#stop making shit up and passing it around as telephone truth because it makes you look dumb

[darkfromday]

PLEASE keep the HP Wiki to canon information *only* ffs, and here’s what I mean by that

looks like recently someone has edited Dumbledore’s page, specifically about Harry, with some of the most common fandom misinformation: namely about Harry and the Dursleys, Dumbledore’s intentions, guardianship and a godfather’s rights and responsibilities (parental or otherwise). Seen here:

since I can’t edit this section myself to correct it, and since it pisses me off, I’m debunking it in order instead:

First!

‘taking him away from his godfather and rightful guardian’: far, far too many people have mixed up the terms “godfather” and “guardian” in the HP fandom. We’ll come back to this in a sec, but first...

An aside: The line above is written as though Dumbledore swooped down from the roof like a bat and snatched baby Harry out of Sirius’ arms. Funny image, but it’s not what happened. Dumbledore didn’t “take” Harry away from Sirius. Sirius made one attempt to take Harry at Godric’s Hollow, but when Hagrid rebuffed him and said “Dumbledore says he’s going to his aunt and uncle’s” Sirius did not fight back until he won. From Hagrid’s words, he “argued, but in the end he gave in”. He then immediately pivoted to trying to get revenge for Pettigrew’s betrayal. 

He did not say “Petunia?! Great Scott, Lily and James wouldn’t want this! She hates Lily, she won’t raise Harry right” or any of the many other lines that have been included in innumerable fanfics (which is fandom’s right, no one’s arguing that! the lines just aren’t supported by canon like so many people seem to think). 

So there is no argument to be made that any of Lily or James’ friends “knew” anything about Lily and Petunia’s strained relationship, or that she even brought it up. Even Severus Snape (who would have probably seen/heard most of their relationship firsthand as it evolved and devolved) never brought this up in canon.

Back to “taking him away from his godfather and rightful guardian”. This was clearly written by a Dumbledore-basher and an uncritical Sirius fan. I say “uncritical Sirius fan” because I like Sirius myself, but I’m more interested in seeing him portrayed accurately in canon discussions/writings like the Wiki is meant to be, in order to preserve his agency and prevent other characters from being bashed in the name of ‘protecting’ him. I’m worried the author of these pro-Sirius edits is a fan that doesn’t see his flaws, because this is not only unsupported by canon, it’s not even supported in real life. This is the dictionary definition of “godfather” that comes up via Google:

Obviously the first definition is the meaningful one here: “a man who presents a child at baptism and promises to take responsibility for their religious education”. That’s right: religious education. Not guardianship. In modern times, there are probably people in real life who make their children’s godparents their legal guardians as well in the event of the unthinkable, but Wikipedia’s civil and religious-based definition of the term leans heavily on the religious implications with only brief references to the civil implications (which do state that the godparent can become mentor or guardian to the bereaved child).

Religion in general isn’t mentioned much in HP, so it’s likely that the religious definition wasn’t relevant to what James and Lily wanted. And (to be fair to uncritical Sirius fans) there was an understanding that if something happened to James and Lily that Sirius would step in to become Harry’s guardian, which is stated by Sirius himself in Chapter 20 of Prisoner of Azkaban. (More on this in my second rebuttal.) But Sirius states both things separately: specifically, he asks first if Harry knows that Sirius is his godfather, then states that Lily and  James named Sirius Harry’s guardian. That tells me that the two are not inextricably linked even in the wizarding world: one can be a godparent without accepting any legal responsibility for the child. But that’s a moot sub-point, since Sirius does accept that responsibility.

Right?

Well. Actually, no. Not instantly. That’s the issue: at the critical moment, Sirius does not step up to this responsibility. 

His chance to do is clear: Hagrid is merely a stand-in for Dumbledore, who had clearly already come up with the protective charm he hoped to activate with Petunia. Hagrid at this point doesn’t know that Sirius was the Secret-Keeper, so he has no reason to suspect Sirius of anything yet. Hagrid is big and strong—annnd also a half-giant monitored by the racist British Ministry, forbidden to legally use magic; a bit of subterfuge and perhaps some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and Sirius could have gotten away free and clear with his godson, if he wanted to. In the worst-case scenario where Harry had to go to his aunt and uncle anyway, Sirius also could have just gone with Hagrid, hung around the Dursleys’ house until his situation was cleared up, and then worked with Dumbledore on a way to be involved with Harry without sacrificing or compromising the blood protection. What most Dumbledore-bashers miss is that Sirius did not do any of those things for two reasons: 

1)  his priorities were skewed toward revenge (seriously. instead of telling literally anyone on his side about the Fidelius switch before it could be pinned on him, he chose to go after Pettigrew alone, because he further underestimated his former friend’s cunning and skill. and not even to bring him in for judgment, but to just kill him and destroy any evidence of his own innocence. bruh. I love you, but you idiot.)

and

2) he trusted Dumbledore to take care of Harry. IRL people nowadays like to treat trusting Dumbledore in general as a moral failing, but it’s not, whether in our world or in-universe. Dumbledore is the leader of Sirius’ rebellion against Voldemort, his blood family, and all blood purists. This is the man who didn’t expel Sirius for putting Severus’ life and Remus’ safety in danger. This is the man who offered to become Lily and James’ Secret Keeper himself to ensure their absolute safety. If Sirius hadn’t trusted Dumbledore, he might have fought harder to start his new life as a surrogate father. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t have fought—who knows? We know a little about Sirius, but the tragedy of the series is that he dies before we and Harry can get a full picture of him as a complete person (both before and after Azkaban). But I know for a fact that we certainly don’t ever hear him disparage Petunia Dursley—in fact, when he offers himself and his home to Harry in PoA, this is his exact line:

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," said Black. "But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home..."

Now why would Sirius say this if he knew for a fact that Petunia and Vernon were emotionally and psychologically abusing Harry, or that they were horrid and untrustworthy people in general? He wouldn’t. No one in their right mind would. He didn’t know. In fact, when Harry hesitates in the next line, made speechless by the opportunity for freedom, Sirius misinterprets it as a sign that Harry’s quite happy living with his mother’s family and doesn’t want anything to do with living with him. Harry has to untie his tongue to correct this impression (in the most vague way ever, notably: he never directly mentions how the Dursleys treat him. typical Harry).

So. We know Sirius isn’t nursing any grudge against Petunia Dursley. And we know he didn’t stake his claim on Harry in 1981. Fandom (and bash-friendly fans of Sirius especially) would do well to grapple with this bit of canon and redeem Sirius of this flaw in their works, rather than erasing it, whitewashing it, or pointing their fingers at other characters and absolving Sirius of his agency in the story.

Next!

‘despite them not even being named guardians in the event of James and Lily’s death’: ah yes, the “the Dursleys weren’t legally named guardians!” argument. (first off: I hate the Dursleys. this post is not Dursley apologism. fuck the Dursleys. if I’d had my way they would have been brutally murdered the second Dumbledore and Harry left their doorstep in book 6. But anyway.)

Not to be one of those “your word against his” people, but as stated above in Counterargument A, Sirius states in Chapter 20 of PoA that James and Lily appointed him as Harry’s guardian if anything ever happened to them:

"Well... your parents appointed me your guardian," said Black stiffly. "If anything happened to them..."

... and he’s the only word we have on that point. 

Fans of “Sirius and/or Remus raise Harry” (or even “Amelia Bones/the Malfoys pre-defection/other random HP character raises Harry”) often tout this as a reason that Dumbledore was “stealing” Harry from his rightful place, and include a lot of bogus legalese during their obligatory Gringotts or Wizengamot chapter. But the fact is: we don’t ever see James and Lily’s will. A will is never mentioned in any of the books. Wartime or not, since they’re twenty-one years old, it’s very likely that they just didn’t make one—and certainly not one that explicitly named Sirius as Harry’s guardian or disqualified Petunia from being one. 

This may be hard for some fans to swallow, but it’s another piece of the puzzle of the tragedy of the Potters: like many young people, they thought themselves invincible even when in direct danger, and the one they left behind paid the price for their mistakes.

All of this detailed wordvomit ignores the most important counterargument to this line: namely, the one brought up before. Sirius’ choice and its consequences. With the agency he possessed in 1981, he chose to pursue Pettigrew and, when that failed, chose to let the entire wizarding world believe that he was the traitor. Perhaps his grief and guilt tied his tongue. Perhaps he felt the only punishment that was adequate for losing his surrogate brother was prison. He says “I as good as killed them,” in PoA, but the truth is that (regardless of his mistakes) he didn’t kill Lily and James. 

He also didn’t take the opportunity to set the record straight, meaning he was not in the running to raise Harry anyway. We know from canon that wizards skilled in Occlumency can fight Veritaserum and that’s why it’s not admissible in court as some kind of flawless truth-serum. But that detail doesn’t really have any bearing on Sirius’ situation because we don’t know if he knew Occlumency or not (though probably not, or else Dumbledore would have just had him teach Harry in year 5. remember, Occlumency is not a common skill that everyone and their mom knows how to do). 

I won’t get into the other canon gray area of “did-Sirius-have-a-trial-or-was-he-carted-straight-to-Azkaban” (though unlike other fans, I firmly believe that just because we didn’t see a trial doesn’t mean there wasn’t one; Dumbledore did say “[he himself] gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper”, and it seems rather far-fetched to assume he gave this evidence outside of a trial. Granted, I do not doubt it was a kangaroo court fueled by the rage of public opinion and that Sirius hardly had a lawyer or any chance to defend himself, even if he’d had the inclination). 

But the points stand:

Sirius’ decisions that November night sent him to Azkaban, meaning he was legally out of the running to raise Harry. So any co-parenting or godfather visits he might have set up in canon are dust in the wind. (Legal experts can correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure certain crimes disqualify you from having guardianship over kids.) 

Remus is a werewolf, and thus discriminated against by the Ministry similarly to Hagrid (also as mentioned above). But since his whereabouts and any other canon reasoning for noninvolvement in 1981 are unknown, James’ friends are now disqualified to raise Harry. 

We don’t know if Lily had any other close friends besides the one she’d already fallen out with (no, I regret to inform some of you that no adult female HP character was legally or otherwise declared Harry’s ‘godmother’. That’s also fanon. You’re welcome to keep using it of course, I’m not your mom, but it’s not canon or canon-supported, so please don’t treat it as such in meta arguments). 

This means that the Dursleys are the only ones left who have any sort of legal claim to Harry. Yes, we the readers know the Dursleys suck in-universe and shouldn’t have had legal guardianship of a shoe, let alone two children; but on the surface, to the oblivious observer (which is 99% of Harry’s contacts), with Sirius in absentia, the last Potter was going to be placed with his next-of-kin relatives just as anyone in the real world with no written directive would be.

The obvious sub-argument implied in the ‘why would anyone put Harry with the Dursleys’ main argument is usually “what right does DUMBLEDORE have to put Harry with the Dursleys” etc. etc. This is where narrative purpose comes in. No, no one (least of all That Woman when she was writing this) expects you to read Harry Potter and think that every single government official or headmaster has the right to just pluck orphan children out of the ruins of their dead parents’ houses and place them with whomever they see fit. But it fit the story for Albus Dumbledore, most powerful ‘good’ wizard and the only person knowledgeable and powerful enough to activate the bond of blood protection, to be the one to take responsibility for Harry’s present and future safety from Voldemort, especially once Sirius so spectacularly disqualified himself.

And again: in November 1981 canon, there is no one else left. Remus fucks off to parts unknown, Peter is considered dead, and both James and Lily’s parents predeceased them. The Weasleys don’t know the Potters that well and already have six children (maybe seven? had Ginny been born by then? hell if I know). Most other ‘good’ aligned families don’t know the Potters that well either, and they are also too busy celebrating Voldemort’s downfall to do anything more than toast to the orphan involved in it. Like it or not, Dumbledore (well, and Slughorn and Snape) are the only ones who have any inkling that Voldemort will be coming back, and Dumbledore is the only one who comes up with a plan to at least thwart Voldemort just directly knocking on the Dursleys’ door and taking Harry off to one of his murder locations.

Third, and Finally!

‘Despite being aware of the criminal abuse Harry had suffered while living with the Dursley family through a contact, Arabella Figg, he did not step in to prevent the abuse Harry suffered as a child,’ etc.: yeah, no. Just no.

The following are the only two very vaguely-written lines (why does That Woman love vague lines so much) from Albus Dumbledore about Harry’s life at the Dursleys, from Order of the Phoenix:

Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited. Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, “Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.”

Dumbledore bashers love this line. I daresay they salivate over it. It certainly makes Albus look like a dick, I’ll give them that—but let’s break it down a bit, shall we?

“Five years ago you arrived... safe and whole, as I had planned and intended.”

The ‘as I had planned and intended’ is important here, because the (il)logical conclusion many bashers and antis jump to is that Dumbledore deliberately left Harry somewhere to be abused. This line refutes that conclusion. Dumbledore may not have imagined Harry to be some perfectly bubbly boy in the Muggle world, but even in his coldest plans, the plans he made before actually meeting Harry and becoming emotionally attached, he intended for Harry to arrive at Hogwarts ‘safe and whole’. It’s safe to assume this means physically, mentally, psychologically, etc.

Next part: the big part.

“Well—not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.”

Doesn’t sound so great, yep. Except. What does he mean EXACTLY by 'ten dark and difficult years’? We are never told. He does not clarify, here or elsewhere. He does not say, “I knew the Dursleys would abuse you. I knew they would hit you/starve you/be unkind to you and did nothing”.

This is the conclusion many people choose to draw because as the readers they know what happens to Harry; in fact, they know even more than the characters Harry is living his life with since he doesn’t seriously fucking tell anyone how the Dursleys treat him. But we also know despite all the fanon uproar about this line that Dumbledore did not know all the minutiae of Harry’s life at the Dursleys, and we know this because of a line from OotP (up first) and another line from Half-Blood Prince (up later):

“Five years ago, then,” continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, “you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well...”

If we are going to analyze Dumbledore’s ‘dark and difficult years’ line, we must also analyze equally all the other lines he says around it. This is one of the most candid conversations Albus Dumbledore has with Harry in the entire series. In this conversation in Chapter 37 of OotP, he reveals (implicitly) that his ‘plan’ was to tell Harry the prophecy early on, for reasons he doesn’t elaborate on. And in this conversation, he states, twice, that at minimum he intended for Harry to return to the wizarding world ‘safe and whole’, or ‘alive and healthy’. I am sure his definition of those words matches the readers’.

We should also note here that Dumbledore says “neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked”, and “as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances”. Meaning, again, that Dumbledore’s intent in leaving Harry with the Dursleys was not only to protect him, but also to perhaps give him a happy, normal life away from the magical world, protected from Voldemort and his most unhinged followers, until he was old enough to rejoin the world he belonged in. 

Depending on how much he’d gotten over his old ideas about Muggles, it could even be theorized that to Dumbledore ‘dark and difficult years’ referred simply to the time Harry would be exiled from the wizarding world, unable to return or interact until he could start learning magic (supported by the fact that even ‘good’ people like Mr. Weasley and Minerva McGonagall don’t have an entirely unbiased view of Muggles, or living without magic). This might be torturous if Harry knew his true origins growing up—which we know Dumbledore intended because 1) Dumbledore mentions to McGonagall in Chapter 1 that he doesn’t think it’s sensible for Harry to grow up knowing he’s famous (“...for something he can’t even remember!”), not that he doesn’t think it’s sensible for Harry to know about magic at all; and 2) his messenger, Hagrid, is shocked and angry that Harry doesn’t even know he’s a wizard. 

Before my words/theories are misinterpreted: I’m not saying Albus was totally naïve to the Dursleys’ treatment of Harry here. The way this line from Chapter 37 is phrased implies that once Harry arrived at Hogwarts, Albus was able to see for himself that Petunia had not taken his request in his letter to heart. And given how skinny and underfed Harry probably looked at eleven, even if he probably wasn’t saying shit about the Dursleys to anyone at this point, it’s a logical conclusion.

But before that point we have no idea how much or what specifically Albus knew about Harry’s life with his relatives. Bashers use the same argument above that’s marring the Wiki: that Arabella Figg kept Dumbledore informed on every little thing that happened in the Dursleys’ home, thus he knew about the full extent of Harry’s mistreatment and actively did not intervene, making him complicit. Except: we don’t know that either. Cue second quote from just after Mrs. Figg reveals herself to Harry:

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Squib?” Harry asked Mrs. Figg, panting with the effort to keep walking. “All those times I came round your house — why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know. . . .”

“I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything.” This bit of text, similarly vague (say anything to Harry about what exactly? and not say anything when? before Harry learned about the magical world? after?), is contradictory to Hagrid’s own expectations that Harry would know about magic, if indeed that’s what Arabella means. But she also implicates herself here: she too made sure part of Harry’s existence was at minimum mind-numbingly boring. Harry never recounts any instances of abuse from her, but nor does he imply that he ever told her the whole truth about his personal life. 

It’s clear she’s a good enough judge of character to tell that the Dursleys did not want Harry to have things he enjoyed (and draw conclusions from there), and it’s likely she passed that information on to Dumbledore. But when? And to what extent did she emphasize the second-class citizen status she observed from Harry? And even if she had, who’s to say that Dumbledore, Fudge, or anyone would have done anything about it?

(This, by the way, is the kind of plot hole/vague, non-explained thing fandom should grapple with in fanworks in my not-so-humble opinion. I can understand why no one wants to wrestle with the idea that a child being unhappy at home but not visibly mistreated would not be whisked away to happier, safer environs, because for many people that is their real story. Or maybe just because it’s hard to accept that under all the magic and adventure, Harry’s story is a story about adults fucking up in so many ways that he eventually has to rescue himself by murdering an old serial killer.)

Frankly, there are not enough fanworks that explore the possibilities of a Dumbledore who was not aware of the exact details of Dursleys’ mistreatment, a Figg who told him, and the moral grappling/potential spell retooling that might follow. Or, on the darker side, the possibilities of a Dumbledore who was still a good man, but had to make an ugly, shitty decision and live with how ugly and shitty it likely made him feel. Instead the default is to pivot to it all being “AN EVUL PLAN” by the mastermind who knew everything but also somehow not enough to stop the various plots that happen during the books.

