IV

i know this took ages and i don’t even like this chapter that much but i’ve had a few days off work and tried finishing this for you. i love you guys thank you for being patient with me 💘

TW: mentions of self harm, depression, eating disorder, use of drugs, swearing, age gap (19/24)

Billie really didn’t want to go to this party. Not even a little bit. She had bad experiences with them, but she tried not to think about it. The only people that know what really went down were herself, Willow, and her parents. Not even Jacob knew. Not even 18 months ago, Billie was at every party she should find. Even though she didn’t have many friends, Willow did, and they loved to party. However, it all got out of hand when someone started bringing drugs. It started with cigarettes (she’s being forced to quit). Then weed, which wasn’t that big of a deal to anymore. But Billie had enough of just being high, and she decided that she needed more. That’s where the cocaine and heroine came in.

It was fine at first, she could control it. It was all a bit of fun. But back then, Billie’s depression was the worst it had ever been and she couldn’t seem to forget about it. That’s how she ended in the hospital with a heroine overdose.

It wasn’t like she tried to overdose or anything - at that point it had been about six months since her last attempt and everyone thought she was doing fine.

Usually, when parents find out their kids are doing drugs, they get angry. But with Billie in the hospital, so close to death, her parents felt hopeless and all they wanted to do was help.

Today was the first time Billie was going to another party since. She was nervous as fuck but she figured that Harry’s friends were responsible and there would probably only be alcohol and a bit of weed. Also, Harry would be with her the whole time. If anything got bad, Billie would just ask to leave or tell him what’s going on. It didn’t help that Billie wasn’t having the best couple of days. Ever since she left Harry’s that morning she’d been filled with anxiety and it just hadn’t gone away. All she could think about was the kiss and what it meant or if it even meant anything at all. Her mind was fucked. It wasn’t the type of anxiety where she got shaky and couldn’t breathe. It was the type where he was so zoned out and felt like she wasn’t really there. Like she was dreaming or something. She was good at hiding it, she didn’t tell her parents or Jacob or Harry. It was stupid anyway.

“Billie?” Jacob knocked on his sister’s door. “Are you busy?”

“Trying to pick an outfit, what’s up?”

“Can you paint my right hand?” The young boy muttered and Billie look at his hands. The nails on his left hand were painted black and he had the bottle with him. “I’m shit with my left.”

“Yeah, come sit. When did you start painting them?”

“Tried it the other day and I liked it so I think I’m gonna keep doing it.” He shrugged.

“What about mum and dad? And the kids at school, I know how they can be and-“

“I don’t really care. Painting my nails doesn’t really mean anything, I just like the way it looks. Don’t care about anyone else.”

In that moment, Billie admired her little bother more than she ever admired anyone. She wished she had that mentality, she wished she didn’t care about what anyone thought about her. She wished she was like Jacob. Suddenly, Billie’s door opened and more half a second both their hearts stopped thinking it was their parents. But it was just Harry.

“Hi, your mum let me in.” He smiled. “Hey, Jacob. Nice nails. We match.”

Looking up, Billie saw that Harry’s nails were painted black and they only made him more attractive. Billie almost couldn’t breathe. Why the fuck was he so hot?!

“Thanks, are you two going somewhere?”

“It’s his friend, Niall’s, birthday. We’re going to his party.”

“You? A party?”

“That’s what I said!” Billie laughed as she finished up her brother’s nails. “Alright, get out, I have to get ready.”

With that, Jacob left, and Billie was left alone with Harry. She couldn’t help but feel awkward. Does she mention the kiss? Ignore it? She just didn’t know. She decided to not say anything until Harry did so she could save herself the embarrassment.

“Help me pick an outfit?” She asked Harry, pointing to her wardrobe. He smiled slightly and nodded.

****

Harry and Billie pulled up outside the massive house and she already felt intimidated. This house was bigger than Harry’s and she didn’t know what to do with herself. Breath, Billie.

“You okay?” Harry asked as he took off his seatbelt.

“Mhm,” she nodded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope.”

Billie let the smoke fill her lungs and she felt less anxious in seconds, but that didn’t mean she was ready to go inside. She was scared of what people would think of her, if Harry had told them about her. Or maybe she was scared they would have drugs there. She didn’t know if she would be able to handle it.

Once she’d finished her cigarette she took in a deep breath and tried to relax. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Walking into the house, Billie felt like walking right back out. There were literally hundreds of people there. Hundreds. Harry noticed how nervous Billie was and grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly and giving her a smile.

“Harry! Good to see you, man!” Harry’s very drunk friend greeted him. The Irish accent was enough for Billie to know that it was Niall. “You brought a friend?!”

“Niall, this is Billie. Billie, Niall.” He introduced them, and Billie have the drunk man a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Billie shouted over the music. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks, love! There’s drinks and shit in the kitchen, help yourselves.” Niall said before spotting another friend and walking off.

They walked to the kitchen and Billie needed a drink. She wasn’t planning on getting drunk but she needed something to loosen her up a bit. Billie couldn’t remember the last time she got drunk, and she didn’t want to. Harry handed her a vodka lemonade, and she took a sip from the red solo cup.

“You know, all this plastic isn’t good for the planet.” Billie pointed to all the cups in the kitchen and Harry playfully rolled his eyes.

“Are you one of them planet-saving-cruelty-free-vegans?”

“So what if I was?”

“I think that’s pretty cool.”

“Well I’m not vegan, I’m vegetarian but all the other stuff applies. It’s something that everyone should care about, it’s just common sense.” Billie explained. It was a random conversation but she wondered why they’d never spoke about it before because she’s sure she must have mentioned it.

Before Harry could get a word out, someone called his name. “Oh, my God. What’s it been, H? Like, two years?”

Harry’s discomfort was clear, but Billie sipped her drink and stayed quiet. “Hi, Kendall.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Billie.”

Billie tried her best to remain calm but Kendall was absolutely beautiful - she was a model after all. Billie had seen her on magazines, in ads and on billboards. Everywhere. She didn’t know Harry knew her, but she wasn’t really surprised.

“So, how long have you been together for?”

“We’re just friends,” Billie and Harry both said at the same time, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Weren’t we ‘just friends’ for a whole year.” The model taunted, raising her eyebrow.

“That was your choice, not mine.” Harry picked at his black nails, he was starting to get anxious. So, Billie decided to step in.

“It was lovely meeting you, Kendall. Hopefully we run into each other again tonight. But H wanted to introduce me to a couple of people, didn’t you?” She out of her best fake nice voice, knowing she sounded bitchy. Billie wasn’t a bad person, but that sure as hell made her feel good. She took Harry’s hand, making sure Kendall saw, before walking to what she assumed to be the living room.

She regretted it immediately. The place was filled with drugs. Not just weed - she didn’t mind that. But there was cocaine all over the tables and people injecting themselves with heroine. Billie felt sick and it was just because she’d barely eaten.

“What the fuck?” She mumbled, mostly to herself.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Don’t worry, I don’t do any of this shit.”

“That’s not the point, H. You said this was a party not a fucking crack house. And what was with that Kendall?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here alone. And she’s apparently still mad that I broke up with her.” Harry huffed. “She can fuck off though, she’s such a bitch.”

“Yeah, it shows.” Billie muttered, but Harry heard anyway and laughed. “Can we go outside?”

Harry nodded and lead Billie to the garden, which was luckily empty. They sat on the chair and Billie pulled out yet another cigarette. “It’s not even been twenty minutes.” Harry pointed out. “Thought you were gonna quit?”

“Yeah, well I’m stressed.”

“Because I brought you here?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I knew there was gonna be drugs.” Billie sipped her drink. “I can’t be around that shit.”

“Did something happen?” Billie debated telling him. She didn’t want him to think of her as some messed up drug addict. She wanted a fresh start, not to keep bringing up the past, but she figured that Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“A lot happened.” She shook her head, trying not to go into a negative mindset. “It was around a year and a half ago, after my eighteenth. Long story short, my depression was the worst it had ever been and I went to loads of parties and shit. I fell in with the wrong people and started taking drugs to make myself feel better.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry whispered. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you. We can leave right now. I’ll tell Niall-“

Billie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the back door opened. Kendall and a few others came stumbling out of the house. Harry saw Billie roll her eyes, and had to hold back his laugh. He didn’t care much for Kendall anymore, they hadn’t spoken in years and their relationship was nothing special. They fucked on and off for a year before Harry caught feelings and Kendall decided to end it.

“Harry! Billie!” She practically screamed before sitting with them. “Come join the fun!”