Long past time for the aforementioned HBP quote, the one that (while it still doesn’t specify precisely what Dumbledore knew and when he knew it) is the most specific the entire series gets about Harry’s abuse:

"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."

This, along with a few more following sentences in chapter 3, is Dumbledore’s canon criticism against the Dursleys. Here is another instance where Dumbledore explicitly states that his desire was for the Dursleys to treat Harry as a beloved member of their family; he has now said the same thing twice before witnesses. And this critique notably comes following the close of several months of Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Snape, who (as a teacher) may have actually done one positive thing and acted as a mandated reporter for whatever atrocities he saw in Harry’s mind. 

Note: this is just a theory. Nothing in canon specifically states that Snape shared any of what he saw in Harry’s mind. I have no proof that Dumbledore’s conversation with the Dursleys was spurred by any alleged reporting by Severus, but I think that this combined with the fact that Alastor Moody, Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin (three people who Harry definitely did not confide in about the Dursleys) all team together to threaten the Dursleys at the end of OotP of Harry’s lessons with Snape means that some information that was previously unknown made its way around the ranks, and all the way up to the top.

But ‘just a theory’ or not, it’s far more likely based on timing that Severus said something than Arabella. Dumbledore himself is a candidate too, except... if he knew the extent from the start, why keep it to himself and only share it fifteen years later with the aforementioned trio of Moody, Arthur and Lupin?

As for the “criminal abuse” phrase: let’s not leave any doubt in any mind that what Petunia and Vernon did to Harry was criminal. It makes them criminals. The implication in how this is written on the Wiki though is that the two of them were beating him raw and Dumbledore strolled by, peeked in the window, and muttered “b-but Voldemort” and kept it moving. That’s not the case for all the reasons listed above. 

Additionally, and unfortunately, we don��t know the full details of all the abuse Harry suffered. Physically, we know that Petunia swung a frying pan at Harry in second year. We know that Vernon was quick to grab Harry, even hit his own eleven-year-old son when he tired of listening to him, and strangled Harry so effectively that either Harry’s blood protection or his own accidental magic kicked in to stop the asshole. We have those two concrete examples, and (though I hate to say it) these are what many in the fandom hyperfocus on. Whatever they might say to the contrary, there are an unbelievable amount of stories which inflate or overexaggerate the amount of physical damage Harry obtained, because they consider that more concrete or more ‘valid’ to write about than the more insidious, unseen types of abuse. 

There are far fewer stories exploring and deconstructing the lion’s share of the abuse Harry received: the neglect and cruelty that Dumbledore mentions. The deliberate erasure of his presence within the house, whether that was through the lack of pictures with him in them or through the Dursleys expecting Harry to shrink himself when they had company, such as in Chamber of Secrets. And worst of all, on top of all of this: the enduring fact that Petunia still had the nerve to offer Harry space in the house for his protection, even as she and her family worked to make that space as cramped and unwelcoming as possible.

This is a fandom flaw: as long as there are fans quick to invent depraved acts for the Dursleys to perform rather than sitting with exactly what they have done and acknowledging it as ‘more than shitty enough’, we will as a whole still be plagued with stories that unbalance the amount of blame the adults in Harry’s life can claim over his circumstances.

So. We need a TL;DR. What have we learned here?

Lily and James had no other remaining relatives who could have taken Harry and thus (on Lily’s side since James’ wouldn’t matter) also upheld the upcoming bond of blood protection.

Lily and James named Sirius Harry’s godfather, and there was an understanding between all three that Sirius would care for Harry if his parents predeceased him.

Specifically, there was no written or referenced will ever mentioned in canon that qualified Sirius or disqualified Petunia Dursley from Harry’s guardianship.

The specific nature of Lily’s sacrifice gave Dumbledore a method he could use to protect Harry in his most vulnerable years, a method that required Lily’s only living relative; and he acted on his knowledge as soon as possible.

Concurrently, Sirius went to stake his claim to Harry, but (for whatever reasons) did not persist with Hagrid until Harry was in his care. He trusted that Dumbledore would look after his godson. Instead, he went after Pettigrew and ended up framed, imprisoned, and out of the running to care for (or even interact with) Harry.

We don’t know if Sirius had a trial. We can assume that he may have since ‘evidence’ was given of his undeniable guilt, but we will never know for sure unless That Woman says one way or another. 

If he didn’t have a trial, though, that blame lies squarely at the feet of Barty Crouch Sr., who we learn in Goblet of Fire was locking people up left and right after their speedy trials—not Dumbledore.

Besides legal racism reasons, Remus was unavailable to be Harry’s guardian for reasons unknown. (Is this info on Pottermore? someone tell me.)

Peter was... yeah.

Minister Bagnold of “I assert our inalienable right to party” fame was not thinking about baby Harry Potter’s well-being while she and her Ministry were celebrating Voldemort’s “downfall”.

Dumbledore was one of the few people thinking about Harry in the revelry that followed Voldemort’s disappearance, and with the chaotic events between Sirius and Pettigrew, he was also the last person left who could place Harry anywhere. He placed Harry with the Dursleys, trusting that they would treat him like a second son and care for him until Hogwarts could welcome him home.

McGonagall’s resistance to leaving Harry with the Dursleys in book 1 was not due to some sixth sense she had about how they would treat him: her specific concerns were that Vernon was a prick and baby Dudley was clearly overly spoiled. If anything she was more concerned about Harry’s moral fiber being compromised, not his safety.

From 1981 - 1991, the Dursleys emotionally and psychologically abused Harry, keeping the truth of his origins and nature from him while subsequently punishing him for those truths. 

Outside of dark jokes to his friends about their mutual dislike in the early years and one explicit confession to Dumbledore that Petunia “doesn’t give a damn [about him]” in Order of the Phoenix, Harry is not candid about his experiences.

Specific details of the Dursleys’ abuse outside of explicit book descriptions are unknown; when and how much each of the major adults in Harry’s life (Albus, Sirius, Remus, Arabella, Arthur, and Severus) know about his shitty situation is also unknown, though there are enough confusing half-references and retaliation scenes to make any reader’s head spin.

Any fanon attempts to color in the lines between what’s said and unsaid, what’s known and not known, are just that: fanon. They are just as divorced from canon as the concept of ladies’ man!Sirius or Slytherin Lord!Harry. I’m emphasizing the following again because I know some people will dismiss me and my post as a sermon from the fun police: There is nothing wrong with creativity in fanon by any means. The problem comes when invented information and (both friendly and malicious) personal headcanons are treated as canon and affect the canon accordingly.

So I’d really appreciate it if someone with the power to edit the HP Wiki deleted everything from the erroneous sentences starting with “It was Dumbledore who planned...” and ending with “...bullying cousin Dudley.” Those lines weren’t on Albus’ wiki originally anyway, so it won’t hurt to consign them back to the void—especially since there are plenty of other flaws and conflicts in Harry and Albus’ relationship that can be (and are) addressed there instead. 

After all, Sirius’ wiki article is flattering and (mostly) canon-accurate without discounting his flaws and how they affect his cut-short relationship with Harry. If we can keep the bias out of Sirius’ account, surely we can do the same for Albus’.

#Harry Potter #meta #Halloween 1981 meta #Harry and Dumbledore #Harry and Sirius #Harry and the Dursleys #Harry and abuse #Albus Dumbledore #Sirius Black #Arabella Figg #HP Wiki #le sigh #I'm begging y'all... stick to the actual gray areas if you want to criticize a character #stop making shit up and passing it around as telephone truth because it makes you look dumb #we all have copies of the books right??? #we all reference them right?? #and uh if you don't at this point please pirate them. Fuck JKR #inb4 ''read another book'' just mute me and move on. I read other stuff. I can post this if I want ffs #Albus has plenty of actual flaws that don't need to be expanded or lied about. I know because I love him and criticize him #this is a skill that more people in the HP fandom need to learn about their particular faves #let's have 2023 be the time where we criticize JKR for the plotholes and fill them in creatively instead of doing bashing bullshit #(lol I already know that won't be happening)

[coeurdastronaute]

Atlas: Venus

Previously on Atlas

I was a billion little pieces ’til you pulled me into focus Astronomy in reverse It was me who was discovered In the highest tower, in the back, darkest lab, lit by only the few monitors of the wall of screens, the youngest Luthor sighed before digging her fingertips into the corners of her eyes and digging there, as if hoping to evict the sleepiness physically despite it being etched into the deepest parts of her bones and muscles. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her body only to find the cup of coffee that remained lukewarm and barely palatable. 

Only the light of her phone getting a notification drew her attention from the disdain she had as she took another swig of the wretched drink. 

She ignored that as best she could, hoping to hide away from the part of her life that always seemed to follow, and instead, shifted her gaze to the laptop with the CADMUS logo etched on the top of it. Her chair swiveled as she turned to face it, her fingers steepling in front of her lips as she clenched her jaw and felt the temptation to know lingering beneath the surface of her bones. Her whole body yearned. 

But it was Pandora’s box, and Lena knew what waited on the other side, in the darkness, if she were to peak inside the lid. 

But if she did open it, she would have answers. 

But if she did, she’d hate herself. 

But she already hated herself. 

But she could hate herself even more, she was certain. 

But if she didn’t, who would stop her mother?

Lena sighed again, her shoulders softening and her body giving into the defeat. The only thing that separated her from the sociopaths of her family was having a strict moral line of which she refused to cross. That was it. And it was a thin, thin, thin line. Terrifyingly slim, at the moment. 

With a moment of weakness passed slowly, agonizingly slow, Lena pushed at the laptop and stood, craving fresh air and some physical distance from the temptation that nagged at her and tore apart her willpower. In a turn of events, she found herself relating to Eve more and more, and understood how easy it was to bite the apple. 

But instead of looking again, Lena looked straight ahead and sought fresh air. She hoped to run into the darkness of the roof in the middle of the night, but as she pushed open the fire escape door, the grey sliver of sunrise began. She squinted against it and inhaled the dew and the stillness of a city waking. 

There was a secret on the roof, that Lena never shared with anyone, and that was the pack of cigarettes she kept hidden behind the telephone box, and it was almost habit at this point for her to grab one as she made her way outside, twisting it a few times in her hands before flicking the lighter and disrupting the dark and instead becoming another flash of light in the twinkling city. 

With a long first drag, she exhaled smoke into the clouds and leaned against the railing, surveying and seeing nothing, but enjoying the peace that came on top of the world and far removed from it all. It helped to step away from temptation. She had to, sometimes. 

The city faded after that, until she was looking at nothing more than the outline of her hand as it held the cigarette. She watched the red end burn down to nothing, as she found a kind of peace in just the feeling of warmth and the dancing of smoke as it joined the sky. 

“Shit,” she hissed after letting it burn too low, effectively burning her fingers before dropping the butt toward the city below. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it wasn’t--” Lena paused as she kissed her own finger, sucking on the pain of the burn as if it would fix it completely. “Hello, Supergirl.” 

“Good evening, Ms. Luthor. Enjoying the fresh air?” 

“As much as I can.” 

Strong and firm, Supergirl stood there, allowing herself to land on the roof, still keeping herself at a distance from the CEO. She was close, but not too close, and that was enough. Lena just smiled softly to herself. She didn’t have much else to offer. 

“I wanted to thank you for your help the other day. I needed a better perspective, and you were able to--”

“It was nothing,” Lena shook her head. “Please.” 

“I don’t think we have to be on opposite sides anymore.” 

“Were we ever?” 

“I don’t know, maybe,” Sueprgirl offered weakly as she scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “I hoped not.” 

Lena stared at her features, studying them, printing them into her memory so she could try to figure her out, as if that were an option. Sometimes, Lena was certain she’d be able to see the strong jaw anywhere and know it. She saw slivers of Supergirl everywhere. She saw her eyes on the street, she saw her lips at the restaurant across from her condo. She saw her hair in the park. But never at one time, and never all together, never in the perfect package that stood beside her presently. 

“I trust you completely,” Supergirl finally offered. 

It was becoming almost common, almost normal for them, Lena realized as she looked at the hero’s eyes. She was used to parts of her now, the parts that she didn’t see on TB, or in front of other people. For the first time, she wondered if their nightly rendezvous were completely accidental, or more ushered along by homemade chance. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

There came the scoff, the chuckle, the shucks and shake of a head as Supergirl took a deep breath and relaxed despite Lena’s latest proclamation. It was more honest than she wanted to be with the stranger who wasn’t nearly strange enough to be different. 

“I’d like to think we knew each other better than that,” Supergirl chided, childish and taunting. 

They stood closer than before, a feat accomplished over weeks and months and a grueling pace of millimeters. 

“I don’t even know your name.” 

It seemed to take her off guard, but Supergirl recovered swiftly, turning her gaze on Lena with something the CEO wasn’t entirely sure of experiencing before from the hero. Maybe she was debating the trust, realizing she really couldn’t do it. Lena shook her head and pushed herself up from leaning against the railing. 

“Have a good night, Supergirl,” she offered 

Lena made it three steps before she felt  a gentle hand grab her wrist. She felt her heart flutter and furrowed at the feeling, though she refused to turn around. 

“Kara.” 

It was quiet, it was the truth, and Lena held her breath until Supergirl dropped her hand. 

“Kara,” Lena repeated. 

“Have a good night, Lena.” 

In a breeze, she was gone again, and Lena was left with a name and perhaps a secret she was certain not many were entrusted to keep. 

“Kara,” she repeated again, testing it out. There were just more questions left to be answered now, because now Supergirl was a person, with a name, and maybe that was what her brother was missing all along. Maybe that was enough to keep someone on the side of good-- to be known, and yet unknown. To act magnanimously. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It was incredibly stupid, but Kara didn’t care. For the first time in her life, she really didn’t care that she’d taken a risk. It should have been something she considered, but she hadn’t. It just popped out. 

She didn’t tell her sister. That would have been suicide. She didn’t even want to admit it to herself, but she thought about it the entire flight home. She thought about how reckless and how silly it had been, and how great of a risk she’d put herself and her family in. 

But it didn’t matter. 

There was just something about the way Lena looked, how sad she was sometimes, and how desperate she seemed to be to do good and feeling painfully inadequate. There was a savior part of Kara that just couldn’t shake it. There was also a part of her that couldn’t stand to see Lena not happy, and chasing the feeling of her laugh, as distant as it was. Kara wasn’t sure why that existed, that need to make hear that laugh or see that smile. 

Kara sighed as she flopped onto her bed. Suddenly she was someone who was worried about a pretty girl and how to make her smile. 

XXXXXXXXXX

It took about three days for Lena to discover Kara, and not Supergirl. She didn’t want to believe it, and yet, there was the same jaw and smile. 

“I didn’t expect to run into the likes of you here.”

Lena held her breath because she knew the voice before she turned around in the barstool. She didn’t breathe. She twirled the ice around in her cup and pursed her lips before turning back into the woman on the balcony and not the sad sack washing away some misery at the first bar she came across after her most recent meeting. 

“No I, you.” 

“Are you going to turn around?” 

“I don’t think I will,” Lena said as she finally took another sip of her drink. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.” 

She was still and quiet in the middle of the bar. But Lena could still feel her presence, and she understood Lot’s wife a little, suddenly. That was the thought she had in her head, from all those years ago in private school chapel. It would change everything. 

“Could I join you, Lena?” 

That was the question. 

When Lena tilted her head slightly she saw familiar hands rooted on the back of the stool back. She saw wrists. She saw the tiny scar near her palm that intrigued her infinitely. But she didn’t move to acknowledge the girl behind her, just to order them both drinks. Politely, ever with her manners and decorum, the hero waited patiently while Lena watched the drinks poured and only nodded after taking another drink. 

“If I can buy you a drink, you may join me.” 

Before it could be rescinded, a body slid into the seat, stretching her torso to squeeze close to Lena, to crawl in as quickly as possible. Lena inhaled a distinctly Supergirl smell and felt her heartbeat thumping belligerent in her chest. Slowly, she followed the wrist to an elbow, and a loosely rolled sleeve hanging there. From there she moved to shoulder, to jaw, to lips pressed against glass, to those eyes. 

And he stared, unmoving, trying her hardest to comprehend it all. 

Kara put down her drink after making a bit of a face and adjusted her glasses. She offered a small, faint smile. 

“You look different at ground level.” 

“So do you,” Kara chuckled. “Is that all I get?” 

“I have a million questions, but I honestly don’t know where to start.” 

“I trust you.” 

“That might answer a third of them.” 

Kara shook her head and adjusted slightly. 

“I wanted to know the real you. To do that, I had to give you the real me.” 

The answer made Lena fidget as she adjusted slightly, recrossing her legs. She blushed slightly to see Kara’s eyes move to the hem of her skirt and follow her thighs. 

“But why?” 

“Because I trust you,” Kara repeated adamantly. “And I think you might want to get to know the real me, too.” 

“I will admit only to a minute fascination.” 

“I can work with minute.” 

“Infinitesimal,” Lena corrected. 

“I’ve done more with less.” 

Despite it all, Lena smiled to herself. She felt Kara shift closer and she suddenly found herself adjusting again and her cheeks bursting pink. She didn’t know that Kara could tell her heart was racing. 

“I’m happy to run into you, for what it’s worth.” 

“What brings you here?” 

“Oh, I was here with some friends. It’s our normal bar. I live close by.” 

“Hadn’t really considered you living anywhere.” 

Kara chuckled and Lena found herself searching every inch of Kara’s face. She saw the cut of her jaw when she tilted her head back. She saw the arch of her eyebrow and the slope of her cheeks. 

“Not as good of a view as your place, but I don’t mind. It’s home.” 

There was something about the way her biceps looked in the old flannel that hung from a shoulder, hidden but still there. And the shading near her clavicle and the tenderness of her hands. She seemed more comfortable in he brown skin, less stoic and less rigid. 

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with friends,” Lena sighed, looking over Kara’s shoulder, wondering who she might have been there with, wondering if they knew, too.

“You’re not.” 

“Are you certain--”

“Let’s get out of here,” Kara decided as she downed the rest of her glass. “I think you might need something to soak up your bad day.” 

“Ok.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

The way she liked ketchup on her fries, and how precise she was in opening every packet and squirting them into a big puddle. And there was the way she took a giant bit of her burger, careful to catch the tomato that tried to escape, carefully tucking it back in with the lettuce. Her face when she chewed and savored, relieved for all of the goodness that came with the greasy food. 

Kara stared unabashedly. 

She smiled faintly and ate another fry, careful to look away before Lena could accuse her of staring. 

“I have a nutritionist, you know,” Lena proudly announced. “And a private trainer.” 

“I’m sure you do.” 

“You can’t tell?” she raised her eyebrows, challenging Kara, and earning a slight blush. 

“I mean… you’re certainly…. Fit. It’s very, um, yeah-- noticeable-- that you, uh take care…” Kara shoved another fry in her mouth. She accidentally looked at Lena’s chest and blanched before burning alive. 

“I’ve eaten at the best restaurants all over the world, and I have to say. This might be the best bite I’ve ever had.” 

“That’s the whiskey talking,” Kara tried. 

Lena did this thing, she was learning, where when confronted with a statement she didn’t particularly agree with, she waved it off. Kara liked the way her hair tucked behind her ear. 

“Do you honestly believe that a few glasses is enough to take away my senses?” 

“I wouldn’t imagine thinking anything like that. You’re far too impressive for such things.” 

Kara smiled and took a sip of her drink as Lena took another large bite from her burger. There was something freeing in seeing Lena like this-- not drunk, not absent, but perhaps just uninhibited. It was late, suddenly, but they kept to their booth, enjoying their late night dinner. Kara didn’t even mind when Lena took one of her onion rings. 

Even when their plates were taken and their conversation continued with the refills, Kara couldn’t stop staring. She didn’t really want to. She pulled her knee up and leaned against the wall of the diner while Lena explained the absolutely boring and unproductive meeting that took up her entire afternoon. Kara was hooked. 

It was easy for Lena to switch the conversation to Kara because Kara liked the furrow Lena had when she asked questions, and she liked being honest, finally. 

“What about this?” Lena murmured, leaning forward and turning over Kara’s palm. She traced the faint scar on her palm. “I thought you were impenetrable.” 

Kara felt the hair on the back of her neck raise slightly. She gulped. 

“Oh.. um, this was from when I was a kid.” 

“Before you got here?” 

“Yeah, I fell. I used to fall a lot. Clumsy kid and all. It was a trip to the mountains with my parents, and uh, we,” Kara furrowed and for the first time, looked away. “I just tripped, braced myself, got a pretty deep cut.” 

Lena nodded and furrowed a little more as well, just as Kara shook the thoughts away and looked back toward her. Fingertips stopped gliding against her skin, and by the time she looked down at her expose palm and back up, Lena Luthor stood from her side of the booth. 

“What happened?” 

“You live around here, don’t you?” 

“I-- yes?” 

They made it outside of the diner and evening had put most of the city back to sleep for the night. The traffic was non-existent and those left guzzling burnt coffee were the nightwalkers, the ones who existed only on this schedule. 

“It’s down this way,” Kara nodded her head as she shoved her hands in her pockets. 

They went about three steps before Lena tugged Kara against the alleyway behind the dinner, gripped her shirt tightly in her fists, and kissed her. 

“Oh,” Kara whispered, unable to open her eyes. It was rough at first until they caught their breath, and then there was a gentleness, a rush of words against her lips. 

“Sorry--”

“No,” she shook her head. 

When she opened her eyes, Kara just saw Lena Luthor staring back at her, worried she’d messed it up entirely. She wretched her hands from her pockets and smiled as she cupped Lena’s cheeks before leaning forward and kissing her back. 

“Who is kissing me right now?” Lena whispered when she woke from the stupor. Her hands loosened slightly but still held there. 

“Me.” 

“Which is the real you?” 

“This one. Right here. Right now.” 

Kara watched as Lena flexed her jaw, clenching it and thinking it through. Their faces were so close they couldn’t see much else other than the other. Lena nodded.

Next

[kaisa-ryo]

Itadori Yuji NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Itadori likes to chat for a long time. Topics for communication are usually very diverse: from listing the different sex positions he wants to try, to discussing brands of cars, televisions, types of soaps and colors of underwear. In parallel, Yuji will stroke your back, causing your body to creep. So the love attraction that you already experienced with him before suddenly takes on a special intensity. When he has a need to receive your affection, he will begin to sink under the covers until he rests his nose against your chest or stomach. By this action, he asks you to play with his hair. At this moment, he may stop talking altogether, because instead of chatting, he will hum with pleasure. In addition, he will try with all his might and in various positions to snuggle up to you with his strong male body. And you will begin with great skill to stroke his hair and gradually increase the pressure in order to induce real ecstasy in him.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

Obviously the hips and butt.

It is a blissful feeling when he squeezes your buttocks as he continuously enters you. And in the morning, when you start looking in the mirror, you notice that your thighs are scarlet. As you examine yourself, Itadori in the next room sees your stunned expression in the mirror and smiles proudly.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

He usually ends up on the aforementioned body parts. Although he experiences no less high pleasure when he watches how his hot semen flows down from your vagina. Or the mouth. And if you also swallow his seed, it will completely discourage him. It's so awkward and at the same time arousing when a girl literally lets a part of you into her. It's like you start making it a part of yourself. The part of his soul that passes through your body, moving on to the next stage of orgasm.

D = Dirty secret

To tell you the truth - there are a lot of them. Despite the fact that he almost always speaks with you frankly on intimate topics.

He often thinks about how he will kick you through the school desk and fuck you under the light of the graceful sunset that falls through the half-open blinds.

About how madly tempting it would be if you suck him off somewhere in the closet.

How to fuck you by the sea on soft sand.

There is no limit to these secret desires. Someday he will definitely tell you about all of them. And, of course, it will.

E = Experience

The highest level of experience in intercourse is masturbation. Yes, he has seen a lot of different videos on porn sites and instant messengers. And of course, he remembers them every single one. He has a lot of sexual fantasies. And they are all related to you. But they need to be implemented.

It will also ask you about your experience. For example, can you do a blow job. If you do not know about any sexual arts, he will certainly show you a video, explain how and what to do, ask if you like this objectively.

You can even say that he has much more indirect experience than you. But Yuji likes it. I like to teach you everything that he himself knows from the erotic videos he has watched.

F = Favorite position

In general, you have tried an innumerable number of poses all the time, but none can compare with the one when he presses you into bed from behind. When your penis plunges into the innermost and holds you so tightly that it begins to seem as if it has completely absorbed you.

G = Goofy (Are you serious at this moment?)

In most cases, yes. Even if this is not the first time you have been doing this, this does not mean that intercourse may not go well. But sometimes passionate excitement can outweigh all expressions of seriousness and turn it into entertainment or stress relief.

H = Hair (Is the hair ok?)

Not that he regularly tidies them up, but tries to make sure that both of you are comfortable. Maybe he prefers not to show it, but Itadori is really worried that you will be uncomfortable. Although the hair itself does not really interfere.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

Yes. And a lot.

Itadori literally melts when he sees you smile, the reason for which is his sweet and romantic actions. For him, there is no line between "boyfriend" and "spouse". And, of course, he regularly scrolls in his head how you have a large shared apartment, wedding rings, children ...

The guy is ready to even get you the moon from the sky, just to see your charming smile once again, to feel how you jump on his neck and say that you love him with all your heart. Sometimes he gets carried away - and then his hand reaches out to you to stroke your cheek, circle around your neck, say some banality, without which it is difficult for you to live. And sometimes you think that at such moments Itadori... looks a little more naive. But he does not see anything wrong with this and continues to cherish you, like the most priceless treasure on earth.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

It happens. And even after the start of your relationship.

In moments when you are far away, he records your telephone conversation, asks you to throw off your photos, turns on a home video taken once secretly from you ... then he starts "playing with his snake", quietly moaning your name. And if you start writing or talking on the phone, how much you want him now, it will just go crazy, imagining how he is fucking you on the bed right now. After all, it is such a pleasure to realize that your body receives only what you so passionately dream about and what you want.

— Mnh... yes, y/n... please continue...

K = Kink (Kinks and fetishes)

As mentioned earlier — home video. Yuji prefers to do this in secret, since he knows it will embarrass you. And besides, you will immediately guess why he does it.

He also has one fetish that you know about. Namely — voyeurism. When you change clothes, stand in the shower, or try on a swimsuit, he closely monitors your actions while standing outside the door. So he initiates you into his intimate world, where you can become his muse.

In addition, he has several types of perversions that he considers esoteric. For example, he really loves to admire your naked body and inhale its aroma, starting from the neck. This also applies to your personal things — your scent is also felt on them, and Itadori constantly examines and sniffs your things, hoping to feel your scent. It's kind of like a drug for him, and he likes to wake up in the morning and feel that your hair is still felt on his neck. And if you put on his clothes... it seems like some kind of new fetish. Now on his things your next smell. It's fucking exciting...

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

It makes no difference. The place does not depend on the amount of pleasure received from the process. True, you still have to find compromises. Because if it is convenient for him to hold your legs, simultaneously entering your bosom again and again, then it is quite problematic for you to be in the air, holding on to his shoulders. Thus, you get less pleasure. But do not think, he is not a rabbit, to fuck you wherever he wants, the guy will definitely ask if you want it. And yes, he does have a line between "normal" and "too public."

M = Motivation

All your movements are in clothes, which emphasizes the whole aesthetics of your body. As if hypnotized, Itadori watches your curves, how they change when you change posture or movement. When you are in your underwear, you specifically approach him and start to flirt playfully. When you wear his things, as mentioned by the way earlier. And oh shit, how turns him on when you show yourself a new swimsuit and ask to rate.

N = No (Which won't do)

Anything that will harm you. It doesn't matter whether it's big or small. If Yuji feels that he can be rude to you, then he will definitely warn you to tell when it hurts. After all, on the verge of orgasm, he may not notice that you are uncomfortable or unpleasant.

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

More is to give. His head is blown away because you are moaning his name sweetly and loudly, demanding more. Your morning kiss and praise for being amazing last night will give him confidence. And then, perhaps, your next night will be even better than the previous one.

Although one should not ignore his desires with needs. The guy will be very upset if, for some reason, you do not give him pleasure with oral sex.

P = Pace

In this he is a real professional Yuji knows perfectly well how to stretch pleasure and orgasm as much as he wants. A small effort of will is enough for him, which he has at least a spoonful.

At first he will start with smooth movements, and then gradually accelerate. At the same time, it will be easy to prolong your pleasure, because you will feel the strongest sexual charge directed in your direction. And with each strong orgasm, you will experience not only physical, but also mental pleasure.

Q = Quickie

From slow and smooth thrusts to wet and hot suddenness, it makes you feel your own intoxication, as if you are high. Superhuman abilities do give good results. As it turned out, not only in sports.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

In other matters, he is unlikely to refuse, since he himself has long wanted this. But Itadori is a responsible person, so he will think a hundred times and make sure that you accept the offer accurately. Do not be surprised that he will act agitated during such sex. He, like you, understands that this risk is serious and can create real problems.

S = Stamina (Stamina)

You should prepare caffeine and energy drinks, as this machine will squeeze everything out of itself, despite the fact that you yourself were exhausted already in the third round. He will not be enough all the time, and if you ever start to black out from fatigue, the guy will scream that he has not finished yet. It even forces you to limit the number of your intercourse per week, as his stamina is exhausting. And you've told him about it more than once.

T = Toys

In this regard, Yuji is more cunning and impudent. He always refuses to have toys for himself, although he himself does not mind tormenting you with a vibrator or even slipping it into your panties, justifying this by the fact that he does this to keep you close, at the same time showing his concern for you, flickering his ghost in your head. But he's not lucky that you're not such a naive fool. Despite this, the guy gets hit on the head, with a very convincing request never to do this again.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

Very much not even against, but not much into it. Over time, it bothers both you and him, and all actions cease to be unpredictable.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

Pretty loud. But in the volume of your moans, you take over.

They start with stifled growls, to groans because of how fucking amazing and sexy you are. And it all ends like a sugary, but trustworthy silence. Your loud moans of pleasure are a sign that you both were good.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

Once there was a case where Yuji could not come. He felt that he could not come even if he wanted to. His arms and legs seemed to be glued together, and he himself froze. I started to panic, think of reasons in my head. You, in turn, noticed this too, and when you asked what was the matter, Itadori turned pale and speechless. After that, he sat down on the bed, and here you started to worry. It turned out that he had masturbated too much over the past month, which has formed a habit of certain stimulation of the penis. At the news, you laughed, and he blushed. But at the same moment he exhaled with satisfaction. The guy was glad that the reason was not in you and not in his health.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

16 cm. During erection ± 2.5

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

Sex serves him for several purposes: relieving stress, sexual tension, just as a way to prove his love for you... Sometimes the beginning of sexual intercourse depends on his arousal. But for your sake, he's trying his best to hold back. Resorted to masturbation instead of sex, but as you already know, even this has its own problems. Seeing him so depressed, you also do not bypass the mutual concern. Even if you don't really want to do this or you are not in the mood, you will never refuse him. Although you will never let him relax and stop controlling himself. Do not miss the opportunity to talk to him about this, because, of course, he also needs it - to get rid of an inferiority complex and so on...

Overall, ± 8/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

Quite surprisingly, even in spite of his endless chatter before going to bed, as soon as he put his head on the pillow and lean on you, he falls asleep instantly. You feel him in your arms like a small hyperactive child who constantly wants to tell you something or, out of habit, make a row. And myself in his arms — protected by a large and strong wall.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk itadori #jjk yuji #itadori yuuji imagines #itadori yuji x reader #alphabet

[voxmortuus]

Silly Crush | Chapter 5 - First Fight

Stu Macher x F!Reader

Scream (Movie) FanFic

TW: Language | Angst This is your first fight with Stu | Fluff | Smut

Chapter 1 Silly Crush | Chapter 2 Movie Date | Chapter 3 Dinner Date | Chapter 4 Joy Ride

GIF Found on Pinterest

After your night with Sidney you had gone home, not seeing Stu for a few days, he had called you, you talked, but there was something Sidney had said that really hurt, it kind of hit hard and you trusted her, she would never steer you wrong. Stu had invited you out for a drive. You had agreed, as long as it was just a drive and no one else was involved. He had agreed, promised even. With some reserve about it, you agree to the promise. Sitting on the edge of your bed you look out the window and let out a heavy breath. Your stomach hurt, and you hoped it was just some sort of accusation, like a game of telephone, just the ending message was all twisted. The thing is, what you were told you didn't honestly surprisingly have a problem with, it was the fact that he never told you about it.

Your mom calls up. "Stu's here honey."

"Okay mom, thanks!" You respond looking out the window you notice that it was just him. Letting out a small breath you grab your jacket and head down the stairs.

"Have fun, Honey. I'm pulling a double shift so I won't be home until tomorrow night." Your mom calls out to you.

"Thanks, Mom." You give a faux smile and head out the door. Getting in the vehicle you look at Stu and then look out the window.

"What's wrong?" He asks you, genuinely worried.

You close your eyes and look at Stu. "Why didn't you tell me about the bad things you do Stu?" you ask him.

He furrows his brow. "What bad things?" He asks.

"Well word has it you're involved in some really bad dark shit Stu, like you were involved with a few murders? The fuck is that?" you state.

Stu lets out a chuckle. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"I would ne--" You stop him.

"Stu, it all makes sense, your late nights with Billy, you vanishing at times, your coincidence in times with when bad things have happened. I'm not mad that you're doing them. I'm mad that you didn't come to me." You tell him.

Stu stays quiet, not quite sure how to process this. He goes to your favorite spot. You keep quiet, fidgeting with the fabric of your jeans, the rip in the thigh, the loose strings, rolling them between your fingers. You lean your head against the window, the rain starting to pick up. He pulls into the abandoned lot and shuts off the car and looks at you.

"You assume." He states.

"Yes, I assume, and it adds up. I'm not blind Stu." you retort.

"If I was doing bad things do you really think I would want to expose that? I'm not stupid!" He kind of snaps.

"I never said you were stupid Stu, don't snap at me." you let out a low growl and get out of the car and go sit on the hood of the car. You look down at your boots as they start getting wet from the rain, your jeans speckled, turning darker black, your jacket sounding with the pitter-pat of the rain. He gets out of the car.

"Don't do that!" He yells.

"Do what?!" You yell back standing up looking over at him.

"Get out! Walk away!" He stated. "You didn't talk to me for a whole week! Don't treat me like I've done wrong! I haven't wronged you Y/N! I never would!" He adds.

"Then be honest with me!" You demand. You're to the point of tears.

"I am being honest!" He snapped.

"Take me home Stu. If you're not going to be honest with me than this just isn't going to work out." you tell him, your jaw clenched. But he refuses to get in the car, shaking his head.

"No." He stated.

"Then I'm walking." You state it wouldn't be the first time you've walked it. You start to walk past him and he growls as you pass.

"Stop!" He demands but you keep walking. You weren't going to tolerate the lies. He looks at you as you walk away, watching your hips sway. He growls at himself again shaking his head. "I've killed 3 people. I liked it, I liked it a lot. There! Now you know the truth."

You stop walking and let out a soft breath. Looking down you turn around and look at Stu. "Why didn't you tell me?!" You demand the answer.

"I was afraid. I was scared you wouldn't love me anymore! I was afraid you'd go to the police, and chances are you will." He starts walking to you. "I was afraid to lose you, I love you. I don't want to lose you. You're the only one who seems to truly understand me. You don't judge me... you don't question me." He states as he approaches you cupping your face. "I love you Y/N, losing you would break me." He tells you.

Looking over his face you start to cry, and here's the kicker, you don't know why, you're angry because he lied to you, he wasn't honest and he didn't tell you from the beginning. You're hurt because he was scared, and you're madly in love and don't like the fact that he was afraid. You look at him. "I love you. I don't care what you've done, next time, take me with you." You tell him. "I'm not joking." You tell him.

Leaning down he kisses you deeply. You wrap your arms around him. "My mom's not home. Let's go back to my place, she won't be there until tomorrow night." You tell him.

He takes your hand and brings you back to the car, both of you soaking wet. He drives back. By the time you arrive at your house, your mother is gone. She left you a note with 50 on the fridge telling you that she loves you to order out that she won't be home for a few days because of having something to do at the hospital but she will try and stop home tomorrow night to check on you. You and Stu kick off your boots leaving them at the door.