“We’ve got the good stuff!” Another really pretty, model looking girl said, before pulling out a bag of white powder. Billie instantly tensed up. Harry’s eyes darted to her straight away, he could feel the anxiety coming off of her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Billie whispered to Harry, starting to get up from her seat.

“On the left as soon as you walk upstairs.” He told her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be ok,” the younger girl promised, “I won’t be long.

Harry was concerned but nodded anyway. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to be around all these drugs after overdosing from them. He wondered if she was tempted to take any, or if she just didn’t feel comfortable. Hopefully, it was the latter. But he simply didn’t know.

Billie was panicking in the bathroom. She wanted to go home. She wanted to ask Harry if they could leave but she didn’t want to take him away from his other friends. It was just so hard being around all those drugs. She remembered how they made her feel - she wanted to feel like that again. She wanted to feel free and calm.

All she could hear was a muffled Travis Scott and the voices in her head. Why is this happening right now? They hadn’t come in days - the voices. Yeah, she was anxious but now it’s all hitting her. It was like in the movies where there’s an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Only there were devils on both Billie’s shoulders and they were dragging her down.

Billie looked up in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair. “No,” she tried shaking the voices out of her head, “no, no, no.”

The poor girl felt like she was drowning, like she couldn’t breathe anymore. Fuck. She tried digging into her pockets for her phone so she could call Harry, only to realise she left it with him “Fuck!”

The room was spinning. Billie tried gripping onto the counter but she accidentally knocked something off. Her eyes followed it to the ground. A bag of white powder. It was like it was put there for her - like it was waiting. She picked it up and looked at it. Her brain telling her so many different things.

Without thinking, she opened the bad. She didn’t know why she did it, she just... did. Her mind was all over the place. What’s one little sniff, right? Maybe she’ll feel better. All the had to do was control herself so it won’t end up like last time. Yeah. One sniff. Just to take edge off.

She dipped her finger into the bag and brought it up to her nose. She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly the entire bag was gone. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t the plan! If only it kicked in quicker, she wouldn’t have taken so much.

“Come on, Billie, get your shit together.” She told herself, using her shaky hands to pick up the bag and throw it away. “He can’t find out.”

Billie knew it would take at least ten minutes to kick in, and she didn’t know how she would act after. Usually, she’s be dancing on tables and screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t even feel good this time. Just anxious. She can’t remember why she ever enjoyed this.

“Billie? Are you ok?” She heard Harry’s voice and panicked again. He would definitely be able to tell. “You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Yeah, I’m okay!” The younger girl called back before checking if her nose was clean. “Give me a sec.”

Her vision was already getting blurry, she could barely walked straight. But she had to fake it. Opening the bathroom door, she saw Harry standing there. He looked a lot better than she remembered and she’d only been gone half an hour. Her sex drive was insane when she was high.

“Everything good?” Harry asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Yeah, perfect. Why wouldn’t it be?” She tried standing still, but she must have looked crazy.

“You were gone for ages, I just-“

“Oh, no need to worry.” She patted his chest and he stood there dumbfounded. “I could really use another drink! Let’s take shots!”

“Shots? I can’t, I’m driving. And there’s no way I’m taking you home drunk.”

“God, you’re such a dad.” Billie rolled her eyes, and stumbled passed him. “Let’s have some fun, H!”

“Billie,” Harry pursed his lips, slightly tugging at her wrist. “Did you take something?”

“What,” she hiccuped, “makes you think I took something?”

“I’m not stupid, what did you take?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“There was a bag in the bathroom.” Billie muttered, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry raised his voice. “You had a go at me for bringing you here when all you were gonna do is take whatever the fuck was lying around?! God, Billie. You’re so stupid!”

She knows he’d been drinking a bit, she wanted to blame his reaction on that. But he can’t have been that drunk because like he said, he was driving. She felt herself begin to panic, he’d never spoken to her like that before.

“I-I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “It was right there and they wouldn’t leave me alone I-“

“They?”

“The fucking voices, Harry! They never go away and they kept telling me to do it, I just wanted them to stop.” Her voice started strong but cracked towards the end. Billie had been doing fairly well, but of course, these things sneak up on her at the worst times.

That’s when Harry knew it was more than an act of rebellion or an adrenaline chase. Billie was really sick. She had no control, and it killed him. He felt bad for yelling, it wasn’t her fault.

“I’m sorry for yelling, I’m just worried about you.” Billie nodded, she didn’t really know what to say. “I’m gonna take you home. You need to sleep this off.”

“No, I’m not going home.” She folded her arms and stomped her foot, stumbling slightly as she did so.

“God, you’re such a child.” Harry groaned.

“You weren’t saying that when your tongue was down my throat but ok.” Bullied huffed, and Harry raised his brow.

“Right, that’s enough. We’re leaving.” Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“Fuck’s sake, Harold!” She practically screamed in frustration. “I don’t want to-“

“Am I interrupting something?” Kendall. Again. God, Billie wanted to punch her. She always showed up whenever she and Harry were alone and she hated it.

“No-“

“Yes-“

“Billie,”

“No! She’s annoying.” Billie shrugged before turning to Kendall. “Harry doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just... go away.”

Harry stayed silent. Billie wasn’t wrong, he just wasn’t happy with her approach. He knew it was the drugs, but for some reason he was growing annoyed. “Come on, B. Let’s go.” He whispered, not daring to look up at Kendall as they walked away. “I’m taking you home.” He told her once they got into the car.

“Take me back to yours.”

“Why?”

“Can’t really walk into my house high of my tits, can I?” Billie huffed. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

****

Harry silently opened the door for Billie and they entered his home. They hadn’t spoken a word since they left Niall’s because Harry didn’t really know what to say and Billie had a splitting headache. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget she ever relapsed. She knew she would wake up feeling worse, hating herself and wanting to die. She really fucked up.

The drugs had worn off now. Billie remembered that being her least favourite part of taking them. They wore off way too quickly. She just felt really shitty now. Maybe it would have been fine if Harry wasn’t so annoyed with her. She knows she shouldn’t have taken them but why was he so upset with her?

The first thing Harry did when he was in the bedroom was take his shirt off and throw it to the side. The first thing Billie did was pick it up so she could wear it to bed. She usually wore his shirts when she stayed round, and she wasn’t up for asking for a fresh one. She didn’t say another word as she began to turned to walk about of his room.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sounding embarrassingly desperate.

“Going to the spare room?”

He hesitated for half a second before his head got the best of him.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #one direction #harry styles fluff #solo harry

[finn0]

All the houses I’ve lived in

1. 94 Queens Rd, New Lambton, NSW

My parents current house since 1989 and the house I’ve had sex with the most people in. A regular two storey house opposite bush on a nice street with neighbours that don’t talk to you (perfect). 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms with air con, a big fireplace, pool and massive garage. Lovely, but I don’t expect to inherit it so the attachment must remain minimal.

2. 11 Cobb Ct, Annandale, QLD

Okay formative toddler years were spent here. A tropical style bungalow with the lowest ceilings you’ve ever seen and even lower hanging ceiling fans (take off your shirt with caution). A massive pool constantly populated with cane toads year round that saturated the yard with chlorine every time a cyclone blew through. More floor space than is necessary for anyone. Horrible, angry neighbours that hated children. Short walk to shops, no air con despite Townsville being the armpit of the country. I spent almost all of time sitting on a Big Bird beanbag watching Sesame Street and screaming in abject terror every time there was a toad sitting in the toilet bowl (which was worryingly frequent).

3. 27 Woodrose Cres, Sinnamon Park, QLD

Literally the ugliest house I’ve ever seen in my life. Gaudy, over-tiled, far too big for any family, nothing but white tiles everywhere and not a tree, nor plant, nor weed in the backyard, just grass the colour of hay. Who in Brisbane requires an attic? Who requires THAT many bedrooms? What the FUCK is that suburb name? This house we thankfully lived in for no more than 7 months but good God what a relief.