You take Stu's hand and bring him to your room and he looks at you and then looks at the blue dog and the goldfish and smiles. Leaning in he kisses you deeply picking you up he places you on the bed and climbs on top of you kissing you more. You flip him over and straddle him taking your shirt off. His hands move up your sides, over your curves as he undoes your pants. Looking over your face he smiles. "You're so beautiful." He smiles.

You smile back looking at him. "Shut up." You chuckle as he grabs at you and turns you over back on your back and takes off your pants and slides off your panties disrobing himself he climbs on top of you and looks over your face. You reach into your top drawer and hand him a rubber. Smirking he unwraps it slipping it on before he climbs back on top of you and leans in teasing you with the tip before he gives you a soft thrust and kisses you. Moaning into his mouth you let out a soft gasp aching into him slightly your hips meeting his. Though it doesn't take long before you are on top of him riding him.

The grunts, groans, moans, and smells all hit you not holding back your hips move and buck like riding a bull and your nails dig into his chest as you hit you peek. "Come on my cock baby, come on." He beckons you. Without any hesitation, you slam your hips down and let out a heavy moan and you keep going, waiting for him to finish, only to finish again.

After a few hours and a couple rounds, you look at him and smile. "Pizza and movies?" You ask him. Nodding his head.

"I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Maybe we'll talk about the next victim..." He smirks.

Nodding your head. "Okay." You grin and wrap in your top sheet and head downstairs to call in dinner.

Taglist: @luciferslittleastre @ms-ghostface @ginger-called-beth

#scream movie #wes craven #scream movie 1996 #90s fanfic #matthew lillard #stu scream #stu macher #stu x reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher x you #stu x you #thirstu #my fanfic #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #my fanfic stuff #my writing #fan fiction #my story #fanfic #my oc #ThirStu Readers #Sorry Not Sorry #TellingYouAStory Originals #Smutty smut smut #stu smut #stu macher smut #tellingyouastory oc

[butwhatifidothis]

r/Edelgard seems to have completely turned against Claude now. But the weirdest part is that they keep calling him an imperialist, while at the same time denying Edelgard is one.

It was only a matter of time before they did honestly. While Dimitri and Edelgard more directly oppose each other ideologically, even if it’s merely stated as so by the game Claude and Edelgard are presented as being “closer aligned” in terms of ideals, and any character shown to be a potential ally to Edelgard is seen in a good light in their eyes and any character that is shown to be unable to be an ally is a villain/bad person, so he was given some leeway until recently. 

Look at how they bend themselves trying to make AM the villain route, how they sometimes completely discard Rhea’s words in favor of Edelgard’s despite the former literally being present when history was happening and the latter having Imperial Telephone tell her the totes fer reel correct version that happens to paint humanity as pure good, at how Edelgard’s treatment of Seteth and Flayn is excused and sometimes justified, at how Dimitri defending his land against an invading force that has the explicit goal of conquering them is painted in the worst possible light. It’s a consistent tendency to put down every character that could even potentially make Edelgard look bad... so Claude was never going to escape this treatment forever, since he arguably makes Edelgard look the worst. Not because of what she did to him - that trophy is being valiantly fought by Dimitri and Rhea - but because of his actions and goals and accomplishments compared to hers.

Remember Edelgard’s supposed goals, according to her stans? Claude does them, with far more peaceful results. 

“Reform the Church” - Edelgard gets rid of it entirely in the majority of her endings and has it state-sanctioned if she does allow it to stay all the while actively persecuting the faithful in the Empire during the war, Claude always has the Church around and it is stated to be going through more natural reforms under Byleth and Seteth’s guidance and like the rest of the non-CF routes gives refuge to the said persecuted faithful. 

“Unify Fodlan” - Edelgard forcefully unites Leicester and Faerghus back under Adrestia’s banner and erases their cultures while doing so, Claude unites Leicester, Faerghus, and Adrestia under a new banner (the United Kingdom of Fodlan) with no explicit mention of the erasure of the former nations (unlike “the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Church of Seiros both vanished from the people’s memories” like in CF’s ending narration). 

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan’s history” - Edelgard only tells a “truth” that goes directly against everything established by the game’s foreshadowing and never looks farther into what she assumes to be true, Claude finds the actual truth and does so by asking Rhea, someone who would for sure know the truth of what happened (all while risking the chance of her blowing away his previous assumptions of what’s been happening)

“Reveal the truth of Fodlan part 2″ - Edelgard/CF has multiple instances that reveal that portions of history are being deliberately covered up (Dorothea/Edelgard endings revealing censorship, Ferdinand/Byleth endings revealing certain battles not being recorded “ History books extol Ferdinand's success as a lord of his territories, but they do not make mention of the hard-fought battles he endured alongside his wife. Thus, half of his life's work is lost to time”), no mention of such things happening in Claude/VW’s endings

“Better relations with Almyra” - this is a throwaway line in Edelgard’s story that is completely optional and easy to miss as well as never appearing in any of her endings whatsoever (as well as any mention of bettering foreign relations), this is Claude’s entire goal which he is stated and even somewhat shown to have accomplished in the course of his story

“Looking out for the weak” - Edelgard intentionally strips the weak of support by taking away most any semblance of a church and explicitly states that the weak will inevitably learn how to grow strong by themselves, Claude acknowledges the Church’s importance to the people even if he personally doesn’t like religion and explicitly believes that strength is found by relying on, opening up to, and believing in friends and close ones

“Looking out for the weak, part 2″ - Edelgard explicitly states that she is completely willing to sacrifice her men as well as the people of Fodlan as a whole in order to achieve a greater good and then goes on to endanger her people, Claude explicitly states that such methods are too bloody and goes on to go out of his way to protect the people through evacuation or by placing himself in front of them or keeping them out of the fighting entirely

“Achieving a peaceful Fodlan” - The majority of Hubert’s endings reveal the need to constantly spy on the populace and/or put down rebellions/assassination attempts, the only mention of something similar occurring in VW is putting down Imperial loyalists + TWS’ attempts to disrupt the peace

“Wanting help from others” - Edelgard never attempts to reach out a hand in friendship to anyone at any point of the game, Claude tries multiple times to do so with Dimitri and actually succeeds in doing so in AM (not to mention him giving his help to and asking for help from the Church in non-CF routes)

This is just what I can readily think of off the top of my head, but we see that Claude manages to accomplish much of what Edelstans say Edelgard wants to do with better results, and that’s not even getting into how Claude needs no “softening” from Byleth in order to be a more approachable person, how he never initiates fighting towards Faerghus (as in, not the Kingdom army but the nation itself, unlike Edelgard) and never tries to conquer it whatsoever (again, unlike Edelgard), how he keeps his word and assists in helping Rhea despite not liking or trusting her unlike how Edelgard claims to want to make peace with Rhea despite thinking that her and her kind need destruction, how Claude mourns the deaths of his friends and allies while Edelgard says nothing if any of her friends and allies die (even Hubert, someone she’s known for close to 20 years, one of the longest relationships of the academy students’ circle. she says nothing of his passing) save for Bernadetta whom she can set on fire, and, again, other things that aren’t coming to my right off the cuff. He makes her look horrible

And, well, ya know what that means. Claude’s actions can’t be actually good, because they make Edelgard, the hero of 3H, look bad, so there has to be some kind of catch everywhere. 

Claude bringing in Almyran reinforcements, with the approval of the Alliance’s most renown general, to help secure Fort Merceus in a more secure way (and is actually shown to have possibly actually helped in pulling off the ruse, seeing how SS tried the same thing without them and failed)? Him doing the same in some of his endings, where he sends Almyran forces to help settle the Imperial revolts that are happening? This is actually him trying to invade Fodlan, sending Almyran forces as a show of force and establish Almyra’s superiority over Fodlan, not him showing that Almyra wishes to help Fodlan reform so that their centuries long feud can finally begin to be properly set aside and allow for positive change to occur between the two countries.

Claude keeping the Alliance out of the war? This is actually him biding his time to strike back against both countries so that he can win the war and he only succeeds if he manages to trick Byleth and the Church (and Dimitri, in AM) into helping him, not him recognizing that the Alliance is weak even if fully united (let alone in the divided state they’re in) and wanting to keep his people as far away from the war as possible.

Claude giving the leadership of Fodlan to Byleth? This is actually him giving an ambitionless puppet rulership so that he can control Fodlan through them (even though even pre ts he doesn’t believe Byleth has no ambitions and will full on deny the belief that they don’t) and not him putting his faith in Byleth that they will be able to rule Fodlan justly

Claude showing concern over his friends’ wellbeing? This is actually him only trying to make sure his “tools” are kept up nicely, not him genuinely caring about those around him.

Claude coming across as insensitive in his Jeralt’s diary scene? This is actually proof/a hint of Claude’s true persona as a manipulative sociopath, not a genuine fuck up on his end (or, if you want to be nicer, a look into how he himself deals with traumatic events, though that’s up for interpretation so not the main point)

Claude saying that he wants to be supreme ruler of the world to Edelgard? This is actually him outright revealing his plans and showing regret that Edelgard managed to thwart him.

Oh, and we can’t forget how Claude actually wanted to wage war himself and was only stopped by Edelgard, and how he stole all of the progress Edelgard was making in changing Fodlan’s society, and how he never would have been able to do anything without Edelgard, and how him not siding with Edelgard is proof that he never wanted the best for Fodlan, and how the warmongering Almyrans would never want to make peace with Fodlan with that being more proof of Claude’s “true” ill intentions since he’d totally know that’d be the case

The second to last point being, of course, the only time you should take Claude at face value. And again, these are just the points that readily come to my mind as of right now. 

Like I said, there was no chance in hell Claude was going to stay in r/Edelgard’s good graces, given how so much of his character directly shits on Edelgard’s. Friendship ended with r/Edelgard, now Dimitri and Rhea are Claude’s best friends.

#ask #anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard discourse #edelgard critical #just to be safe #like yeah I'm surprised Claude went this long without being shat on

[ijustwant2write]

Sweet Boy-Bonnie Gold x Reader x Finn Shelby (Part 4/?)

(GIF credit to @mizworldofrandom​)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Masterlist

Tags: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @bethany-taylo @lovelynerdytraveler @savvy7392 @kingarthurscat @smallheathgangsters @soleil-dor @alyse45 @bloodorangemoonlight @amirahiddleston @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @haphazardhufflepuff

Summary: (Y/N) waits like the rest of the Shelby's, praying that the boys make a safe return. When one of them does finally turn up, it's not a happy reunion.

Characters: Bonnie Gold x Reader, Finn Shelby x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, mention of injury/blood/knives, arguing

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N)’s P.O.V

I wrapped my cardigan tighter around me as I sat at my tiny kitchen table. All I had been doing was pacing, and my neighbours downstairs came up to complain; you could hear a lot in these flats, if there was complete silence, and seeing as it was evening time, there wasn't a lot of movement...not until after midnight that is.

Trying to distract myself, I tugged slowly at the piece of thread that had come loose from my sleeve. It was a stupid way to pass time. But what else was I supposed to do? I had drank enough cups of tea, more than I could remember, dusted around the flat (and that didn't take long seeing as it was small) and even tried to read a book, but the words just wouldn't flow. In my frustration, I threw my book onto the table, rubbing my eyes as I felt the tiredness take over. As the flat descended into silence again, I almost jumped out of my seat as there was a knock at the door, even though it was quiet.

Racing towards it, I took a moment to compose myself. This could be anyone, perhaps someone who had the boys. Before I answered it, I grabbed the biggest knife from the kitchen, hiding it behind my back. I then slowly opened the door, my grip tightening around the handle of the knife, but I relaxed when I saw Finn’s face poking through.

“Oh thank fuck.” I breathed out, glad that he rushed inside and locked the door behind him.“Finn, I’ve been so worried.”

He was clutching his lower stomach, gritting his teeth as he spoke.“I’m fine, just got a bit of a scratch.”

I saw the blood that had seeped through his shirt.“Quick, go sit down.”

“What the fuck have you got a knife for?”

I didn’t explain as I put it away, grabbing a bowl for the water and a towel I was happy to throw away. Turning back around, I placed everything down on the table.

“Where’s Bonnie?” I asked as I helped him take off his jacket.

I didn’t miss his eye roll.“He’s safe, he’s back at his camp with his dad.”

Halting my actions, I got to eye level with him.“I don’t believe you, Finn.”

“Well I don’t know what else to tell you then.”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I called Tom, told him I was safe with you. I also told them not to come get me.”

I started unbuttoning his shirt, noticing him tense up.“Why?”

“I don’t want to deal with them right now. Though I don’t know why I thought coming here would be any better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he groaned as we peeled off his shirt,“that you used to always give me a lecture whenever I came back like this.”

I scoffed.“You sound surprised. Right, you know the drill.”

I knelt down beside him, inspecting his wound. It really did look worse than it actually was, but it definitely needed cleaning to avoid infection. When the family finally trusted me, Polly had been the one to inform me of visits like these. The first time Finn came back with an injury, I had panicked and called her straight away, watching her movements like a hawk so I wouldn’t have to call her in the middle of the night again; and Finn hadn’t been happy with me that night either.

With one hand holding the towel against his wound and the other steadying myself on his thigh, I had flashbacks of old memories. Not all of them involved him being hurt, some were just of us staying here together. Lost in my thoughts, I accidentally pushed further onto his injury, flinching when he yelped out and grabbed my free hand.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed.

He chuckled.“You used to do that on purpose.”

“You remember those nights very differently to me.”

“I remember all of our nights together.” 

Finn’s P.O.V

I thought I would have regretted those words as soon as I said them, but surprisingly I didn’t. Perhaps it was the loss of blood making me speak freely, or maybe I was still in shock. I hadn’t expected her to brush off the topic of Bonnie so quickly. (Y/N) hadn’t even asked what happened to me. 

Her cheeks had flushed as she ducked her head, though there was no smile. I watched her clean my wounds. She was letting me hold her hand still, even though I wasn’t in that much pain anymore. 

“Let me find something to bandage it with.” she mumbled, scurrying away from me.

“(Y/N)-”

“You didn’t have to say that.” she snapped.

“Say what?”

“You don’t have to butter me up in order for me to help you. We have a messy past but I wouldn’t let you die on the street.”

I tried to joke with her.“I don’t think this will be the thing that kills me.”

She glared at me as she returned.“You know what I mean.”

“You haven’t asked me-”

“I was about to.” she started to cover up the wound.“Go on then, what caused this?”

“You also haven’t asked if Bonnie was injured.”

She threw the bandage onto the floor, looking up at me with tears in her eyes.“What the fuck Finn?! You don’t think that’s on my mind? When someone shows up like this, and has been gone for hours, and distracts me from-”

“(Y/N), I didn’t want to-”

“-thinking about anything else, it’s hard to talk about anything! W-why would you bring him up again, you hate him?”

I sighed.“Because you care about him.”

“Yeah, as one of my friends.”

“Don’t fool yourself (Y/N). I know the way you look at him is how you used to look at me.”

She stood up again.“Surprised you even noticed.”

“We’re going to get nowhere with this if we keep bickering like this.”

“What are you talking about? Do you have an agenda Finn? Are you here for something else other than a nurse?”

I huffed, slowly standing.“No. I’m sorry for what I’ve said.”

“Oh,” she seemed shocked,“uh, let me grab some extra pillows-”

“I’ll be fine on the sofa.”

“That’s where I was going to put you.”

(Y/N) disappeared into her room, and I could have slapped myself after all I said. Why could I never speak to her anymore? It was fine when we first met, when we first started seeing each other, then I turned into a complete arsehole, even though I knew I was going to lose her. I couldn't even blame my brothers either. They warned me that having a woman on the side of the business would put a strain on our relationship, even if (Y/N) was supportive of me; they had even praised me for finding such an understanding girl.

“Here,” she placed a pillow and folded blanket onto her sofa, which I definitely wasn’t going to fit on,“hopefully it’ll be warm enough. If not, you know how to use the fireplace.”

“Thanks.” I muttered, already feeling the ache that would develop in my back. She started to walk away, and I stupidly called after her.“Goodnight (Y/N).”

Glancing back over her shoulder, she just smiled, but not in her bright, usual way, before closing her bedroom door.

Bonnie’s P.O.V

I swatted away my father’s hand as he tried to clean the dry blood off my face. He frowned at me, especially when I snatched the rag out of his hand, trying not to show how it stung my face. We were away from the rest of the family, I had been appreciative of their worry, but I didn’t need them to know about everything that had happened.

“Bonnie, just explain this to me. I won’t say a word to Tommy, I just need to understand.”

“Dad, it’s Peaky business.”

“That’s not an excuse. From what I heard, this was supposed to be a simple task. And where’s the youngest Shelby?”

I clenched my jaw."He's safe."

"I don't like your tone son."

"He's with (Y/N)!" I snapped.

Dad sighed."That girl again, Bonnie."

"Don't talk about her like that."

"I've already told you boy, she's damaged goods. You know Finn’s heart still pines after her, and yet here you are playing with fire!"

"She would never go back to him. He treated her like shit!"

"And you were there for all of that?"

I looked in a different direction, hating the expression on his face."No, but I'm here now. And anyway, the job ended up going wrong. Finn opened his big mouth, thought he was more powerful than the men we were visiting."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

I saw him smirk, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Is he going to tell his brothers that truth?"

"Yes."

"How do you know? I don't want you getting into trouble for something that wasn't your fault."

I hesitated."We made a deal."

"A deal."

"He would tell the truth as long as...as long as I allowed him to go to (Y/N)."

Dad threw his hands up in the air."And we're back to the girl again."

I scoffed."You don't understand-"

"No I understand completely. I can't believe you would consider going to her rather than your family. How would we have known you were safe? Finn was probably able to call his family, do you see any fucking telephones around here?"

Abruptly standing up, I angrily threw the rag into the grass, heading towards my caravan to be alone. Dad hadn't been in love like this for a long time, he had forgotten what it felt like. I stopped myself before opening the door, a sudden idea popping into my head. I couldn't let him go to her. What if he said something about me? Made it seem like everything was my fault and twisted the story? He found an advantage, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed to be.

(Y/N)'s P.O.V

After staying up worrying for hours, you'd think I would be able to fall asleep easily. Of course, with my ex sleeping just outside of my door, I felt this awkwardness wash over me. He used to sleep with me in this bed, jump out of it in the mornings when we realised how late for work we were. It was annoying me senseless and I just wanted to go to sleep after all that had happened. Just as I was about to close my eyes, there was another knock at the door, making me grip onto the bed sheets in fear. Who else would be here?