4. 45 Clarence Rd, Waratah, NSW

My grandmother Bessie’s house. We lived there for a year while I was in pre-school and while my parents house was being renovated. Absolutely fascinating house that each grandchild loved to visit. The most bizarre things were to be found there. First of all it was a regular 2 bedroom home with gaudy wallpaper and a 1950′s kitchen and bathroom, plenty of living space etc. BUT the bizarre flat that was downstairs under the house that was built for my great-grandmother to inhabit was like stepping a 1950′s motel room. Pea green bathroom, pink kitchen, rising damp, mouldy wallpaper, dust upon dust upon bugs upon discarded venetian blinds. Oh my goodness it was amazing down there. It smelled like a nursing home. PLUS under the house was this enormous space all covered in dirt and other crap and trinkets and sheets. ZERO light penetrated this space and therefore was the best place to crawl around and get spooked. The laundry, also under the house, had high ceilings that were stained a Jackson Pollock amount of colours from years of laundry and rising damp and rain leaks AND leading from under the cupboards in the kitchen upstairs was a laundry chute that led all the way down to the laundry WHICH smaller grandchildren could actually fit into and snake their way down to avoid the prying eyes of older cousins during games of hide and seek. Until you were too big to fit. Like I found out one day. Not an easy search and rescue mission, I’ll tell you that. OH AND the back bedroom had some creepy as shit naked dolls with no hair and meth eyes that rolled back in their head along with like strange 60′s childrens paraphenalia and tiny trinkets that I later found out were things like ACTUAL jewels from Scotland and vintage broken Rolex watches. Also I remember sleeping in that room in my mothers childhood single bed while she slept next to me in another, while my father slept next to my grandmother in a separate single bed in her room (why??). Later after she died, new owners bought the place and my mother met them after a few years and asked if they thought the place was haunted to which they replied an unequivocal “YES”, my mother then asked if they left dishes out in the sink of a night, to which they replied “.....yes” and Mum was like “Well that’s the culprit, my mother would NEVER allow that” and the look of understanding coupled with genuine fear cements the fact that my grandmother was and is a motherfucking force to be reckoned with, alive or dead.

5. 7/58 High St, Randwick, NSW

I moved to Sydney! Why? I don’t know! My partner was doing a degree at UNSW and I went with him because I was 21 and couldn’t stand my parents any longer so I buggered off. Now. This apartment was a second floor walk-up in a WW1 era building opposite a hospital and BEHIND a Coles loading dock. Plus there was a screaming autistic Arabian child downstairs and the loudest dog you’ve ever heard next door. Serene. Peaceful. Damaging to the psyche. We lived with my partners brother which was fine, but that place not only had no heating nor ceiling fans it also had no flyscreens. I didn’t even have my own set of keys. I shared ONE set of keys with my partner for two years. Fucking ridiculous. Yes, the food nearby was good. Yes, I commuted back to Newcastle most weekends to keep my casual job. Yes the neighbours were fascinating, ranging from the American guy across the way who never ever closed his bathroom window and gave me many shows of his frankly monstrous penis, to the chainsmoking nurse below who had a permanent frown despite living across the street from her work, to the Koreans downstairs who constantly cooked delicious barbecue while pretending to not speak English, to the gorgeous gay couple who lived above us who could add a new synonym to the dictionary to define “unfriendly”. We got out just before the new light rail was to begin construction right outside our building, but regardless, because of all the noise that surrounded that place before that, I now can sleep through the sound of a fucking jet engine roaring right next to my face.

6. 145 Wilson St, Carrington, NSW

Back to Newy! Okay so this was the first house we even Googled when looking for a new place back in Newcastle, and weirdly, we got it!. It was a tiny cottage in a harbourside suburb that was across the the street from wheat silos that are literally the size of Windsor castle. The day we moved in, a representative of the Port Authority knocked on our door and told us that if we ever heard a particular siren, that it meant the silos were on fire and an explosion was imminent and that we would have about 10 minutes to evacuate before half the city was Hiroshima-ed. Lovely welcome. We heard that siren (or a siren at least) about 50 times in the 2 years we were there. Pretty alarming, as it were. Anyway, the house was literally 3 rooms and a kitchen, 2 tiny cubicle afterthought bathrooms, and a nice big back deck. Now I was happy there, it had everything I needed, it was pleasant. I had a good garden going and I really learned to cook there. Carrington is where my family is originally from, and it was easy to walk everywhere and I loved the history of it. However, our landlord was a Chinese lady called Winnie who could not have misunderstood the concept of landlord responsibilities less. Any repairs or things we needed, she was not just unavailable but actively apathetic. It was like pulling teeth to get her to even communicate to the property manager in even basic English in regards to anything we required. Our neighbours on one side were a lovely couple with 2 babies but they had a dog called Trippi that would bark whenever someone in the opposite hemisphere coughed, and on the other side were a couple in their 70′s who were both suffering dementia, constantly screaming at each other and who also had two elderly dogs that would bark whenever someone nearby inhaled. For two years I heard literally nothing except Matt’s piano, Trippi barking, the other dogs barking, the neighbours angrily SCREAMING at one another, wheat silo alarms, screeching train tracks and coal tankers blasting their horns as they entered the harbour. Again, seasoned professional, can sleep through anything.

7. 46 Garden Grove Pde, Adamstown Heights, NSW

Alright, so two friends of mine, also a couple, were living in a tiny half house situation and also wanted out of their place, so we decided to all move in together, into a place that was much larger and that we could all collectively afford. So we found this lovely large house with 4+ bedrooms so that we could all have our own space and get on rather well. And it worked out! My partner and I had a great big bedroom, Matt had his own study, we had a library, a music room, and my friends had an enormous bedroom downstairs plus a huge bathroom/laundry AND there was 3 tiers of yard that we grew all sorts of vegetables in, plus it had a driveway that looped around (I would call it a plantation driveway?) so heaps of space for everyone. It was great, plenty of space for guests which we had a lot of, plenty of outdoor areas for entertaining, it was wonderful. But unfortunately my friends relationship ended and an old friend took one of their places for a year (also fine) but eventually it turned out that the place was getting sold and after literally months of surprise inspections and open houses we’d all had enough and decided to move out separately. Now this so far has been my favourite place. It was 10 minutes to work, everyone had their own space and we lived, I think, pretty well harmoniously together. But nothing good lasts so now...!\

8. *** Kings Rd, New Lambton, NSW

From Queens Rd to Kings Rd! We found a gorgeous house right near a train station that I am currently in and pretty happy with. For the first time I have ceiling fans again plus air con and FOUR bedrooms that I barely know what to do with. Currently I’m sitting in my study surrounded by all my books with the fan on typing this out and it feels good to have my own space for a change and actually have trouble furnishing a house as opposed to making concessions about what I keep and what I can’t. I’ve planted a veggie garden, I have my kitchen the way I want, and the house has been renovated, re-carpeted, painted and made livable for a modern couple. We have spare space for guests (or a spare room for me when I don’t want to wake up Matt when I go to bed at 3am, but that’s the sleep pattern of a shift worker) and overall I feel good about it. Finally. I’ve been looking for a good home to just COME HOME to for ages and for a long time I haven’t really felt that. My last home was lovely, but honestly 3 tiers of gardens to maintain and roommates (though they remain dear friends) are just not what I want to deal with anymore. Actually not even that, I’d be fine with roommates, but it’s just nice to feel like I have MY house and it’s mine to come home to.

Anyway, apologies for this long post, and I know barely anyone will read it, but I started this blog TEN years ago so and I don’t have a print journal to write all of this stuff in, so I might as well talk here. HOUSES! If they’re not haunted, then where’s the drama we so desperately crave?

[wvrmtails]

(  and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?  )

( keiynan lonsdale, twenty one, agender ) my goodness, is peter pettigrew back? it’s been a few years since the halfblood has been around the castle, but i’d recognize he/they anywhere. rumor has it the seventh year spent the past few years aligned with the order. they’re stillallocentric & cunning and obsessive & passive, though. and the gryffindor still reminds me of ketchup stains on band shirts, an incomprehensible minute long string of curses, tracing the veins in your wrist, the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee, card tricks at three in the morning. well, then, i guess some things never change. 

links:  playlist.  pinboard.  stats. 

triggers: child abandonment, eating disorder (specifically bed/bulimia), depression, anxiety, weed. there’s a heads up before every bulletpoint!

history.

child abandonement mention |  peter grew up in glasgow, scotland and was raised by his mother, a halfblooded witch called daraja pettigrew. his dad wasn’t in the picture, hadn’t been from the moment his mum had told him that she was pregnant. | end of mention

which meant peter learned how to be alone from a young age. his mother worked a lot, after all, so she could pay the rent of their small flat and give peter the bare minimum, the things he needed. peter delved into fictional worlds: he read books. comics, mostly, but also a lot of roald dahl. he also watched a lot of telly, because tv is the bomb.

went to muggle elementary, where he was kind of? an odd one out. his clothes were always a bit lumpy, his words a bit jumbled, his eyes shifty. was an outsider on good days, a target on less good ones. he spent many lunch breaks eating alone, and most of the time he didn’t mind — being alone meant he could let his mind wander.

still, it fucked with his self esteem. no kid likes feeling alone, or like an outsider.

and then hogwarts rolled around and! friends! marauders! peter felt so at home! oh my god okay listen. he loves the marauders so much and he was so hyped and happy to be part of this little group and there was a Lot of hero worship there, esp in the early days?

peter always loved heroes. he loves comic books and people who save the day and get the girl and do it all. i think he kind of … projected that onto james and sirius especially? did not know how to do this friendship thing as an 11 year old tbh, was a mess, was blinded by their amazingness damn

also. re: being sorted into gryffindor! peter admires heroism and bravery and chivalry, and it’s your values that get you sorted some place. and he does try to be brave, and he IS, because he becomes a damn animagus for his bud! i mean! he was not a hatstall btw  — i choose to ignore that stupid bit of post canon. it took a while for the hat, sure, but no more than two minutes. 

pete was & is a shit student, not bc he was dumb, but just because school was not. his thing. his jam. the system was just not for him. deadlines? exams? homework? no thank you. anyway, peter’s skills flourished a lot more in different settings, like … using charms for convenience. or becoming an animagus for his bff. making potions against hangovers. etc.

becoming an animagus for remus was ! important ! to peter ! he did it for remus, not because of peer pressure, or anything else — he did it because it was right, and his friend deserved it and ! he did it, too, because he could. sure, his transfig grades may have been more than poor, but the kid did have some skill. he just needed motivation, which mcgonagall didn’t give (bc. she scared him.) and this situation? motivated the hell out of him. 

peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t taken a bit aback when he learned about remus’ lycanthropy — not because he was scared of him, to be honest, but he was just ? shocked ? he was more scared for remus, and so sad? so fucking sad for him? : (

collects chocolate frog cards like it’s his damn job. i mean, he did it before hogwarts, but once he arrived and there was more opportunity to trade and a whole club dedicated to it, peter grew more and more driven to complete his collection, lmao. peter also really likes playing gobstones and is pretty good at it? same with chess & card games — he loves games!!!! so much!!!

weed & anxiety tw | peter started smoking pot in the summer between his fourth and fifth year, and never really stopped. it made him slack more at school, but also eased his anxiety, which had started to develop in his fourth year. as months passed, peter became more and more of a stoner, which made him both more relaxed and funnier, but also ... a whole of a lot lazier. | end of weed tw

peter had always been a bit ... fidgety, easily on edge, a bit nervous, but he’d never really known anxiety until around fourteen years old. his insecurities grew, as he started comparing himself more to his friends and finding nothing but things he lacked in comparison to them, and questions as to why they put up with him. | end of anxiety tw

so his schooldays mostly looked like ... doing nothing, playing games, having fun with his mates, getting high, forgetting his homework, stressing about homework, and somewhere, in a tiny corner of his being, worrying about the war. whenever those worries started coming up, though, he was able to push them away, because the war was not yet there, not for him at least. there was graduation to worry about first, and once that was done, then he could worry about the war.

and then the war came to hogwarts. peter was shocked. peter had been in denial about the war and how close it could hit him, because in his mind he and his friends would be safe at hogwarts, would be safe until at least graduation, and then that was all gone. peter didn’t do much during the battle. i can imagine that he just hid, that he tried to stay out of trouble, that a side of him showed itself that he did not like at all. he worried about his friends, hoped they were safe, but didn’t go looking for them, didn’t try to protect them: he clung to safety and hid. like a fucking coward. he prayed, for a moment, and then cursed god to hell and back. probably smoked a few cigarettes, too.

post battle & currently.

peter is ashamed. ashamed of his cowardice, ashamed of his passiveness, of his incapability to stand up and fight, like so many of his friends did. a disgust grew in his chest for himself, and yet he was glad, somewhere, that he had hidden. he’d not seen as much as others had. he’d not gotten hurt. he had not died.

he did join the order, along with his friends, in an attempt to make up for his earlier lack of bravery, but he finds himself incapable to do much. he’s not good at dueling and while he’s able to be strategic and cunning, his mind seems to shut down whenever he tries to apply himself. he’s terrified, frankly, and he’s angry, because he should just be at fucking hogwarts. 

that idea i mentioned earlier, that the war wouldn’t be real until after graduation, and then graduation being postponed significantly, kind of froze peter up. rather than dedicating himself to the order in his own ways, as he would do in a canon verse, or eventually deciding to walk over to the death eaters, peter just became passive. i think peter hung around hq a lot, cleaning up and cooking food and making sure there was always enough tea/coffee/beer/liquor around for when there were meetings. would rather clean a dirty toilet than go on a mission. The Order’s personal MAID! 

depression & weed & eating disorder (bed/bulimia) tw | peter feels useless. he feels like a shitty person. he feels like he’s a burden. he hates himself. peter starts secluding himself, hiding in his mother’s home. he smokes more pot. he sometimes goes a week without seeing someone besides his mum. he watches too much telly and reads comics and drowns in fictional worlds and he becomes depressed. he sinks into it without noticing and can’t come back from it. his eating habits ( which have always bordered on unhealthy ) turn worse; peter binges, and then restricts, falls into a cycle. it’s the only routine he has.

when he’s around his friends, he lives up a little. he cracks jokes and wants to play games and laughs and feels a bit more alive, but he always craves his time on his own. that’s his new way to feel safe: to stick to his newly found routine, hidden in his room, away from reality. | end of tw

and then, finally, he was able to return to hogwarts. the three years spent away from school feel like a blur, if you ask him now, a useless blur, and peter’s laughing when he steps on the train. he’s glad. he’s glad. he can return to his plan to graduate and then, maybe, find the power in himself to face the war, rather than still, kind of, deny it. peter just wants to return to his last year and make the most of it, and return to the way life once was. ( that that’s kind of impossible is, well, yet another thing he’s in denial about. )

random facts & ramblings.

peter parker is his favourite superhero just because ... they share a first name and because peter parker is a bit of an underdog too and peter is just like! amazing! he named his owl parker.

he hates cats. used to love them --- he was allowed to take the cat from home with him to hogwarts when he was eleven, but he brought him back home after an unfortunate incident where his cat nearly ate him while he was in his animagus form. “sorry ma, i don’t love him any more. here. have him.” 

peter is actually a solid cook. this is because he learned to make some basic food when he was still a kid, first with his grandma, and later on his own. he liked doing it for his mother and he was. .. good at it? peter is also just passionate about food and finds comfort in cooking. breakfast food and baked goods are Prime Food Categories. 

he is asexual af, panromantic. has kissed both guys and gals and nb pals but did not like it??? confused. does not understand sexuality and all that jazz but tries not to think abt it because like! he’s got enough stress! doesnt need to think abt this!

peter is also agender, but i think he’s a lot less aware about this, because it’s confusing and so he just tries not to think about it. he does feel okay with he/him pronouns, but just doesn’t feel connected at all to being a boy/man

peter has abandonment issues because his dad, well, never even bothered to be there. not even for a second. he’s just constantly scared that people will leave and it’s funny, because he will probably end up abandoning all of his loved ones KDJFHSDF.

peter is quite non confrontational but also not ... meek? he just avoids it, either by physically staying out of people’s way or by dismissing most of the things said and getting out of there. a Passive Kid. will, however, defends his friends honour, because damn it, he loves them so much.

he’s such a fucking dork i swear to god. but he’s funny! peter is really funny. i deeply believe in this. he makes great puns and is able to just come out of nowhere and make a comment that just. hits the nail right on its head. 

peter curses a lot and has a scottish accent and sometimes he will have a minute long cursing session that no one rly understands.

listen i have such a wide array of hc’s im not going to list them all here just ask me

possible plots.

tutors. someone help peter graduate bc that is like. something he does want to do. he’s taking his newts in transfig, potions and herbology.

fellow collectors. please trade chocolate frog cards with peter and help him finish his collection before he loses his gd mind.

let’s play a game! peter rly likes playing games and tbh he’s usually in for one ( though it does depend on who you are, lmao ) so! maybe your character and peter just like hanging out and playing some Games.

i will add more im just so tired of typing rn KSDFHSJKDFHKJSDFKDSFH

#totalusintro #this got long akjdsfh

[scaryscarecrows]

Good Influence

Jonathan yawns and rolls over, blinking sleep from his eyes. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s still dark outside. Damned early, then, or damned late. Or somewhere in the middle.

He shuffles downstairs for a glass of water and gets the shock of his life when Granny rasps, “What are you doing down here, boy?”

DIDN’T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS DOWN HERE CRAP WHAT DO I DO

“A-a glass of water.” he stammers out. “I couldn’t sleep…”

“Come here.”

It’s dark down here, but he can just make her out, sitting at the dining room table and staring off into space. She’s gotten herself a glass of iced tea (it is too early) and he wonders how long she’s been down here.

He wants to go back upstairs and hide until morning.

He sits are far away from her as he dares, wondering what she wants and if she’s going to ask him, in that calm tone he knows so well, to explain the books in his backpack.