Peaking out of my door, I saw Finn already standing, holding an arm out to me as a sign to not move. Boldly, he went to check the door, picking up a gun from the holster draped over a chair. My whole body was tense, figuring out an escape route in case it was someone after Finn. I was frozen, trying to hear anything I could. The door opened, and all that followed was a sigh. When I heard footsteps headed towards me and Finn appear unphased, I was confused.

"It's for you." Finn mumbled, flopping back down onto the sofa.

Cautiously, I went to the door, knowing Finn wouldn't put me in any danger. It wasn't fully opened, my shaky hand reached out for the handle, the tension rising as I tried to figure out who it was.

"Bonnie?"

#peaky blinders #bbc peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders one shot #bonnie gold one shot #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold imagines #bonnie gold #finn shelby #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagines #finn shelby x reader #finn shelby imagine

[prorevenge]

Manipulative Power hungry Aunt torments my family for years. Costs her $300000

Dealt with my shitty manipulative abusive Aunt all my life, finally got revenge.

Players: Myself (M late 30s), Sister (3 year younger), Aunt (Older "Sister" to my Mother), Mother (Single Mom, adopted, no blood relation to my Aunt). Cousins (3 total, 1M, 2F. I have good relationships with them now, mostly).

My estranged father who had been living several counties over, is pretty much out of the picture by the time my parents got their divorce when I was 9. Due to financial hardship, we were forced to live with my Aunt and the nightmare of a household we would soon find ourselves in. My Aunt married into Georgia "Wealth" and you can figure out what that means on your own. She had 3 kids and eventually caught her husband having an affair. It's a huge scandal, she gets the house, the kids and a fat payout from the family attorney. This is important because my Aunt didn't do a damn thing in her life to earn her money, her house, her lifestyle or basically anything. She was born poor along with my Mom.

Under her household, she was drunk with power. Years of therapy have allowed me to recognize that certain people when in a position of power, get a perverse pleasure in ordering others to do their bidding. She was the strictest of authoritarians in every possible way you could imagine. Chores had to be completed by an exact specific time. Vacuuming by 3:45pm, Dishes by 3:55pm, Laundry days for my Mother us kids were Tues/Thurs 5:35pm-7:55pm. If it was still running, she would shut the power off for the two units. As we grew older, her own kids opted to stay with their father for full time custody and she had them on Weekends. Even they couldn't stand her when she was in charge and in the house. As time passed, she got them less and less opting for alternating weekends as Highschool activities took precedence over time with Mother.

For my sister and I, the large 6 bedroom house was not ours for the taking. My mom had to pay rent as well as rent for 1 bedroom as that was all she could afford on her salary. We had to share a bedroom until my second year of HS. All the while there was 1 spare unused bedroom available at all times. My Aunt needed this for "Guests" when they stayed over. Not one guest stayed there in the 10 years I was under that roof. Finally the church we attended told my Aunt to give up the spare bedroom so my sister can have her own room as it was "unhealthy" for two teenagers sharing a room together like that. That infuriated my Aunt because someone told her what to do in her own household. My sister and I got the brunt of her wrath. As my Mom's salary was tapped out, my sister and I had do extra chores like mowing the lawn, trimming the shrubs, cleaning the pool which we could no longer use without her being outside watching us.

My Aunt's behavior was becoming more and more outrageous and disconnected from society. For example, she had always snapped her fingers when she wanted to get someones attention, but it was getting far more frequent and she would blow up into a tirade if either my sister and I didn't obey. Her own kids tried repeatedly to tell her that the shit she was doing was wrong but she wouldn't listen.Eventually they wanted nothing to do with her outside of the home. She was a tyrant there and repeated intervention to get her to see the folly of her ways would fall on deaf ears.

I Snapped:

All through HS I had no confidence as a person. I was weak willed and growing ever distant from friends and society. I say this in all truthfulness and fear, that had circumstances continued the way they had been going, I could very well had taken a gun to myself or worse, to others around me. I was that bad off.

I had just graduated HS and started my first semester of community college. I'm 2 weeks into my classes attending from home when my Aunt drops a bomb on me. "You owe me $$$ for this months rent, the same amount for next months rent as well. It is the 27th after all. You're an Adult now. You're out of HS and working now, so you need to pay rent" The fuck? I blew a fucking gasket as I yelled back. "You can't just suddenly decide to charge me rent just because you feel like it. I need 30 days notice, I have rights".

My Aunt yelled at me some bullshit excuse that she had discussed this with my mother and it was decided that I needed to pay my own rent now. In some miraculous backbone move, of which I still have no idea how I stood up to her, I yelled right back at her, "If I'm an Adult, then treat me like and talk to me about rental agreements. I'll start paying you rent in 30 days starting the 1st." I turned my back to her and walked away with my fists balled tight. I was furious with anger but I walked away. My Aunt saw my fists from behind and screamed bloody murder that I was going to attack her. No, I wasn't. She snapped her fingers at me repeatedly on my tail to get my attention but I didn't turn around. I needed to cool off and clear my head. As I turned the corner, she grabbed my wrist hard yelling "I'm not finished talking to you". I threw my still balled up fist forward keeping with my stride to break her grip as I hadn't stopped my momentum. This caused her grabbing arm to slam hard into the corner of the wall that I had just turned into. She screamed in pain but I left the house and took off.

The aftermath of that incident was that my Aunt called the cops on me in an attempt to press charges. She was taken to the hospital and suffered a fractured wrist and she was put in a cast/sling (don't know as I never saw it and never inquired further). Her story changed every time she told the cops what happened while my story was spot on every time. I can still recall that moment down to the smell in the house, where I was facing, the working and non-working lightbulbs etc. Forever ingrained in me. I was kicked out of the house and I couldn't visit my sister or my Mom there at the house again. Fine by me as I didn't want to see my bitch Aunt ever again. I was happy to meet my Mother and sister at the local diner or outlet. We could be ourselves there and not hostages in our own home.

Years Later:

My Mom wised up and got out of that abusive relationship with her sister and moved out on her own. She got a temporary nice place, invested wisely and with the help from the church, got help getting a place of her own. In 2009 after the housing crisis, she bought her own place that she could never have afforded on her own prior the Market crash. But some good came out of it. She wept knowing my Sister (and her family) and myself can come visit any time and stay.

Over the years I've been able to forgive my Aunt. Not forget, Forgive. I've let go a lot of my anger and hatred toward her that she put me through. When she has no leverage or control over us, she's a somewhat decent person for being a total bitch of a person. My Cousin's have calmed down, heard my side of what happened those years ago and know what kind of person I am compared to what kind of person their Mother is. They chose to believe me and know I didn't hit her or strike her or beat her across the face like she continues to claim.

The Revenge:

While I have been able to forgive my Aunt for what she has done to me, I cannot forgive her for what she did to my Mother. Kept her in financial hardship for a decade while she sat on a bank account full of cash and assets. Or what she did to my Sister. Forced her to pay for damages because the water heater burst while my Aunt and Mother was away one weekend leaving my sister at home. She didn't discover the flooded rooms for hours. My Aunt's reasoning, "It was her responsibility to watch the house." Not the responsibility of the home owner to maintain/replace the water heater before it goes. Lets leave that Upfront $5000 financial burden before the Flood insurance kicks in on a 16 year old girl.

I've had little to no contact with my Aunt since I was kicked out of the house nearly 2 decades ago. But I do keep in constant contact with my cousins. While I'm not going to divulge what I do for a living, I can say that I work with and for the Government. I've worked my ass off getting to where I'm at today. I'm known for being truthful, wise and giving good advise when asked. Because of this, I often talk financially with my cousins. All of whom are money-smart and are doing well for themselves. They often then relay this information to their scheming mother who has no mind for business and investments. All that money she got from her house sale, her divorce settlement, her previous investments is pretty much gone. I spent YEARS planning on the perfect trap and it took a long time to prepare everything to make sure everything appeared right.

IANAL and I don't pretend to know the law but I do know the regulations and laws pertaining to insider information. This is not that. 100% certain of it and if I ever go to court, I know my lawyer has a solid case in my defense. But is this a grey area, most definitely. I let slip to my Cousins about some future real estate plans near my Aunt's new area of living. It "may" be worth a lot more because of future development taking place in the area. All of that was true and backed up by what was in the News paper and New Construction signs that newly appeared on Google Maps (at the time). The rest was fabricated by myself backed up by actual information I looked up on real estate websites and on projects I was working on through my work.

The Telephone game takes place and a few weeks later I presume, my Aunt starts making phone calls to real estate agents trying to buy lots of Land in the undeveloped shitty area of her new house. Over the course of a few months to a half a year, she spends $300,000 of her last remaining savings on land hoping it will pay out when the area around it gets developed in the upcoming years.

Only, HUD/Government/City doesn't have any plans to develop in those immediate areas. In fact, analysis showed that building in those areas was poor planning and would cost the tax payers twice to three times as much as the land was not environmentally sound. It was best to build 6 miles away.

This post was long overdue because it's been over 2 years since my Aunt purchased Land that is basically worthless. See, she won't sell the land unless she gets at least the same price she paid for it because she's the OWNER of that land. Can't tell her what to do on her own land. Sweet Karma strikes in a way I couldn't possibly have foreseen. My cousin informed me that the value of the land has decreased significantly because it's not environmentally sound to build anything commercial there. But it's zoned for commercial use. Currently 3 of the 4 blocks of land she purchased are just weed farms next to eye sore abandoned buildings or industrial complexes. Nobody can build on it and nor does anyone want to buy it. Sucks to be her!

Best part is, my cousins have absolutely no idea that I set them up for their Mother to take the fall. These environmental results are relatively new and the perfect cover to say why the Project changed locations 6 miles away.

TL:DR Abusive Aunt torments my family and myself for a decade and more. Decades later, I am in a position to trick her buying worthless land. Icing on the cake, that land can't be used for it's intended purpose and has devalued significantly.

(source) story by (/u/Limecherrry)

#prorevenge #by /u/Limecherrry #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[kuzuhinasecretexchange]

Work Title: cryptic shells, orange juice, and candid talks

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @serpenteaus

Pairings/Characters: Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Hinata Hajime, No Additional Characters

Rating/Warnings: Teen Rated, No Content Warnings Apply

Prompt used: “postgame mundane shenanigans”

Author’s notes: hi! i apologize for this leaning towards the shorter side, but this was a lot of fun to write! i really hope you like it :D

Hinata swings around his cabin at the same time he always does, knocking and waiting patiently as Kuzuryuu heaves his ass out of bed.

  It’s a really minor routine, in truth. There’s nothing super interesting about that repetitiveness– coming around at 8 AM, walking with him to the dining hall, bantering with him over some toast while they talk to their other friends, and spending the rest of their day working on the island or just relaxing. It’s the same shit every day, the same shit they do unless it’s like, someone’s birthday or something, and it should probably bore Kuzuryuu at some point.

  It kind of doesn’t, though. In a sense that Kuzuryuu isn’t going to complain about seeing his boyfriend in the morning, or getting to vibe around the island with him, even if it’s similar to what they’ve always done. All of them find ways to keep things interesting– accidentally, like Komaeda, or on purpose, like Imposter– and the island always feels dynamic.

  They’ve been through a lot. Having a kind of stability, yet one that shifts according to what they want Jabberwock to be, is sort of relieving. Kuzuryuu rarely got that relief in the past, and he sure as hell isn’t going to pass it up now.

  Kuzuryuu makes his way over to the door, unlocking it. Hinata looks a bit more disheveled than usual, dark brown hair messy and growing a bit long, shirt half buttoned and his hands in his pockets, but he still gives Kuzuryuu a smile. “Hey,” Hinata says tiredly, “woke up late. How are you?”

  Well, that explains it. Hinata likes routine, too, on most days (and sometimes he hates the tedium of it, but hey, Kuzuryuu can accommodate that too). “I’m fine. Just got up ‘nd shit. Let me brush my teeth and, like, get dressed. Is it hot outside?”

  “Well, we’re on a tropical island,” Hinata deadpans, “so I would assume so. Bit cooler, since it’s November, but that’s how it always goes.” 

  Kuzuryuu nods, throwing open a dresser and changing into some shirt Hinata gave him a while back. Everyone on Jabberwock has a bad tendency to not remember who owns what clothes, so sometimes Komaeda shows up to lunch in Mioda’s skirt, or Koizumi ends up with Owari’s jacket, or Sonia nestles into Tanaka’s scarf. Nobody really minds, though– they’re all sort of a family, after all. 

  And, y’know. Kuzuryuu likes wearing Hinata’s clothes. Not that he would, like, outright admit that to him, but. Hinata has a nice scent of sandalwood and citrus, and Kuzuryuu thinks, as his boyfriend, he has the right to indulge in it. 

  ‘Course, Hinata still has to point it out smugly. “That’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

  Kuzuryuu gestures to the pattern on it– sunflowers, or something. Bit flashy, but Kuzuryuu can cut him some slack for it. It looks really nice on Hinata, either way, so. “Who else would have this shit?”

  “Maybe Komaeda,” Hinata suggests while Kuzuryuu opens the bathroom door, pulling out the green toothbrush (there’s a spare blue one, for Hinata, in case he stays over) and putting on some mint toothpaste. “He’s picked up gardening, hasn’t he?”

  “Him and Owari, yeah.” There’s a lull in the conversation, as he can’t exactly talk with toothpaste in his mouth, but he picks it up where he left off after he finishes. “Not sure how Owari got into it, actually, ‘cuz gardening never seemed to be her gig.”

  Hinata leans against the wall. “The food, probably. Even though Komaeda’s luck keeps fucking up the strawberries, according to Hanamura. I wouldn’t really know, I don’t swing by there much, y’know, but. Probably for that.” Kuzuryuu nods, sliding on some pants and picking up his phone. Hinata straightens, already moving to nudge the door open. “Ready to head out?”

  “Don’t know what else I’d be doing.” Hinata just snorts in lieu of a response, gesturing for Kuzuryuu to walk out first before closing the door behind them.

  Hinata’s right, it is a bit cooler. It’s a subtle kind of difference, one that comes from knowing the island like the back of his hand, being able to tell when a storm’s about to hit and give them a shit ton of rain, or when it’s about to be super fucking arid, enough to give at least one dumbass heatstroke (fucking Souda and his stupid ass machine work, in the middle of the sun, with metal, and no water, for hours, in the fucking sun). It comes with time, basically.

  And it’s sort of a neat thing. It should be boring, once again, but, eh. He likes it. 

  He thinks about that, sometimes.

  Then Hinata makes an awkward gesture in an attempt to subtly ask to hold Kuzuryuu’s hand, and he stops focusing on the weather and all that bullshit, and more on his stupidly endearing boyfriend. 

  Kuzuryuu intertwines their fingers and mumbles, “You can just ask to hold my hand, dipshit.”

  “You looked like you were thinking about something,” Hinata defends mildly. “So I didn’t want to, uh, just. Jar you straight out of that?” 

  It’s pretty considerate of him, Kuzuryuu considers, even though it’s kind of just inefficient, like the weird waffling they did when they first got together. Which is always really funny to think about in retrospect, because, like, the two of them have always been close. Back in the simulation, they got along decently well, and in the miserable months after waking up, the two of them would stay the night with each other all the time, doing scattered things across the island to distract themself, hugging each other when the days got shitty. 

  It only really made sense, then, that they had some kind of charisma between them back then. It only took everyone waking up and shit calming down, managing to get some kind of therapy across the shitty telephone lines that the Future Foundation got them, for them to even think about that shit. But, hey, they got there in the fucking end, with the help of the others, like, trying to get them past the yearning into an actual confession.

  (Kuzuryuu still remembers the humiliation of Souda and Komaeda– fucking Souda and Komaeda– being the ones that helped him talk to Hinata about it. Souda, who is the definition of running himself in circles, romantically speaking, and Komaeda, who wouldn’t know how to confess to someone normally if a walk-through manual slapped him in the fucking face.

  … Not that Hinata’s help was much better. Sonia and Tanaka were pushing for him to confess to Kuzuryuu with a fucking shell. Like, just a cool looking shell, that they thought would appeal to Kuzuryuu’s fiery energies, or something.

  Hinata still ended up giving Kuzuryuu the shell, for the record. But Kuzuryuu was a lot more invested in kissing his new boyfriend, at the time. It’s still… somewhere in his room. Just, as a little memory. Or something like that.)

  Hinata squeezes his hand again, and Kuzuryuu jolts back to reality. He laughs at himself a bit. “Sorry, I was just, like, thinking about the shitshow that was us trying to get together, all that time back.”

  He tilts his head, olive green eyes softening. “How come?”

  “Because you trying to hold my hand was awkward as hell.”

  The soft eyes are immediately hidden with an eye roll. “Fuck off.” 

  Kuzuryuu snorts, nudging him with his shoulder before they continue walking to the dining hall. “Seriously, though. That was such a fuckin’ week, wasn’t it? Hell, I still think about Komaeda looking me straight in the eyes and calling me an idiot.”

  “I’m still not entirely sure that one happened,” Hinata jokes. “Like. I know Komaeda is kind of… a lot, but the fact that he just called your ass out, then and there, is so much. Then again, Sonia called me a dense motherfucker, so.”

  “You are a dense motherfucker.”

  “I am not a dense motherfucker.” Kuzuryuu shoots him a look, and Hinata sighs. “Okay. Sometimes, I am a dense motherfucker. But I did know you liked me! I just can’t, uh, interpret half my emotions at any hour of the day.”

  The Kamukura effect, Kuzuryuu calls it in his head, but he doesn’t, like, verbally say that. Not that it would be an issue– Kuzuryuu is kind of adjusted to Kamukura suddenly fronting, and the two of them get along decently well, but. Y’know. It’s just kind of a weird thing to say, he thinks. “Yeah, I mean, that’s fair. We were still pretty fresh out of everything, I can imagine you had more going on.”

  “Yeah.” 

  Kuzuryuu shoots Hinata a look, taking in the slightly pensive expression, before impulsively standing on his toes to kiss his cheek. His face erupts in a blush, because Hinata isn’t the most accustomed to physical touch, still, and Kuzuryuu takes the chance to say, “You aren’t stupid, though. You’re, like, really fuckin’ smart. And I get it. We all do.” 