Or worse.

“You’re not sick, are you, boy?”

“N-no.”

Forget the water, can he go now?

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Come here.”

Every fiber of his being is screaming DON’T YOU DO IT, but that’s suicide. And although he might stand still and let himself be run over, he wouldn’t actively leap in front of a car.

“Bend down. You’ve gotten tall.”

He doesn’t feel it. Not next to her.

Birdy hands cup his face and it’s a monumental effort not to pull back.

“You’re sure.”

His throat decides to close up and he nods as best he can. She finally lets him go and he tries not to flee back to the other end of the table.

It’s not his fault if he has long legs and therefore takes little time to get there.

The china cabinet looms over him like a mouth and he vows that next time he needs a glass of water, he’s going to suck it up and stay in bed.

When she doesn’t say anything else, he gets up and shuffles to the sink. The pipes gurgle and spit and hack out lukewarm water that tastes ever-so-slightly of rust. He likes the taste of rust, he suspects-the water bottles at school taste like nothing and it’s weird.

“I-I’m going to go back to bed, Granny.”

She doesn’t answer and he’s just reaching the doorway when she croaks, “Jonathan.”

THIS IS HOW I DIE.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

More silence. Then-

“Sleep well, child.”

Oh god, she’s laced the cup with poison. Or something. He’s not going to wake up, that’s what she’s implying.

“Ah, you too, Granny.”

He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears her get up, and he may or may not run the rest of the way up.

* * *

Granny bans him from the house because she has a headache. He takes the opening and grabs a book, heads to the weed-filled No Man’s Land between them and the Richardsons. It’s less oppressive out here, far away from Granny without being so far that she’ll yell at him for going somewhere without permission.

It’s also far enough away from the chapel that the crows shouldn’t take offence to his presence. That’s the important thing here.

He’s nearly finished with his book (it’s thin-The Turn of the Screw) when Kitty calls his name.

“Jonathan!” He raises a hand and tries not to be surprised when she plops down beside him. “Why are you out here?”

“Granny has a headache, so I came outside.” He sticks a scrap of paper in his book and tilts his head to look up at her. “Why are you out here?”

“I was going to go exploring.”

Exploring? Seriously? There’s nothing to explore.

“Why.”

“Bored.” She reaches over and plucks a strand of grass from his hair before he can dodge her. ��Want to come?”

Not really, but with her luck she’ll fall into a ditch or be kidnapped by a wandering salesman or something equally horrible.

“Let me put this back.” he says grudgingly (and it is grudging, this is for her safety, not because he wants to), rising to his feet. Ow. He’s been lying on the ground for too long and he missed several rocks when he cleared his spot.

She eyes him and he really should see it coming, but-

“You might wake your grandmother.”

“I won’t.” If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s not waking Granny. “Just stay here, I’ll be-”

She swipes the book from his hand and takes off running, shouting, “Catch me if you can!”

What? Wait! He didn’t…he just…

“That is a library book, it doesn’t want to explore!”

God dammit.

She had a head start and she’s out of his line of vision, which means it takes him longer than is usual to catch up with her, halfway down the road.

“What was that for?”

“If you woke her up, she might say no.” Likely. “Besides, it got you to smile.”

No it didn’t. He is not smiling. That is an involuntary…

Oh.

That’s not fair.

She looks at the book (it’s unharmed by its kidnapping) and hands it back.

“I like that one.”

“You’ve read it?” This copy’s hardly touched. Someone donated it to the school library, but since he lives in a town of idiots, it’s been read maybe once.

“Yeah, my mum’s got a copy in some anthology.”

Well, well. Somebody else in this town is literate. It’s like a dream come true.

Because nobody else reads, is all. Not because it’s her specifically.

“Well, you got me up. Now what.”

“I dunno.” She twists a loose strand of hair between her fingers and he’s tempted to stick it behind her ear where it belongs. Or give her a hair clip, since it’s always that strand that’s escaping. At least, she’s always messing with it, so he presumes it’s that strand. “Any more haunted bridges?”

“No.” It is that strand, because if she’s not playing with it it’s making a little brown line on her face. Which he knows because she sits across from him in history, is all. He can’t not notice, at that angle. “But we could go see if Old Man Wicker’s out today.”

She blinks at him and that strand is really starting to annoy him because it’s out of place why won’t she put it back.

“Old Man Wicker.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“I am not! That’s his name.”

“That’s what’s on his birth certificate.”

“Wicker’s on his birth certificate and he’s old. Come on. He’s interesting. He shot at me once.”

She snorts and for a second he thinks she’ll roll her eyes and go, oh, please, don’t lie, but then she gestures.

“After you.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets to keep one of them from fixing that damn strand and continues down the road with some vague idea that he’s going to regret this.

* * *

The Wicker place is really more of the Wicker shack, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it. It’s ways back off the road, surrounded by weeds, with its back to the woods. Well, such as they are. A large collection of spindly trees.

Now, Jonathan lives in the house that kids refuse to go near (they used to ring n’ run, but Granny caught one of them once). So he’s not…scared…of Wicker’s shack per se. Healthy apprehension? Oh yeah. And it’s justified. The old bastard shot at him when he was eleven-accidentally took a few too many steps over the property line. Scared him half to death, too, when he came tearing around the corner of the house hollering, “Git off my property, ya damn bastard brat!”

Now, though, nobody’s seen the old man in years, and judging by the weeds, he’s too decrepit or too dead to be a danger. So it’s safe to show Kitty their local Angry Shotgun-Wielding Resident, so long as they stay well on this side of the spindly little fence.

“Does anyone even live there?”

“Uh-huh.” Maybe, anyway. It’s not like anyone wants to go check on the guy. For all they know, he could be a decaying corpse out back. “About killed me when I was eleven.”

“You weren’t joking?”

“No! He really did shoot at me. Barely missed me.”

At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what happened. There were gunshots, and he’s pretty sure one whizzed by his head, but he’d been sprinting for home at the time.

“Why?”

“I trespassed by accident.”

“There’s a fence.”

“There wasn’t a fence at the time!”

She gives him a deeply unimpressed look (that damn strand has gotten loose again, put it back) and turns back to the house.

“Are you sure someone lives there?” she says, hands gripping the splintery wooden fence. “Because it looks abandoned.”

Why is she touching the fence? That can’t be good.

There’s no gunfire and no shouting, though, so she’s probably fine.

“Well, he used to live there. He could be dead.”

No.

No, no, he didn’t mean to say that! What has he done?

“Either he is or he isn’t.”

“He’s not! He’s not. Just a local legend.” Please let it go, please let it go. “He’s not out, now, though, so we should just…”

“What if he’s dead in there?”

“He’s not. Trust me, he’s not. But he is temperamental, so let’s go.”

“What’s he look like?” She lets go of the fence and he breathes a mental sigh of relief. “Is he all horrible and missing an eye or something?”

“Not exactly. But if he sees you, he’ll yell all sorts of clichés at you.” At least, he used to. Jonathan doesn’t make a habit of coming down this way. Used to be Wicker had a big dog that would come sit by the fence and growl at passerby. The dog is surely long dead, but that thing had to be part mastiff or somethin’.

“Why I am I not surprised.”

That wasn’t so bad. It was actually…kind of nice. To get out, he means. Go for a walk. With a friend.

Thirty seconds later, he finds himself mistaken about the dog-it comes around the side of the house.

“Is that a dog?”

“Uh-huh.”

Either it hasn’t seen them, or it doesn’t consider them a threat. Jonathan would like it to stay that way.

“Come on.”

“That’s a damn pony!”

“About the size of one. Come on.” The dog comes a little closer, hesitant at first, then it starts loping across the weedy field. “Kitty.”

“Okay.”

The dog hasn’t reached the fence before they’re gone.

#Jonathan Crane #Kitty Richardson #Granny #local Get Off My Lawn man #Jonathan is an awkward disaster #he's never had a friend #and the last crush he had went BADLY #forgive him

[mundvngus]

“i pour alcohol into the gaping hole inside my chest. it does not heal. not today. maybe tomorrow.”

MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER is 26 years old and works as a THIEF/DRUG DEALER/ALL ROUND CRIMINAL and is loyal to THE OOTP they were an RAVENCLAW and are a HALFBLOODED. HE look like FRANK DILLANE.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: nick miller ( new girl ), creed bratton ( the office ), doug judy ( b99 ), jason mendoza ( the good place ), chris miles ( skins ), jesper fahey ( six of crows ), scott lang ( marvel ), lillian ( unbreakable kimmy schmidt ). AESTHETIC: scuffed knees, flicking a lighter over and over again, flowery shirts, walking in the middle of the street after midnight, a body covered in bruises and tattoos, naming stray cats, falling asleep on the subway, watching smoke curl against a starless, black nightsky, throwing empty beer bottles against a wall. LINKS: stats. pinboard. character tag. HEADS UP: there’s quite a bit of talk about drugs and stuff in here -- as well as shitty parenting. i trigger warned it before every bullet point tho!

history

ciannán o’donnell was a flighty man, one of many relationships and flings and little loyalty, and so his affair with kiyana fletcher did not last long. when she told him he was pregnant, he moved on to a different woman, and kiyana had her son alone, with her sister on her side. dung was born to a lonely and angry woman, who had fallen for the charms and winks of a crooked criminal who spoke empty promises and lied for a living.

he grew up with his mum – a halfblooded witch and by far his favourite person in the world – in cork, attending muggle school there. he knew who his dad was, but wasn’t quite sure how to feel about —- EVERYONE knew who his dad was, a well known muggle criminal and dealer, a name notorious among the older kids at his school, a father to many. he’s like the robert baratheon of ireland, to be honest, planting bastards on every corner. lol. knowing he was one of his many kids was hard; he’d never met any of them, but he knew they were there, from his mother, from his aunt.

he met his dad for the first time at age seven, and was nothing but impressed. his dad showered him with gifts, his mum watching with a furious look on her face but biting her tongue. that moment was a switch for dung; he felt the need to impress his dad. he stole some sweets from a store on his way home from school a week later, fished some pennies out of the pockets of his classmates a few months later. when he phoned his dad to tell him, his laugh was warm and filled with life.

his relationship with his dad got better as his behaviour got worse. the thrill of stealing, of doing stuff he wasn’t supposed to, lit him not only on fire because ti was exciting, but also because he knew his dad would adore it. his mother’s worried questions and look only drove him to his dad, who liked it when he did bad things, who didn’t try and ground him ( looking back, he knows that that was stupid, but back then he was blindsided, obsessed with the mystery that was his dad ).

abuse tw // his father was abusive. period. he’s a wicked man, who has blood on his hands of people who were in his way, and he doesn’t love anything but winning and money and the high of victory. he manipulated mundungus, pushed him towards bad behaviours, showed him his bad sides when he was disappointed. most of the abuse was mental and verbal, but sometimes it turned physical as well. it’s toxic. mundungus hasn’t allowed himself to admit that to himself yet, though. end of tw //

drugs, smoking, alcohol tw // attending hogwarts was good, at first. it forced him to focus on other stuff, for a while, but his summers and winter breaks forced him back into his old behaviours. his world was split; at hogwarts, he was a loud and lively, but still a pretty good student, while at home he fell deeper and deeper in crossing lines and boundaries. he lit his first cigarette at age ten, drank his first beer at age twelve, smoked his first spliff when he turned fourteen, as a present from his dad. end of tws //

hogwarts also meant friends --- the dick squad was founded here, consisting out of dorcas, doc, daisy and dung himself. these three people meant everything to mundungus, to be honest, let him see the ways people could love each other without conditions or out of obligation. they were chaotic and messy and wrecked havoc on the castle but --- damn it, they’re his family, and he’d die for them.

drugs tw // it was in his later years that these two worlds started overlapping. his dad trusted him with a bit of produce, gave him some weed to sell at hogwarts after his christmas break in his fifth year, and it was a success. ever since, dung became pretty well known for selling a little bit of this and that. a lively spirit, he always did so with a bit of a grin, but he was also pretty fond of the stuff he sold, indulging quite a lot when business was a little slow.

he also stole a lot from rich purebloods, because fuck them

i guess ... this is where the messiness really did ... explode? mundungus liked the taste of drugs. he liked the taste of doing illegal things. he liked the taste of earning money and feeling powerful and he loved it all. he grew more dependent on alcohol and drugs. he wanted to flee, too. the world was a nasty fucking place and he knew that all too well and, fucking hell, don’t blame him for wanting to escape every now and then. end of tw //

he graduated at one point which? is a miracle? i think they just wanted to get rid of him tbh!!! but yeah, dung did Try a little at hogwarts, as he respects the hell out of dumbledore and stuff, but he was still not a good student. after graduation, he kind of joined up with his dad and started doing some illegal stuff in the wizarding world too, because why the hell not? he was good at it.

dung had no plans to join either side of the war, tbh, even though he’ss v much against the de’s cause. he’s a self serving kid!! but then he kind of got in a nasty situation where both alastor and dumbledore got him out of trouble ( that might have sent him to fucking azkaban, what a fucking idiot ) and well, dung might be a shithead, but he felt indebted to them and kind of rolled into the order.

and well --- the order was a newfound family. messy, of course, and full of chaos and distrust, but --- heck, mundungus found a lot of people there that he did end up feeling loyal to. and while that was scary, as mundungus prefers being a lone wolf ( or raccoon ), it was a kind of wonderful, too?

and -- get this -- he was an asset. his ties to the criminal world, with his ability to steal and sneak around like less than a shadow. he was useful, and mundungus fletcher had never been useful in his life before. what a weird feeling that was --- oh boy, but it was good, too. mundungus likes it. he could build on that and improve greatly and he has fucking potential to become a better person. he really wants to, too, because he feels incredibly indebted to alastor and dumbledore akjfsdf.

dont hold your breath, tho, he’s probably not going to improve a lot

mundungus doesn’t technically have a home. his mother’s place is his home, i guess, but he’s not there a lot. he crashes on couches, breaks into muggle homes of people who are on vacation ( always leaving it the way it was, but with a bit of a smell ) or in a squatter’s home, which he thinks is an iconic scene.

drugs tw // besides his work for the order, mundungus does a bit of this and that. he still works for his dad a little, dealing some drugs for him, but he’s mostly focused on making his way through the wizarding world’s underground and making a name for himself there. he sees no reason to try and find another career, finds the things he does now thrilling and exciting and honestly, he doesn’t have much of a way out. 

abuse tw // his dad has a hold on him. sure, he can drop his criminal activities in the wizarding world, but when it comes to his dad's business, he’s stuck. his father isn’t going to allow him to walk away –  that much should be obvious. he knows too much. and then there’s mundungus’ wish to always please his father, and his father’s endless dissatisfaction. it’s messy and bad and toxic and we all hate mundungus’ dad. end of tws // 

addiction tw // what it all boils down to is that mundungus is chaotic. he never stays in one place too long, doesn’t have a consistent job, strays away from commitment and stability. he’s addicted, to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and adrenaline. he’s self serving, in the end. he’s seeking for validation, deep down, and endlessly scared of all that’s happening around him. he’s alone, dreadfully so, but that’s the way he prefers it. end of tw //

personality & tidbits 

mundungus is a lowkey tortured artist. he writes awful poetry and draws a lot and he loves painting if he has time. he’s in love with the beat generation, mostly. he’s very private about this kind of stuff, though. it's his thing, and his alone. some of his tattoos he’s designed himself tho!! and we love and stan!!

his stance in the war is something that’s … pretty unknown, i imagine. mundungus benefits from appearing neutral, has connections in both the pureblood and muggle world. he likes to come across as that shady dude who will do whatever you ask of him for the right price.

can usually be spotted wearing The Coat, a rly expensive, vintage long coat that he once stole of a pureblood. he’s enlarged the pockets with some handy spellwork and pretty much carries everything he owes in there, like his produce and his money and his second pair of shoes and his art supplies and probably some random trash. 

is a bit smelly, so give him a shower

most likely to show up at your doorstep at 5am with some flowers and a shit eating grin, saying “can i sleep on yer couch?”

mundungus LOVES animals but doesn’t have any because of his lack of a home. his mother has a dog, though, and he loves that dog. he also feels v connected to stray dogs and cats and can be found petting and feeding them a lot.

hates himself deeply, doesn’t think he’s worth anyone’s time (despite constantly demanding it), has a low opinion of himself. he doesn’t get it if people care about him, to be honest? the only person he can properly accept it of is his mother, but even that’s complicated.

plots!

CUSTOMERS // a simple, easy connection! basically someone who buys drugs (also does like medicinal stuff? but also drugs-drugs) of mundungus or has paid him (good money) to nick something for them. he’s pretty down to do most things as long as it’s for the right price! 

PARTY FRIENDS // dung likes getting wasted / high / fucked up and having a good ol’ time with people. sure, he’s done it alone, but he prefers doing it with others. there’s a lot of room for diff options here?

YOU SAVED ME ONCE // ( alcohol tw ) a plot where someone got dung to a hospital when he got alcohol poisoning and basically saved his life?? meaning?? mundungus feels indebted and he hates that but!! he’s gonna pay your char back! he promises! 