  Hinata glances away in some failed attempt to hide his expression. “Thanks,” he mumbles, but he squeezes Kuzuryuu’s hand, so. He knows that the other gets what he’s getting at. He’s just flustered, sort of adorably, but Kuzuryuu would never admit that. He is not a sap.

  (Well. Hinata’s eyes sometimes remind him of the times long ago, back at home, where it was sunny and he felt sort of okay, actually. And he has nice hair, y’know, falling into his eyes but nice to touch. And he’s nice, like, a real sweet guy with a closed off heart that you can still sort of trust. And he reminds Kuzuryuu of the sunshine, just, entirely. 

  … So maybe a little bit, but, hey. One of them has to maintain the romantic coherency around here, and if they have to pass the baton of sentiment, so be it.)

  “You’re contemplative today,” Hinata remarks.

  “You spend half your time brooding and getting lost in thought, and you’re getting on my ass?”

  Hinata laughs, which makes Kuzuryuu’s scowl soften. “Fair enough. Sorry.”

  “You’re fine.” Kuzuryuu sighs. “Just. Thinking about us, again.”

  “That’s, uh, pretty sweet of you. Or just really, really sappy, I guess.”

  “Shut the literal fuck up.”

  “It wasn’t an insult.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They’re at the dining hall, now. As Hinata opens the door for them, the sound of the others becomes pretty apparent. Hanamura in the kitchen as usual, Tanaka and Souda’s voices distinct amidst the sound of everyone eating. There’s probably a few people missing– Komaeda and Owari come to mind, since Owari eats food unreasonably early sometimes, and Komaeda tends to show up when fewer people are there– but, since Hinata and Kuzuryuu got up sort of late, the rest are probably there.

  It’s… nice. Another one of those expected things, mundane as all hell and probably boring to literally anybody else, but Kuzuryuu likes it. Likes the way things flow, likes the routine, likes it all. Even when it’s, yeah, sometimes decently repetitive. 

  Hinata gets the door for them again– chivalrous dumbass– and Sonia immediately issues them a, “Good morning, Hinata-san, Kuzuryuu-san.”

  “What’s up.” Kuzuryuu lets go of Hinata’s hand to go and grab some food, his boyfriend engaging in an actual conversation with Sonia and Nidai. Kuzuryuu would like to later, no shit, but he’s hungry and Hanamura’s food calls to him. He gets himself some orange juice (that Hinata will probably steal from him, prompting an aghast orange juice and coffee, at once, are you fuckin’ serious? but, eh. Better than grabbing, like, milk or something). He also grabs some food, toast with some kind of spread Hanamura would give them the details of, before taking a seat.

  Souda slides across him, leaving whatever conversation he had been having with Tanaka to the wind. “Hey there, soul bro! How we vibing?”

  “Fine.” Kuzuryuu says with a shrug, instinctually scooting over as Hinata sits next to him.

  Souda gets out another, “Soul bro number two! How are you?”

  “Doing fine, Souda,” Hinata steals Kuzuryuu’s juice from the get go, so he kicks him under the table. Hinata stifles a laugh. “Tanaka’s giving you a death stare, though.”

  “Ugh, dammit. Prick’s been getting on me over crystals, or some shit.” Souda gets out of the chair, already walking back over to probably start another argument with no other pretense. It’s early enough in the morning that Kuzuryuu doesn’t second guess the weird interaction, though Souda has a tendency to start and end conversations in the worst, most abrupt way.

  He’s off, watching Souda and Tanaka go at each other while Koizumi sits tiredly near them, looking as if she’s debating whether to interfere or leave before Tanaka throws out an archaic insult, when Hinata moves to grab his hand and squeeze it. Kuzuryuu turns to look back at him, eyebrow raised. “What’s up?”

  “Uh, nothing, really,” Hinata replies, and Kuzuryuu almost looks away again before he blurts out, “I love you.”

  Kuzuryuu flushes, trying to roll his eyes to counteract it, but the awkwardly fond expression on Hinata’s face gives the impression that his plan didn’t work. Still, he keeps his voice casual (if not a bit softer, dammit Hinata, fucking contagious sentimental hours) as he replies, “Love you too, dipshit. Give me back my fuckin’ juice.”

  “Of course.” Hinata takes one more swig before giving it back, and it’s almost a quarter empty, so maybe Kuzuryuu should have let the bastard keep it, but, eh. He’s too busy focusing on the I love you thing, which they’ve said fairly often throughout their relationship, but, still. He used to think– and Hinata must have, too– that it needed to be saved for big occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries or the days that come particularly rough. But, Kuzuryuu thinks that they’re worth hearing any day, even the particular slow ones, like these.

  Later, they’ll probably go off to work around the island, separate for a bit to apply their talents wherever needed. Kuzuryuu will talk to his friends, hang out with Pekoyama a bit as she trains, and probably spend too much time contemplating to be productive.

  But, it’s still a nice day. Slow, and a bit chilly comparatively, but a nice day.

  And, hey. He can roll with that, he thinks. That they’ve earned their share of peaceful days after everything.

  He shoots a glance over at Hinata while he’s eating. His face is neutral as he fiddles with his sleeve and thinks about something, either entirely random (like the light fixtures, or something), or a topic a bit more serious that he might bring up to Kuzuryuu later. He’s come a long way, in being open with that, but also with just… everything. Both of them have. Hell, the reason they could get together was that growth, getting through it all, that bullshit. All of that shit, to get here.

  And, to be honest? Despite all the shit they went through, the shit that Kuzuryuu wished they didn’t have to go through, wouldn’t have gone through again no matter what…

  … he’s pretty fucking happy that the two of them are here.

  Together.

#kuzuhina #kuzuhina secret santa 2020 #serpenteaus #fieldofsunflowers8 #submission

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ HALSEY / MANIC ( TRACKS 9 –– 16 ) always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse. ** track 13 ‘suga’s interlude’ lyrics were taken from a translation.

“Found you when your heart was broke.”

“I filled your cup until it overflowed.”

“Took it so far to keep you close.”

“I was afraid to leave you on your own.”

“I said I’d catch you if you fall.”

“If they laugh then fuck ‘em all.”

“I got you off your knees, put you right back on your feet, just so you could take advantage of me.”

“Tell me how’s it feel, sitting up there?”

“Feeling so high, but too far away to hold me.”

“You know I’m the one who put you up there.”

“Does it ever get lonely thinking you could live without me?”

“Gave love about a hundred tries.”

“Just running from the demons in your mind, then I took yours and made them mine.”

“I didn’t notice ‘cause my love was blind.”

“You don’t have to say just what you did, I already know.”

“I had to go and find out from them.”

“So tell me how it’s feel.”

“Your eyes so crisp, so green.”

“Sour apple baby but you taste so sweet.”

“You got hips like Jagger and two left feet.”

“I wonder if you’d like to meet.”

“Your voice is velvet through a telephone.”

“You can come to mind but both my roommates are home.”

“Think I know a bar where they would leave us alone.”

“I wonder if you’d take it slow.”

“We’re dancing in my living room, and up come my fists.”

“I say I’m only playing but the truth is this.”

“I’ve never seen a mouth that I would kill to kiss.”

“I’m terrified, but I can’t resist.”

“Beautiful stranger, here you are in my arms.”

“I know that beautiful strangers only come along to do me wrong.”

“I think it’s finally, finally, finally safe for me to fall.”

“I grab your hand and then we run to the car.”

“Singing in the street and playing air guitar.”

“I wonder if it goes too far to say.”

“I’ve never recognized a purer face.”

“You stopped me in my tracks and put me right in my place.”

“I used to think that loving meant a painful chase.”

“You’re right here now and I think you’ll stay.”

“A shining badge, a suit to match.”

“Bit my nails down so they wouldn’t scratch.” 

“Who believes in knees like these?”

“Soft skin, soft eyes.”

“All these beautiful laughs and beautiful thighs.”

“They always kept me up at night.”

“I can’t change my appetite.”

“Your pussy is a wonderland.”

“I could be a better man.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“He and she is her.”

“And her and he are love.”

“I have never felt the difference.”

“A child in all these labels.”

“My girls always wore a skirt.”

“Eating my dessert in the bathroom.”

“Can’t get caught so we stiller than a statue.”

“Bad news, think I’ll probably die before I have you.”

“I live for loving impolite.”

“You’re killing people.”

“No, I’m killing boys.”

“Boys are just placeholders, they come and they go.”

“Told me pick my battles and be picking them wise.”

“I want to pick ‘em all and I don’t want to decide.”

“We’ll sneak in the back and we’ll kick in the door.”

“Tell me, have you ever keyed a Ferrari before?”

“I’m not breaking and I won’t take it.”

“I won’t ever feel this way again.”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“I won’t ever try again.”

“All I want in return is revenge.”

“I don’t need you anymore.”

“Pull up to the drive and I remember the codes.”

“The only fucking numbers you don’t hide in your phone.”

“Climb up to the window and I’m breaking the glass.”

“I stop because I don’t wanna Uma Thurman your ass.”

“Where do you go when I don’t need you anymore?”

“I’ve been trying all my life to separate the time in between the having it all and giving it up.”

** “This wandering with only blueness inside my head.”

** “Self-loathing and pride live in my heart.”

** “I was full of dreams, then I grew and made all of it come true.”

** “Keeping dreams as dreams would be better.”

** “Your convictions, efforts, faith, and greeds is not of ugliness.”

** “The dawn before sunrise is darker than anything.”

** “Never forget the stars you hope for only appear in the dark.”

“I wonder what’s in store if I don’t love it anymore.”

“Step between the having it all and giving it up.”

** “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m really walking.”

** “If I ceaselessly run towards the end of the tunnel, what else would there be?”

** “It’s honestly different to the future I had hoped for.”

** “It doesn’t matter.”

** “Now it’s a matter of survival.”

** “How you live on and how you love might change.”

** “We are too young to be hesitating, just run head-on into it.”

“They told me once nothing grows when a house ain’t a home.”

“Is it true, honestly?”

“A couple years of waiting rooms, finding god and lose him too.”

“Wanna scream, but what’s the use?”

“Lying awake and I stare at the door.”

“I just can’t take it no more.”

“They told me it’s useless, there’s no hope in store.”

“Somehow I just want you more.”

“I want you more.”

“Wooden floors and little feet.”

“A flower bud in concrete.”

“Feeling so incomplete.”

“Wonder will we ever meet?”

“Would you know right away how hard I tried to see your face?”

“A little screen, a photograph mine to take.”

“I sit and I stare at your clothes in the drawer.”

“I cry and my knuckles get sore.”

“I still believe it won’t be like before.”

“When you decide it’s your time to arrive.”

“I’ve loved you for all of my life.”

“Nothing could stop me from giving a try.”

“I should be living the dream.”

“I’m living with a security team.”

“That ain’t gonna change.”

“I got a paranoia in me.”

“You wouldn’t believe everything that I’ve seen.”

“Coming apart at the seams.”  

“No one around me knows who I am or what I’m on.”

“I know that I’ve done some wrong.”

“I’m trying to make it right.”

“Know that I love you but I’m still learning to love myself.”

“I go home and I got no self-esteem.”

“You think I’m swimming in green but it’s passed around the family tree.”

“No man wants to really commit.”

“Man’s intimidated ‘cause I get paid and shit.”

“The same mistakes, on and on.”

“I try and I try to remember sometimes if I breathe it’s alright.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“I really was born at 9:29am on 9/29.”

“You think I’m lying but I’m being dead serious.”

“Okay, I’ll prove it.”

“Who am I?”

“I’m almost 25.”

“Can’t remember half the time that I’ve been alive.”

“Half was in a cheap apartment, half was on the Eastside.”

“Don’t meet your heroes, they’re all fucking weirdos.”

“God knows that they were right.”

“Nobody loves you, they just try to fuck you.”

“Who do you call when it’s late at night.”

“When the headlines just don’t paint the picture rigt.”

“When you look at yourself on a screen.”

“Oh my god, there’s no way that’s me.”

“I quit smoking, well recently I tried.”

“I bought another house and I never go outside.”

“I remember this girl with pink hair.”

“You gotta promise us that you won’t die, ‘cause we need you.”

“Honestly, I think that she lied.”

“I remember the names of every single kid I’ve met.”

“I forget half the people who I’ve gotten in bed.”

“I’ve stared at the sky and hoped my father would finally call me.”

“It’s just these things that I’m thinking for hours.”

“I’m picking my hair out in clumps in the shower.”

“I lost the love of my life to an ivory powder.”

“Then I realized that I’m no higher power.”

“I wasn’t in love then and I’m still not now.”

“I’m so happy that I figured that out.”

“I’ve got a long way to go until self-preservation.”

“Think my moral compass is on a vacation.”

“I can’t believe I still feed my fucking temptation.”

“I’m still looking for my salvation.”

“Soft and slow, watch the minutes go.”

“Count out loud so we know you don’t keep ‘em for yourself.”

“I think I have a confession to make.” 

“I’m a liar, I’m a fucking liar.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #lyric starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #KIND / SENTENCE. #KIND / IN CHARACTER. #BASED ON / LYRICS.

[impossible-rat-babies]

quarter past (two am) 

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

--

The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose. 

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega  as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes. 

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head. 

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega. 

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous.  It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts. 

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth. 

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin’s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.” 

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering. 

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big. 

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?” 

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head. 

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again. 

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.” 

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his. 

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.” 

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave. 

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty. 

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth. 

 And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut. 

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay” 

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.” 

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.” 

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead. 

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.

#fallen hero #fhr #chargestep #owen writes #oc tag #oc: pollux #okay to rebloog go wild #this is the mostly done wip i was lamenting about #i've been meaning to finish this for days #but yeah. pollux hurts even back before hb can you imagine that #pollux voice i will apologize i will apologize i will apologize

[hashtagartistlife]

Maybe fate was called fate because some things weren’t choices; some things were simply written into his DNA, woven into the very fabric of the universe. World orders. The sky is blue. The sun is hot. He is in love with Kuchiki Rukia.

Kuchiki Rukia is dying.  

Ten years after the defeat of Yhwach, it’s time Ichigo and Rukia started facing some truths— about the world, about themselves, and about each other. 

so, i haven’t written anything decent in over a year, but i AM sitting on literal tens of thousands of words of unfinished fic, and i figure, what the hell, there’s some good writing in here that deserves to see the light of day. so in that vein, here’s a couple chapters of my absolute favourite unfinished fic, the one i’m almost too scared to work on because i just want it to be that good. god give me the perseverance and skill to finish this one day because if i leave any legacy behind in the bleach fandom i want it to be this fic. 

the premise for this fic can be found here | this is chapter 1 | chapter 2

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F  r  a  y

 by hashtagartistlife

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It’s rotating

Rotating

Every time the sun and the moon touch each other

Constantly changing its appearance to something new

If there’s something that doesn’t change

It is my impotence

It’s rotating

If destiny is made of gears

And we are the sand in between that is torn apart

There’s nothing left to do but be powerless

If I cannot protect by just extending my hand

I want a blade so I can reach in front of her

The power to crush destiny

—looks like a blade that has been swung down

  One

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.

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12 years ago

Karakura Town

Rukia sleeps like the dead. The irony of this isn’t lost on Ichigo, as he glances out the corner of his eyes to see her out like a light against his covers, her homework splayed everywhere like she isn’t just going to make him do it for her at the last minute again. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful, even as her arms are twisted under her at an awkward angle. She was going to get cramps if she kept sleeping like that. He calls her name, softly and then a little louder, but she doesn’t budge an inch.

He sighs and gathers her up in his arms; she stirs a little, murmuring a sleepy protest that he ignores. He settles her in the closet and arranges the blankets, taking a moment to study the lines of her face.

“Idiot,” he mutters, “stop falling asleep on my bed. I’ll just push you onto the floor next time.”

It’s a lie. Rukia’s only reaction to this is to shift a little in her sleep, to curve her body in his direction like a plant tending towards the sun. He smiles a little at that, despite himself, and fights an inane urge to sweep her hair off her forehead and place a kiss there. 

“Sleep well, Rukia,” he whispers instead, and slides the closet door shut.

She does.

.

.

.

Present Day

Soul Society

Rukia never sleeps.

She wanders through the halls of Kuchiki Manor like a ghost, weaving in and out of lucidity; she’s never slept particularly well, even as a Rukon street rat, but this… this sleepwalking is new. Renji himself tended to be a light sleeper, a product of their shared childhood when uninterrupted sleep had been a luxury they couldn’t afford, but not to this extent. He silently watches the dark circles under her eyes grow bigger and deeper with every passing day, and worries.

In the beginning, the smallest things had woken her up. She often stirred beside him, restless and alert, till well into the small hours of the morning. When he’d brought it up, she’d brushed it off; she’s always had trouble sleeping, she said. He should know this by now, and it isn’t anything to worry about—she can take care of herself, Renji, didn’t he trust her? It had sounded an awful lot like a dismissal, a warning to drop it, so he had.

But then she’d had Ichika, and things changed.

The first time he catches her slipping out of bed, he assumes that she is going for a walk in the garden. It was a habit she was slipping into more nights than most, and he doesn’t think twice. But when he wakes up again in the pre-dawn, and discovers the futon beside him still empty, he panics. He finds her at the gate, a cold hand on the latch, as if to walk out; god knows how long she’s been there for. When he touches her on the shoulder, turns her around, she blinks like she’s surfacing from a trance. Her eyes haze, then refocus.

“Renji…?” she asks, in a voice so thready it’s barely audible, “What are you doing here?”

He swallows the same question rising in his throat and mutters something hasty about how she’s been too tired lately; she should take the day off. She looks surprised at that, and quietly follows him back to the manor. She does as he advises and stays home that day.

It doesn’t help. The very next night Renji catches her slipping out of bed again. He grabs her by a wrist, but then she turns to him and whispers, eyes clear—

“Ichigo?”

He freezes, and when she pulls her arm from his grip, he lets her slip through his fingers once more.

Ichigo?

His hands fist in the sheets of their shared bed; he hasn’t seen an expression like that on her in over a decade. Hopeful, young, happy—

A boy with bright orange hair, and a sword as long as his height.

Renji finds, once again, that he is at a loss for what to do next.