UNDER PRESSURE // i imagine that dung has some ties to de’s as well bc of his less than legal work so? maybe some death eater could try and put some pressure on him? get him to do some dirty job bc it’d not matter if he died … etc etc 

UNDER PRESSURE 2.0 // on the other hand, i bet some order members are like 👀 at dung? this one’d be for order members who’re like … making sure that dung is still loyal and here?? making him feel a bit?? queasy?? 

ONE NIGHT STANDS // dung isnt rly good at romance but he’s good at no strings attached sex. this’d work in a lot of ways and w a lot of characters so imma keep this p open! dung is bi btw!!

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY // your average angsty exes plot? mundungus is flighty, and while he does feel feelings for people, he’s not … good with commitment. this’d be a relationship that he broke off bc he got scared or ?? something else??

COUCHES // i need some couches that mundungus can crash on adkjfhsdf he needs a place ... to sleep. he will pay you back with drugs or ... stolen goods? money? something that he didnt acquire lawfully

#maraudrs:intro

[velvet-tread]

A theory, or wild speculation, or whatever; anyway there’s some Bellarke

Here follows a collection of thoughts that don’t quite add up to a thesis yet

Season 5 had one of the best runs of episodes I’ve seen on this show ever - strong themes, great setups, impactful character beats. 9 straight episodes of near-perfection.

But imo it fell short in the last couple of episodes. How short depends on your perspective, but my feelings about it range from mildly disappointed to Jane Austen mourning weeds and little weepy handkerchiefs. Either way - the collapse into fudgy incoherence and loose ends actually undid all of the great work the show did in the first 9 episodes.  WHICH IS FUCKING INFURIATING. 

The show painstakingly put together so much excellent character and relationship set ups which either never materialised or didn’t pay off or just fizzled out. And now I’m left wondering what it all meant, which not only frustrates me on a viewer level but also makes me feel like an idiot for wildly overestimating what the show was doing with the material.

*looks at the X Files forever*

Just to pick a few things out at random.

a) Bellarke were put in conflict, but there was no emotional pay-off, the framing was all over the place and the resolution basically a post-script. 

b) We spent the series agonising about the wisdom of going to war on a fragile planet, but the actual harbinger of Apocalypse 3.0 (I can’t believe I have to write that) was someone only tangentially related to that storyline, whom every single named character bar Kabby was trying to stop. So was everyone wrong? Or just ineffectual? The latter is far less interesting and more depressing tbh.

c) The worms

d) Memori

e) I could go on

I repeat, I would not be so pernickety if the run up to the s5 finale hadn’t been so good, and the set up so promising.  The idea of a reboot was genius.  The Bellarke separation was genius.  Blodreina = genius.  Mama Bear Clarke = genius. Eligius = genius. Spacekru = genius. 

But ultimately?  Can ANYONE tell me what s5 meant?  What difference did any of those things make in the end?  What conflict was resolved satisfactorily?  I’d argue that the Blodreina/Blake siblings arc worked the best (although *howl* Bellamy was never given any in-universe context for Blodreina) but generally I’m left with the feeling that very few of these stories or conflicts had any meaning whatsoever, and especially not Bellarke.

So I have a theory and I stand to be corrected as ever because I am very much processing.

I think there’s a strong possibility Jason and/or the 100 writers room began rewriting the back end of season 5 as they were filming the early season 5 material.

Given Jason’s comments immediately after the finale, I’m inclined to believe that the rewrites, if I’m right, were mostly around Bellarke and the Flame.  Specifically, I think that at some point when they were filming mid-season, Jason changed his mind about how Bellarke-y he wanted the season to be, if at all.  And on top of that, I think as he was pitching season 6 around that time, he realised that he wanted to go full-hog with the Flame in season 6. 

Those two things might be connected.  Perhaps Jason realised the full extent to which he coud “bring Lexa back” without actually bringing back ADC, around the Flame.  Perhaps he wants to recreate the show’s Clexa glory days.  And perhaps romantic Bellarke isn’t compatible with that vision. Dumb, in my view, but hey.

Perhaps, he just realised that he can’t doesn’t want to write romantic Bellarke.

If that’s the case, then well, *shrugs*.  Less satisfying for me, but I don’t own this shit.  I do, however, own the prerogative to speculate wildly on how and why they squandered all that promise in the last couple of eps.

Certainly, a mid-season back end emergency rewrite would explain a few things:

1.The loose threads and wonky framing

For example, Clarke’s fury at Bellamy for putting the Flame into Madi’s head was just...dropped?  Why? When it was SUCH A BIG DEAL in 509?  What were we supposed to the think about that?  What was she? And Bellamy, who didn’t appear to even remember who Clarke was until he saw her at the ship, being angry at her? Really? Where? Since when? And importantly - why? 

I’m a writer and it’s my experience that the best planning you do for a piece is when you approach it at the start.  You brainstorm.  You get your thoughts together.  You address each problem and question and mould it into a whole so it all makes sense.

But when you finish the thing and you look at it and you think - the thesis is wrong! I need to restructure the entire thing!  That’s when mistakes get made.  Especially if, for example, you’re up against a deadline or in this case a filming schedule, the threads that you would usually pick up at the planning stage or in the editing stage get missed.  And because they are part of the final editing process, there’s nobody around to pick them up and properly address them.

Result?  Fudge.

2. The curious ambivalence about Becho. 

Look I ADORE Becho. They are soft, and loving and real af.  I fully believe that was always intended to be the case. 

I think Becho was set up as a benchmark, for Bellamy in particular, a symbol of his peace and prosperity in space,. And, of course, I think it was also set up as a point of conflict for Octavia and Clarke. In the case of the latter, it was definitely a silent love triangle. How do you explain the love triangle framing on two separate occasions? How else do you explain the two separate interviews Jason gave about love triangles?

But here’s what Becho was not set up as: a relationship that was supposed to develop on-screen and take the audience with it.  Becho had no arc this season. It wasn’t “a story” per se, however much Tasya and Bob’s chemistry electrified me. It was the backbone to *other* stories. 

So, why, then, were Becho given every single Bellarke beat, especially towards the end? A background of forgiveness? Check. A steadying influence on each other. Check. The person they’re fighting for? Check. Plotting together? Check? Battle couple? Check.

Contrast with Bellarke. Forgiveness?  That’s something for Bellamy and Madi to discuss without Clarke!  Battle plans? Clarke will do that with Echo instead (oh my GODDD my ot3 came to life there *clutches hands and wishes upon a star*). A steadying influence on each other? Maybe! Until they forget each other’s names when they’re not in a scene together! People they’re fighting for? Definitely not each other.

Meanwhile bts, the messages were VERY confusing.  So the show was giving us a Becho that, while very real, was not the core of the story. Which was probably why, in early season 5, some deep Becho nods (the extra forehead touch, the “I love her”) found their way on to the editing room floor. All legit. But then, the script-to-screens then BROUGHT THOSE THINGS BACK to the viewer’s attention?  Why? Why give us those things even though they were cut? Was it because maybe, the show had changed direction after the fact?

And don’t get me wrong. I loved every second of the show’s affirmation of Becho. I still adore them.  But how does it fit into the jigsaw of the show as it stands?  It doesn’t really.  In fact, if you just swap Echo for Clarke in Bellamy’s storyline this season, you would have a hard time telling me that this isn’t exactly what romantic Bellarke would look like - the only difference is that in terms of screentime, Becho’s antagonism has had far more time, and Bellarke’s forgiveness/working together has had more time. IN-UNIVERSE, IT’S THE OTHER WAY AROUND.  It’s why shipping Becho comes so easily for me. And if the show wanted to frame that as Clarke’s personal tragedy, I would get it and probably relish it. But the trouble is, I’m having a hard time understanding what the show *is* saying about Becho and Bellarke, because it seems to be constantly changing its mind.

WHICH. BY THE WAY. MADE THAT ENTIRE WAKE-UP MARPER VLOG SEQUENCE A MASSIVE DAMP BELLARKE SQUIB.

SORRY.

3. The Flame suddenly jumping to prominence as a tool rather than as a symbol late in the season.

The show went from framing the Flame as a threat to this kid, who had hidden from it her whole life, for whom it meant literal nightmares of people burning at the stake, something for Clarke to rightly protect her from, to something that turned her into a mouthpiece for Lexa, to Clarke’s hostility to it being framed as “wrong”. There was an abrupt change of tone imo, to Clarke’s fears being justified to Clarke’s fears making her, and I quote Jason from an interview that nearly made me choke on my cereal, a “helicopter” mum.