He thinks that maybe he didn��t have a clue from the start.

.

.

.

Present day

10:05 am

Karakura Town

 A beat of silence, then—

“Yo.”

“Hey!”

His face is familiar, but the carefully mild expression on it is not. Rukia finds that she dislikes it, but it isn’t her place to say anymore. She shoulders her way into the clinic, and ignores the way the heat of his body still radiates like it did ten years ago.  She scoffs a little, wracks her mind for an appropriate jab that might recapture their easy banter from once upon a time; but what leaves her lips makes little sense, considering the fact that this is her first time seeing him in ten years (let alone setting foot in the clinic). Thankfully, he rises to the bait.

“I see this little place is as empty as ever. And is that—yup, I think I even hear some crickets!”

“Shut up. This is an emergency clinic, so it’s a good thing it’s empty, isn’t it?”

He hasn’t lost his habit of grumbling under his breath about her insults. Rukia allows a small smile to touch her lips as she makes her way to the living room, confident with the layout of the place; she doubts renovation is a thought that crosses his mind with any frequency. She encounters the old Karakura gang, and the twins; they’d all grown so much. The twins, especially; she would have gathered them both into hugs and pat them on their heads, had they not both been grown women and far taller than her now. Orihime comes down to greet her, beaming, in an apron—there’s an edge of surrealism to all of this, almost. She looks well, and for that, Rukia is glad. Everyone looks well. Peacetime suits them.

There’s a small kerfuffle as Ichigo rejoins them, and he points out that her daughter is missing. Rukia starts, and finds it to be true. She and Renji split up to find her; Ichigo accompanies her, nagging all the while.

“—nbelievable, how do you lose your own daughter—“

“Hey, I don’t see your child hanging around the premises! Don’t you have a son, too?”

“Kazui’s—Kazui’s fine, Orihime’s keeping a watch on him—“

“Yeah, well, I’m telling you Ichika’s fine too, there’s nothing in the human world that could possibly hurt her—“

She stumbles; a wave of vertigo hits her and she loses her balance, careening towards the asphalt in front of his house. He’s there in an instant, arms strong around her waist; he pulls her back upright and doesn’t let her go. “Easy—“

She pulls away, only to sway again and grip onto his arm for support. Shit, not this today. She thought it had been getting better lately—Ichigo didn’t need to deal with this.

His brow furrows, and he almost looks fifteen again. “Hey, Rukia, are you—“

“—I’m fine,” she cuts him off, struggling to sound nonchalant, but the hand fisted in his shirt is trembling. She’ll let go soon, when the world around her stops spinning. “I’m just a little tired—“

“Rukia,” he says quietly, and she ignores him, focusing on channelling strength back into her legs. For the love of everything holy, why couldn’t she stop shaking—

“Rukia,” he repeats, louder, and grips her shoulders. “Rukia, stop—“

“Stop what?” she asks weakly, then: “Oh.”

His hair and clothes are dusted white with snow; the tips of his fingers, where he’s touching her, are frosted over blue. Ice creeps over the street and telephone poles in tendrils. Rukia heaves an unsteady breath and closes her eyes, pulling the fraying edges of her reiatsu back within herself.

When she opens them again, he’s inches from her face.

“Kami—“ she jerks back, snatching her arm from his grasp. “Have you ever heard of personal space, Ichigo—“

“Like you ever respected mine?” he retorts, but straightens up; his hands rub the nape of his neck. “What was that, Rukia?”

“Nothing,” she snaps. She draws her arms around herself to still the trembling. “Like I said, I’m tired—“

“To this extent? How hard are they working you over at the Seireitei—“

“I can take care of myself!” the words come out too loud, echoing in the empty street. “Need I remind you, I’m centuries older than you are—“

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a midget I’d remember that once in a while—“

“Hey, Ichigo, Rukia! We found her!” Renji’s call interrupts their bickering, and they draw away from each other hastily; they’d been leaning in towards each other again. Rukia deliberately turns away from Ichigo.

“You found her? Where was she?”

“In Ichigo’s room. Well, Yuzu’s room, now, I suppose. She was with Kazui. I think we were worried for nothing, Rukia, they get along like a house on fire.”

“Oh—good. Good.” She’s still a little disoriented, so Renji’s words are taking some time to sink in; he eyes her face, paler than usual, and steps up to put an arm around her. Ordinarily, she would have been annoyed at him for that, but today she appreciates the support. She tries not to visibly sag as she leans against him.

Ichigo’s eyes burn holes into her all the way back to the clinic. 

.

.

.

9:46 pm

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Rukia disguises the fatigue that has settled over her like a shroud by staying close to Renji and surreptitiously leaning against him whenever things get too hard. She puts on a bright façade for everyone else; she thinks she does a convincing job, too, but Ichigo’s eyes linger on her all the same. Orihime prattles on about how they hadn’t seen each other in ages and she’s so happy for the two of them and isn’t Ichika just a darling? They must be so proud—

She nods weakly, glad that Orihime is the kind of person who can hold up entire conversations on her own. She has missed them too, she has, how could she not—but the circumstances of their reunion are less than ideal, and she knows that she won’t be able to see them again for a long time after this. Even after ten years of stability, opening a doorway into the gensei is precarious business; missions in the world of the living are now all long-term, to minimise the number of passages being opened. Their own trip had been a very, very special extenuation, granted only because the reason the universe still stood as it did today was Ichigo.

A week was all they’d been given. After that, who knew when they could return? So, she is trying, she is trying—but her body is so, so heavy, and the pressure of keeping her wildly fluctuating reiatsu under wraps is taking its toll. She participates less and less in the conversation, hoping people won’t take notice.

Ichigo puts his foot down when she nods off for the fifth time in as many minutes; he cuts the party short and ushers everyone out, with the promise that they could all return tomorrow. She tries to protest when he directs them to the guest bedroom – ‘Urahara has a place for us, we shouldn’t intrude’—but it’s Orihime who tells them don’t be silly, Kazui and Ichika are such fast friends, it’d be a shame to split them up already. The children are excitedly building a pillow fort under the dining room table, and, too tired to argue, Rukia acquiesces.

As soon as Renji hits the bed, he falls straight asleep. He’s had a rough few nights, what with her tossing and turning keeping him awake, too, and Rukia feels a wave of guilt wash over her. She hopes tonight will be a little more restful for him. She stretches out gingerly on the double bed next to him, tucking the covers around her and closing her eyes.

The last thing she is conscious of before the suffocating embrace of sleep is the deep low hum of Ichigo’s reiatsu through the house.

.

.

.

2:57 am

Ichigo wakes to the sound of the clinic door opening.

Beside him, Orihime is still sound asleep; his wife had always been a deep sleeper, capable of ignoring storms, earthquakes, and anything else the Karakura night cared to throw at them. Ichigo, on the other hand, woke often; a holdover from nights spent hunting hollows, from sleep frequently interrupted by a hiss in his ear and a small hand slamming into his forehead. He sits up and shakes the last vestiges of his dreams –curiously unsettled tonight—from his mind, and shuffles outside to investigate.

It’s not the kids. They’re both fast asleep, holed up in their pillow fort; he tiptoes past them, careful not to wake either. He steps out onto the street, and his breath catches in his throat.

Rukia’s there. She’s ethereal in the moonlight, white skin almost glowing, that true-black hair swaying behind her with the wind. She’s looking up, up, up, to something he can’t see, and the curve of her neck and the delicate line of her wrists and ankles captivate him. Had she always been this fragile-looking?

“Rukia,” he rasps, voice still scratchy with sleep, “what are you doing?”

She turns her head to face him; her eyes are huge and dark like bruises in the pale moon of her face. Something about her gaze is both clear and dreamy; Ichigo has the feeling that she’s seeing right through him to something beyond, but also focusing on him with the kind of relentless intensity he only half-remembers from dreams of the past. She takes a tentative step in his direction. 

“Ichigo?” she asks, in a voice as intransient as smoke, and he does not back away.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” 

She reaches for him and, instinctively, automatically, he mirrors her; he is expecting her to need support, to meet his hands with hers, but instead she goes straight past his open arms to place her hands on either side of his face.

Before he has time to react, she leans up and kisses him.

Everything in him short-circuits; the world slows and all he is aware of is the softness of her lips on his. They part slightly, and the breathy sigh she lets out electrifies all of his senses. Faster than his thoughts can catch up, his hands are gripping her shoulders and he thinks that maybe he meant to push her away, but finds he’s only clutching her closer, closer. His eyelids fall shut with a groan as her mouth opens under his — and then the kiss changes, dangerous and hot and wanting. 

He presses his face blindly into hers, and walks her backwards into the stone wall that surrounds his house. She lets out a tiny gasp as her back hits the rough surface, and he uses the distraction to sweep his tongue across hers. Her fingers curl viciously into his neck and he revels in the sensation; there’s nothing but her her her in this world, her taste in his mouth and her scent in his nose and the feel of her skin, fever-hot, against his own. His fingers move to tangle in her hair and she makes a noise at the back of her throat that destroys what little rationality he has left; he hitches her up against the wall and kisses her as though she’s about to dissolve into thin air.

They both draw back for air at the same time; their eyes meet across the infinitesimal space and then Rukia blinks, once, twice, before Ichigo sees something click back into those bruised-violet depths.

“Ichigo…?”

A realisation of his own slams into place; his eyes widen and he disentangles himself from her, stepping back frantically as though that will erase what has just transpired between them. He only barely resists the childish urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Rukia slides down the wall without his weight holding her up; the dreamy glaze is gone completely from her eyes, and it’s replaced instead with a bone-deep weariness that sets Ichigo’s instincts on edge. Half of him wants to run far, far away from her, the other half wants to gather her into his arms and—

“Ichigo, what are you doing here?”

The tone of her voice, slightly irritated, so ridiculously normal, brings him back down to earth. He casts about in his jumbled mind for a suitable response and flings the first one he finds at her.

“Y—I could ask you the same thing—“

She seems to notice her surroundings then, looking side to side at the deserted street. An expression somewhere between horror and resignation crosses her face. “I—was I sleepwalking—?“

“Was that what it was?”  he retorts, the memory of the kiss burning in his mind. His face feels uncomfortably hot. “Rukia, what’s going on with you—“

“Nothing!” she snaps, but then she sways on the spot; in a flare of panic, Ichigo flash-steps beside her, and she falls into his chest. The spike of reiatsu through his body after not having called upon it for years makes his head spin, but he braces them both against a telephone pole and they manage to stay upright. Her jasmine-scented hair tickles his nose.

“Rukia—“ his voice is thick, choked, but she pushes him aside; impatient, indignant.

“I’m fine, Ichigo, you don’t have to treat me like a child—sleepwalking is hardly a medical emergency.”

She takes a deep breath, before standing on her own; her knees are a little wobbly, but she turns her back on him once more, just as she did that morning. “I’m going back to bed. You should, too.”

A pause. Then, softer; “Goodnight, Ichigo.”

The door to his clinic swings shut after her, and Ichigo slides down the telephone pole slowly.

His heartbeat thunders in his ears in a way that it hasn’t in ten years. 

#bleach #ichiruki #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #writer life #bleach fanfic #686 compliant but we ignore the hell out of the novels babey #f r a y

[spicyboilouis]

pt 2 to it’s over isn’t it

(Only because I love them too much to see the suffer)

Regulus lived out his adult life and is now in a retiring home where he watches Disney movies with the teenagers who volunteer here. Regulus likes it a lot. He’s used to being on his own anyway. Sirius died a couple of years back and Remus died a couple of months after that. Regulus likes to think that Remus just could not live in a world where Sirius Black was not in. Regulus was still here and it was as nice as being alone could be. Well, he wasn’t as alone as he makes himself out to be. Harry and Ginny and their children would often visit him on the weekends and sometimes Ron and Hermione would tag along as well. Today was Saturday and in came the Potters. Ginny said she would take the kids to eat while Harry talked to Regulus. Which Regulus thought was odd, but didn’t question it.

“Papa! Hey how are you doing?”

“Harry oh darling I’m fine. How are you”

Harry sat dragged a chair to be by Regulus bed and was looking pretty serious. Regulus frowned and took Harry’s hand. Harry smiled a bit before a frown took over again.

“There’s just this one thing I need to ask you. I’ve had this question since I was 16.”

“Ok...whats the question Harry?”

Harry took a deep breath before looking into Regulus eyes. Harry’s eyes were filled with sadness and this whole interaction wasn’t making sense to Regulus. What was happening?

“Did you have a crush on my biological dad? It’s just the way you talk about my birth dad is the same way I talk about Ginny, and the same way Ron talks about Hermione.” Regulus can’t hold the truth from Harry anymore. Regulus doesn’t know when he’s gonna die but he knows it soon. So he gives him an answer.

“That’s a...tricky thing to answer. Well I guess you could say yes. We dated for a year before in joined the death eaters by my parents will. Once I came to my senses and fled it had been to late. Your father was with your mother.” Regulus already felt the tears and but he shook them away and sat up a bit squeezing Harry’s hand. “I was too late and I saw how happy Lily made James and I couldn’t come between that. He much happier with Lily then he was with me. So I just became his close friend. It’s pathetic i know, but I just wanted to feel close to him even though he wasn’t mine anymore. I wanted him to be happy more than anything in this world...I still do.” Harry had tears running down his cheeks and he leaned forward planting his elbows into the mattress.

“Regulus Arcturus Black you are not pathetic...you’re in love.” Regulus rolled his eyes out of habit but Harry kept going. “ You loved my dad so much you let him be happy with someone else. You’re so strong. I don’t think I’d ever be able to just see Ginny happy with someone else everyday.”

“Be thankful you never have to deal with that. It’s the worse type of pain. One that for me never went away.”

“Is that why you never dated anyone? My whole life I’ve never seen you dating anyone.” Regulus laughed because merlin knows he’s tried.

“I’ve been on some yes...none of them felt right. Ugh I must sound like Snape going on about Lily” Harry snickered but quickly assured Regulus he’s nothing like snape.

“Im glad you told me papa” Regulus smiled and Ginny returned with the kids and everything was alright.

~~~~

It was Sunday morning and the whole family was sitting at the table eating their breakfast and talking. The phone rang and Ginny went to answer it.

“Hello is this the Potter residence?”

“Yes it is who is this?”

“Oh sorry this is the retiring home your relative is at a mister....Regulus Black?”

“Oh yes! That’s my father in law”

“Yes, sadly he passed away last night. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh...thank you” Ginny hung up the phone, and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. Harry would depend on her during this hard time and she needed to be strong for him. She decided to tell Harry and then they’d tell the kids together. She sat back down and said the call was from some kid playing a telephone prank.

After breakfast Ginny pulled Harry into their bedroom and sat him on the bed.

“Ginny? What’s wrong?” She sat down on his lap and wrapped her his shoulders.

“Harry the call at breakfast wasn’t from a prank caller.”

“Ok...who was it from then?”

“...the retirement home”

“Oh did we forgot something while visiting pa?”

“No honey...Regulus died last night” Harry got pale and was stiff. The tears already welling up in his eyes.

“He died? No...they’re lying” Ginny pulled him into a hug rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Why would they lie about something like that love?”

“I don’t know! They just have to be lying he can’t....he can’t be dead. He can’t be dead he’s my dad” Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny’s waist hugging her back and it was such a tight hug but Ginny didn’t dare say anything.

~~~~~~~~

Regulus fell asleep in the retirement home and woke up in a white room. A weird lady with short blue hair showed him around and dropped him off at some weird common place. There were so many people around him he was a bit overwhelmed. He missed Harry he knew Harry was going to be devastated once he found out. A weird parting was formed and he saw Harry sobbing and Ginny hugging and comforting him.