Excuse me while I punch the nearest object to smithereens.

The Flame “gave” Madi battle ideas (which were different from Octavia’s how, exactly?) by Gaia’s bedside, with just a MANTRA? That whole scene felt cobbled together at the last minute. Like a film student’s badly edited homework.

It’s giving Clarke life lessons, ffs! 

*clenches fist*

The whole thing feels like a season 5 retcon, hastily put together to justify Madi still having the thing in her head for season 6, when it can do it’s victory lap for real.

4. The scenes that were dropped

a) Bob and Eliza both referenced a big Bellarke scene that got cut.  My guess? Not a romantic scene but some kind of Hakeldama that allowed them to hash out their various beefs with each other and probably involved some shit talking about the Flame.

b) And like, if that scene had some tenderness in it? Too Bellarke maybe? No, Bellarke BAD BAD BAD *stern looks*

c) also, wasn’t Echo supposed to have a sad scene of sitting in the snow and remembering Azgeda? That was supposed to be at the snowy back end of the season, but Echo had no sads really.  Only fierce spacekru love and some cuddles and some good sexy time. Was there an Echo sad that got cut? What was it related to?

5. The writers room walkout

Yeah. I don’t know what that means, but it sure means something.

Just fyi...for some context.  I love Becho and they currently own my heart but until recently Bellarke was very much my otp. Probably, deep down, it still is.

But I’m getting tired of running this race. I have no problem with the show doing a slow burn. I have no problem with platonic Bellarke. But I need consistency and, importantly, I need the show to remember that Bellarke are the backbone of this show. Their relationship - however you frame it - is the heart and without it the show is nothing but a collection of Elon Musk conspiracy theories on reddit.

JUST LETTING THEM HAVE A CONVERSATION =/= BELLARKE ROMANCE.

If you want them platonic, fine, you win. But gutting their relationship from the inside out to try to ward off the sniff of shipping is just counterproductive. It’s the lack of real, meaningful connection that really turned me off Bellarke this season, not the lack of kiss or lack of romantic framing. Early in the season? Yes, the set up was all there and it looked GREAT. But their conflict never got off the ground and we never got a cathartic resolution to show us the characters really, truly mean something to each other. 

Ultimately the show forgot that they were friends who love each other, and I just *clenches fist* can’t ship that.  Maybe that’s what the show wanted. But the flipside is that at this point I’m not really invested in their relationship in any context, which is why the end shot left me cold. I hope Bellarke hasn’t died in my heart forever but...idk it doesn’t look good.

#bellarke #rip my beautiful earth babies #you'll have a special place for me forever #but i can't run this obstable course anymore #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #tagging becho #too #also don't send me hate #i'll block you

[chaoticlycrookedimperfections]

Having feels I don’t like.

For one thing. Don’t look up stuff on tumblr. In all fairness I didn’t think it would give me feels.

Lung transplants are all well and good and thank fuck for them and I’ll be forever greatfull. But I constantly have a feeling of doom hanging over me, like somthing could go wrong at any time. I have a lowered immune system. I essentially have a foreign body inside of me.

The flue could be dangerous.

Food could lead to sickness.

My body could just say fuck you ans reject my lungs in a year or 5 years.

All the fucking pills.

None of this out ways the gift of life and how much better my quality of life is. But I’m allowed to have thoughts and feelings, doesn’t make me any less greatfull. I’m not about to say fuck you and not take my life saving medications.

Also. My mental health is so much better than it has been, in we’ll ever ( in memory) so that’s good, I guess if I’m to label my mental health I still have mild depression ( Dystimia) and mild anxiety. I still have lingering ED thoughts. The bpd not so much. But like I don’t trust that the depression won’t come back and kick my Arse, like it’s dealable at it’s level, I’m just so scared of it returning especially if somthing bad happens to mum. ( this is a constant anxiety for me)

And even just these constant thoughts and anxieties of looming doom hanging over my head stresses me out. If my brain hadn’t decided strong or any emotions are not for me as maybe a self preservation things would be harder.

Awkward moment today when we had the Stanley knives out for cutting out paper I had serious thoughts of plunging it in my arm and seeing some blood, like it was nt emotional I don’t think, it was an Addict thing. I had to put it away out of sight. I even contemplated just cutting my finnger. This makes me nervous. Like I havnt cut ( minus one time ) in about 2.5 years, that’s a long time. I slipped up once in that time but it was not bad ( still counts tho) I guess it’s always going to be somthing that’s in my thoughts. Like once and Addict always an Addict just don’t act on urges and emotionally I’m not driven to hurt myself.

I think my last crutches that I have are money and food ( ED behaivers and non ED stuff.. yes there is both ) like if I’m having a shit day I will eat whatever and be like fuck it all I don’t care and the next day I will be pissed about it. Also I eat when I’m in an extra good mood cos I’m like. Haha I don’t care. I do care, just later. But money. Like it’s my money and no one else can get mad at me for spending it except for me so I’m not fighting anyone one this. But I’ll spend and then be pissed. Like I’m still doing stuff to piss myself off, it’s just not dangerous and risky behaviours. Also buying lots of clothes seems like I’m trying to fill some hole? Being so materialistic because I don’t know what else to be without being a deep person.

There’s currently an add on tv that pisses me off not because it’s a bad add but because it’s not fair to me. It’s about someone working with people who grew up in orphanages, and finding where they come from. Lovely. Great. Good for people. But I come from a country that this is an impossible thing. My parents got told when they got me that there was no point looking for my birth parents so I’ve never pined, never wanted, never worries ( not on the surface anyways) but this add says. Somthing like “ how do you know who you are when you don’t know where you come from” and it makes me yell fuck you at the tv every time. It’s makes me angry. I have a poor sense of self, I struggle with not looking like anyone I’m related too. I struggle with being the only brown person in my white ass family. I get angry at other people having baby pics of them selfs or parents with memories of births and baby times. Like I don’t get any of that and it hurts. I struggle with who I am? This is maybe why I’m so into my clothes and external style because what do I have on the inside?

I’m that weird lesbian who likes cats with all the scars, but she’s got cool clothes and shoes.

With all the scars, that’s what I think people see the most about me and then the clothes.

This stuff all makes me hate me. My physical body makes me hate me. My body shape. The way my body sits. The way my hair is cos it fell out. My physical health cos i get puffed out so easy. My lack of energy and get tired so easy. My lack of self control with food. Just that the whole food / weight thing is so hard. The scars. They’re never fucking going to go away. I think the scars are second to my weight / body shape but not by much. So this leads me to what I do like about me. Other than I am a nice person ( externaly, somtimes internally I feel like an arse hole) and I have cool style.

Uh. Whatever. At least I’m not super depressed right? At least I’m alive? Being alive is exausting. Not acting on my urges is exausting. Missing the drink and weed and even the pain killers is exausting. I’m exausting. If I was reading this ide want to punch me in the face. I’m such a winger. But this is my life, this is the flip side to at least my life’s not as bad as it was and I am lucky and I know it. I’m lucky to be alive, I’m lucky to be relativily healthy, I’m lucky to have my house, I’m lucky to be loved. Like my life’s not bad. My thoughts about me are. The way I think about myself if bad. My feelings and lack of feelings are bad. But my life is not. And somtimes I wish I was back there among the chaos. The chaos is familiar, the chaos is comforting, I know the chaos, the chaos matches my thoughts and feeling towards myself. The chaos made me feel alive. The chaos was crippling and damaging.

Thinking is no good. This is why i don’t do it. But tafes stressing me out. Like don’t even get me started on that haha. Future plans? What am I doing with my life? I can’t hack it? I’m not very good at art... everyone’s better than me....

It’s bed time but I’m not sleepy. Too much on my mind, ended up taking Valium last night but that’s not a solution. I need sleep I can’t function these days without at least 6/7 hours. I used to be able to. I used to be able to do a lot of things.

Oh and while I’m at it, being single... being alone for life, being asexual ( for want of a better word) like do I care? This is a choice I have made but why have I made this choice. I get bored in the evenings when my two options of people I want to talk to are busy or I have nothing to anoy them with. I want someone to chill with but not for long. Have a built a big dirty wall around me. I’ve had one relationship and that has hurt me and left me scared of ever being in a relationship. I don’t trust other people and I don’t trust myself to become that person I was in that relationship. Also I doubt my chances of finding a woman that doesn’t want to have sex. But does it matter? There is so much focus on people being in a couple that I feel I’m wrong but maybe I’m not maybe it’s all perfectly insent. Nothing to worry about.

#ed recovery #tw #mental health #pulmonary fibrosis #lung transplant #thoughts #scars #crazy #talk #personal #depression #adoption #adopted