“Oh don’t cry darling please. I love you so much Harry so please don’t cry too much.”

~~~~~

Afterlife wasn’t so bad James found it kinda freeing no more stupid war. He did terribly miss the people who were still alive. He missed Sirius like crazy. He wanted to be able to raise his son with his wife and for baby Harry to have a nice family. That dream basically went to shit when both James and Lily died. They watched over Harry from above and were pleasantly surprised when Regulus took Harry in. James missed Regulus a lot...a lot more than he should for being just friends with him.

Lily and James were both looking down at their own funerals when they both heard Regulus love confession about James to Remus. Lily was sad for a bit because she knew that James was still in love with Regulus. She knew and she wanted James to be happy so she let him go. They’re still the best of friends no bad blood between them.

James was just walking around aimlessly as one does when they’re bored when he paused. He heard something familiar but couldn’t place it. James being the gryffindor he is went after the sound and found a man sitting and looking down. He was muttering to himself and was shaking.

“...please don’t cry darling everything’s gonna be ok Harry”

James’ eyes went wide as the realization struck.

“...Regulus?” Regulus turned quickly because he could never forget that voice.

“James” for a second it was just them standing there looking at each other like the other wasn’t real. James couldnt take it and pulled him into a hug burrying his nose into Regulus’ neck to just breathe him in. Hot tears landed on him and Regulus was hugging him really tightly.

“Baby shhh it’s ok you’re alright now.” The crying seemed to increase by that sentence and James could do nothing more than say comforting words and rub his back.

“baby? what happened to lily?”

“Ah the whole death do us part kinda took its course now we’re apart as in not dating not married. We kinda realized we aren’t a match for each other.”

“Oh well in that case...”

James smirked his hands rose up to cradle regulus’ head in his hands.

“in that case?”

“I’m in love with you have been for a while.” James laughed squeezing Regulus face together.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner Reggie because I love you too...I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you” Regulus looked so happy and he was. Regulus was insanely happy because James loves him. James loves Regulus.

“Can I kiss you?” James nodded and so they kissed and Regulus never felt as happy as he does right now. Who knew that dying would get him and James back together.

#HAHAHAHA #written at 3 am #james potter #harry potter #jegulus #sirius black #remus lupin #regulus black #wolfstar #marauders era #lilyevans #lgbt #lily evans #fanfiction

[queenmaracasandlove]

You’re My Best (Sex) Friend - Roger Taylor x F!Reader - Part VIII

Word Count: +/- 3100

In the last part: Linda revealed to Y/N that she had asked Roger to stop talking to her as she suspected he was in love with her even though she had argued the contrary for months.

Warnings: Mention of depression

A/N: We’re coming very close to the end. I would love to know what you think about it !

PART I PART II PART III PART V PART VI PART VII

MASTERLIST

Taglists:

- Permanent: @reedusteinrambles​

- YMB(S)F: @ixchel-9275 ; @the-galaxy-witch​

Photo found on @debdarkpetal​ ‘s blog

The weeks had passed and things had been eventful for Y/N. At the same time, she had been able to find a new peace. Revelations provided by Linda had been hard to accept. First she had to deal with the fact that she had been lied to but also with the fact that her girlfriend had gone behind her back. At first she had wanted to forget, because she was overwhelmed by guilt. Y/N was still convinced that she had a part of responsibility in what had happened, that she had been unfair to Linda from the beginning. But trust had been lost and nothing could be done about that anymore. 

She also had to come to terms with the fact that Roger might be in love with her. Linda confessed that, in reality, she had always suspected it and that all the doubts had turned to facts when they had met for the first time. Y/N could not be sure that what Linda was claiming was true. Even though Roger stopping any contact with her might have been a admission of it as a truth, she was too tired. Tired of it all. She had decided to put everything behind her, and that included her potential relationship with the singer. She still cared about him as a friend but she needed time for herself. 

Y/N also had to deal with the fact that she was going through a bad time from a mental health perspective and she had decided to give herself time to heal and recover. She needed to be better, to be good to herself and to deal with what was going on. She had resigned from her job in the London production and thanks to having stayed at Roger’s for a bit she had been able to find a place just right for herself. She had had time for a two-week break before starting the rehearsal for the tour, a job she had eventually decided to accept and was greatly thankful for. 

And so here she was, feeling more alive than she had for months. She realised how toxic the situation had been for her. She was happy to perform a lead role and she was finding a new confidence. She had new colleagues and loved tour life. Every city was different and each performance full of surprises. She contacted some old friends and made new ones. After some time she called Freddie, Brian and John again. All were happy to hear about her. Freddie was the only one who asked about Roger and for the first time in a while, Y/N  was able to say his name without feeling any kind of pain. She would call him, once she would be ready, as a friend. 

And by this fine morning of the end of July, she felt like she was. It was Roger’s birthday and she would always wish him a good one, although most of the time it was face to face at a birthday party. She was performing in Portsmouth on that week and had enjoyed a little walk on the beach in the morning, even went for a little swim. After taking a shower, she sat on the bed and put the telephone on her legs before dialing Roger’s number. She had thought about was she was going to tell him, how he would react. She wanted to get things straight. 

To be perfectly honest, there was still one thing that was worrying her, the possibility of losing him, for good. As a dear friend more than anything else. Still, she would accept it and embrace all that life would have to offer. She wanted to come clear, apologize and in any case, forge ahead. She heard sounds on the line and was waiting to hear the raspy voice she admittedly missed.

‘Hello’

It was a feminine voice and Y/N was taken aback. It was not something she had expected. 

‘Sorry, wrong number’

And she hung up. She closed her eyes for a second and smiled. It was for the best. He was happy and so was she. And it was all that mattered. 

                                                   ----------

The Summer tour had ended earlier than expected for Y/N, and not for a bad reason. A producer had come to see her and wanted her for the West End premiere of A Chorus Line, a new show from Broadway. This was a major opportunity and after making sure that it would not be a problem for the production that she had signed with she had moved back to London. She felt wonderful in this new show, in fact, she had never felt better. And this is why she had agreed to come to Queen’s concert that night. To be honest it was the kind of event she would not have missed for the world.

She had managed to get that evening free and was enjoying the warm breeze of indian Summer. She could not believe how many people were present in Hyde Park to attend her friends’ free concert. Freddie had given her VIP tickets months ago, when she was still with Linda and life was a lot different. At first she wanted to go with the rest of the crowd as any other fan, but Brian had convinced her to come and say hello from the side. 

Although Freddie had been especially supportive, he was more about distracting yourself from what was wrong than facing them. Brian on the other side had called Y/N several times after her panic attack, wanting to make sure everything was fine. All he cared about was her being alright and he never asked questions that made her uncomfortable. When he felt that she was doing well enough, he insisted that they all see each other again at the concert. 

It was the first time she was seeing them on stage since the Christmas Eve concert and she was all so excited. She loved to see them on stage and  it was still hard to believe that this group of young lads had become this incredibly successful band. She watched the beginning of the show inside the crowd, as she had planned first. It was electrifying from there. And when the people around her started singing along with Freddie she could not help but cry a little. She felt incredibly happy and proud. After a few songs she came closer to the stage’s sides and after showing her pass was given access to a more private area. 

‘Y/N’ a voice shouted

She turned and saw Christine waving at her. She was Brian’s fiancée and she had met her when the guitarist had brought her to see her new show. Next to her was Marie who even though was not in a romantic relationship with Freddie anymore stayed supportive. They greeted each other quickly before focusing back on the concert. Y/N discovered a few new songs and was entirely captured by the moment. 

Too soon for her own taste, the show came to an end. She kept shouting, still in the euphoria of the moment. She did not hear Marie talking to her before her hand fell on her shoulder and she saw that most people had left the area. 

‘Are you coming with us’ she asked ‘We’re meeting them backstage’

‘Of course’

The only thing that she wanted right now was to congratulate them for the amazing show, tell them how great they were. She was almost jumping as she followed the little group behind the enormous stage that had been built in the heart of London. As the crowd was scattering, she could still hear some of them singing and she could not help but smile. Everybody seemed to have something to do behind the massive stage and she was so mesmerised by the structure that she did not see John and Brian coming in their direction. It’s only when she sensed the little excitation around her that she looked behind her. 

Y/N stayed where she was. She did not feel out of place but she knew she was not as close as she used to be. They all had their lives now. She suddenly realised how they all had changed, her included. How lucky they were, all living their dreams. They were not so much young adults now. John was a dad and Brian was getting married. It felt so surreal. Suddenly she realised that somebody was looking at her and she was taken away from her daydreams. She had seen him before but could not remember his name.

‘Who are you? Do you have permission to be here?’

She recognised an Irish accent and a tone that she did not appreciate very much.

‘I’m with the band’ she said

‘I don’t think so’ he replied, one of his eyebrow raised

‘Really?’ she sighed

She was now looking in her bag to fetch the VIP pass but much to her surprise, could not find them. She was still looking when she felt the hand of the Irish guy grabbing her arm. 

‘You little groupies really have no shame’ he said

‘What the fuck’ was all Y/N could say as she was pushed away 

She started to protest and asked him to remove his hand but he did not listen to her. Technicians where all over the place and she feared nobody she knew would notice what was happening. But as the conversation -if you could call it that way- became heated, the man was stopped by someone calling him. He finally let go of her and found Roger next to them. 

‘May I know what you think you’re doing Prenter?’ he demanded, his jaw tensed

‘This little twat managed to get backstage’

‘How did you just call me’ Y/N screamed

She was about to slap him but before she could do so Roger uttered her name and she froze. The drummer indicated to the so-called Prenter to clear off before it was too late and looked at Y/N, surprised. 

‘Thank you’ she said ‘I was about to beat the shit out of him’

‘You’re welcome, I don’t doubt that you would have’ he added, smirking

‘Who’s this piece of shit?’ you declared, too angry to watch your language

‘Paul Prenter, part of Freddie’s team unfortunately’ 

‘I swear I was about to rearrange his teeth before you arrived’ she insisted

‘I would have loved to see that, sincerely’ he joked ‘But then I would have had to see you go away in a police car when I haven’t got a chance to see you in so long’

Y/N smiled timidly. He did not seem angry at her and she finally relaxed. Roger too had changed over the past few months but he still had the same gaze that could unsettle you in a blink of an eye, literally. They both stay silent, it did not last long in reality but for the both of them it was an eternity. 

‘So, what are you doing here?’ he asked as if the answer was not obvious

‘Just wanted to see the greatest band on the planet’

‘Might call Prenter back, you do sound like a groupie’

‘Shut up’ she laughed before adding, ‘Freddie invited me, I hope….’

And before she could finish her sentence he hugged her. It was a little cautious at first but they both gave in. It felt so natural and so good, as if their bodies never forgot how it felt and the warmth that it provided to them. It did not last long but it was enough.

‘I missed you, love’ he simply said

‘I missed you too, Rog’ she smiled

There was so much she wanted to say. So many things she wanted to apologize for, but something in Roger’s eyes prevented her from doing so. He seemed so happy to see her, to be here with her that she did not want to do anything that could change things. If this was the last nice moment they could spend together then she would make the most of it. Anyway, it was the band’s big moment and the last thing she wanted was to tarnish it with her stupid choices. However, this made it harder to know what to say. 

‘I have yet to congratulate the rest of the band’ was what first came to her mind

‘Of course’ he softly smiled

They both walked back towards where the group was standing. Paul was staying a little behind them and although she was still angry, Y/N’s lip corner moved upward at the idea that maybe he felt frightened by her. Only Brian noticed that they both arrived at the same time and gently smiled at the young woman. She suddenly felt all the excitement coming back and could not stop talking about how great the show was and how in love she was with the new songs. 

Unfortunately it was quite late and soon enough it was time for everybody to leave. It was the last date of their little Summer tour and soon they would be promoting their new album. Now was time to enjoy a few weeks of well deserved rest. Y/N did not want to be in the way and decided to leave quickly after they were told to do so. Once again, she congratulated the whole band and thanked them profusely for the invitation.

‘You can wait and I’ll drop you’ Roger said as she started walking away

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I know your going to take ages and I’m knackered. But thanks Roger, I appreciate it’

She truly did. But the night had been amazing and she did not wanted to play with the odds of it turning bad in the end. Roger did not protest. She looked worried, as if she was still waiting for him to be angry at her, but nothing in his behaviour seemed to be going in this direction. And so she went.

                                                       --------

Two weeks had passed since the concert and Y/N was back to her normal life. It had not been simple to come back done to the rush from that night. For a few hours everything had been so perfect and she had felt so good with her friend, but she had to go back to the usual life and she was fine with it too. The show was going strong and it was rumoured that they might be nominated for the first edition of an award that was supposed to mirror the Americain Tonys. 

Obviously she was thinking about Roger from time to time. Still, she wanted to stay true to her decision and leave the ideal of a love relationship behind. Regarding their friendship, she would wait until he made the first move if he wanted to, she did not want to push him. She wondered if he would go as far as looking for her number but she was surprised when, arriving at the theatre the next Wednesday, she found a flower bouquet in her dressing room. Freddie had sent her once after he came to see her but she doubted it would be from him. She looked at the note and her hand immediately covered her mouth as she let out a little gasp. 

Dear Y/N, 

You were shining on that stage yesterday. You always shine.

Congratulations.

Love, Roger

P.S: Please call me here xxxxxxxxxx

He had used a neat handwriting and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the amazing scent coming from the flowers. Why did he have come without telling her? His words were so nice, the attention so nice. She pressed the little card to her heart as she smiled for an instant. She looked and the number, it was not the one from the flat. She bit her lips before considering what to do. She was early to the theatre and there was a phone downstairs. She hesitated but agreed with herself that she would her heartbeat -which rhythm had drastically increased- would not calm down until she had called. 

She used the phone, wondering if he would be home and smiling to all the people that walked in the corridor. It was not the most intimate place for a phone call but she did not really have a choice. 

‘Hello’ she tried ‘Is Roger Taylor here?’

‘Y/N!’ he exclaimed on the other side of the line

‘Roger. Thank you so much for the flower. You did not have to.’

‘You deserve it. You were amazing’

‘So… You wanted me to call?’ she went on, discomfited by the compliments

‘Yes!’ he said before staying silent again

‘And what for..?’ Y/N asked

‘Well… I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Rog’ spit it please. I don’t have all day’ she said, a little annoyed

‘Would you come to Brian’s wedding with me?’

It was Y/N’s turn to stay silent. This was unexpected to say the least. She knew Brian was getting married at the end of the month but she had not been invited. She understood. Brian was quite private and even though they were friends, she did not feel they were as close as for her to be invited in a intimate ceremony. Why would Roger invite her? What was this all about?

‘Y/N’ she heard him say softly

‘I haven’t been invited Roger’

‘I know. I am inviting you’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As in, my plus one’

Y/N was taken aback. Was it supposed to be… a date? She sighed. This is not exactly how she had expected things to turn out. Everything was going so well for her now. The last thing she wanted was to throw it all away by falling for Roger all over again. 

‘Why me?’ she dared ask

‘I… I don’t want to go with a random girl and I don’t feel like going alone either’

So was it just going to be like before? Did he think that their relationship could start the way it was before? Hooking up when they were both single and needed affection. She was not into this anymore.

‘And I want to spend time with you. I want you to come with me. Please’

She could almost hear a whimper in the last word. She hesitated, closed her eyes for a second, tightened her grip receiver. Right now it was time to listen to her head and say goodbye to her deepest wish forever or listen to her heart and give it one last chance.

#queenmaracasandlove #You're my best (sex) friend #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fiction #queen fiction #ben!roger x reader

[ingek73]

Perhaps Ghislaine Maxwell can fill in some blanks for Epstein's ‘bewildered’ friends

Marina Hyde

It’s strange that Prince Andrew never felt it was odd that his middle-aged pal was always surrounded by teenage girls

Published: 15:37 Friday, 03 July 2020

Spare a thought for Prince Andrew – and, indeed, a brain cell. As his landmark Newsnight interview with Emily Maitlis showed, the Queen’s second son really is sensationally thick, even by the standards of a family internationally famed for their dimbulbery, certainly since the time of George I. If the Falklands war hadn’t robbed Andrew of the ability to sweat, now would definitely be the moment to break out a bead or two.

Instead, I see the Duke of York is once again “bewildered”, following the US arrest of his close friend Ghislaine Maxwell, charged with the sex trafficking of underage girls. HRH is “bewildered” that this dramatic event has led to yet another podium shout-out from US prosecutors, who insist again that they want to interview him about his close friend Jeffrey Epstein and the latter’s crimes (don’t call it a “lifestyle”). “We would like to have the benefit of his statement,” one US attorney said pointedly on Thursday. The previous occupant of her post had claimed Andrew was refusing to help – and yet, according to Andrew’s lawyers, he has been in touch with US authorities twice in the past month, and their failure to respond has apparently led to the latest bout of bewilderment.

Which version is the most strictly accurate? US attorneys have a reputation for publicity-seeking, so it really could be either party being economic with their interpretation of the truth. There would be a certain poetic justice if it were Prince Andrew who is now being used for something or other. Oh dear. One finds oneself karma’s bitch.

If it helps the duke get his head around that potential scenario: he is being used because he has come to be perceived as weak and powerless. He is viewed as a somewhat worthless figure who would nonetheless be quite the adornment to events. He is being toyed with, gaslit and goaded, and this really is a no-win situation for him. People’s default position on the things he says is disbelief. His desperate assertions are dismissed as lies, the fact that he would make them branded a joke. He is an object of ridicule, scorn and social disdain. Even his mother clearly believed he should go away quietly.

On the plus side, the duke isn’t feeling one thousandth of what it felt like to be one of the many teenage girls and young women who would also feel all those things, as they were drawn into Epstein’s web of rape and abuse, then spat out and threatened into miserable, permanently damaged silence. On the other hand, Andrew is certainly feeling SOMETHING that is never going to go away.

He may yet feel something more concrete than that, given that Ghislaine Maxwell will now be strongly encouraged toward total candour. Cast your mind back to Andrew’s impolitic reflections on his longtime friend in the Newsnight interview. Asked about Maxwell, he said: “If there are questions that Ghislaine has to answer, that is her problem, I’m afraid.” (Very brave, sire. Was there even a single line in the entire 592-car pile-up in which he didn’t make a number of situations worse for himself? The deep vulnerabilities the interview opened up are still revealing themselves to us like a slowly unfurling lotus blossom.)

Still, if only the prince’s bewilderment – and that of many others – had kicked in rather earlier. Part of me wonders whether something like the Vietnam war had robbed HRH of the ability to feel bewildered during his friendship with Epstein. Otherwise he might have felt bewildered as to why his middle-aged friend was so often surrounded by teenage girls. He might have felt it bewildering to go to Ghislaine Maxwell’s house, reportedly after a visit to Tramp nightclub, and pass the rest of the evening with two other people in their 40s and a 17-year-old girl. Unless he knew exactly what was going on, that situation should have bewildered the shit out of him. (I should mention that Prince Andrew is bewildered by anyone who fails to accept he wasn’t there that night, but at Pizza Express in Woking.)

This, alas, is why it’s so hard to believe all the frightful bollocks about “not knowing” being spouted by so many rich and powerful former friends of Epstein. One of the most telling admissions in Filthy Rich, the Epstein documentary currently showing on Netflix, comes from the former telephone engineer on Epstein’s private island. “You tell yourself that you didn’t know for sure and you never really saw anything, but that’s all just rationalisation. Jeffrey Epstein, he was a guy who concealed his deviance very well – but he didn’t conceal it that well.”

Well, quite. There are many cases of huge and systematic abuse where we still pander to the people who turned a blind eye to it, by saying that it was “a sophisticated operation”. Epstein’s operation was certainly expensive. But was it sophisticated? How sophisticated is it really when your private Caribbean property is known locally as “Paedophile Island”?

It was much the same with Michael Jackson, whose child abuse operation is again always described as “sophisticated”. And yet, was it? The guy installed a massive fairground outside his creepy house, told people he slept with kids in his bed, and was dogged for decades by lawsuits from children – always boys, always around the same age, always alleging the same patterns of behaviour. Expensive, yes, but not sophisticated. Didn’t need to be.

One of Jackson’s former advisers once claimed to have said to him: “Michael, you’re going to wind up in a lot of trouble. Why don’t you stop all this stuff with the young boys?” Jackson’s deathless reply was: “I don’t want to.” For me, that is the absolute definitive Michael Jackson line. “I don’t want to.” You can hear it now, in that unmistakeable singsong voice, suffused with an absolute indifference to anything other than personal gratification, and the absolute conviction that one way or another you’re going to get away with it. Which proved to be the case. Why don’t you stop sexually abusing children? “I don’t want to.”

In the case of Jackson and Epstein’s servants, the silence about the “lifestyle issues” of their employer is unforgivable, yet easily explained. They depended on the men for their income. But in the case of the many, many rich people who turned a blind eye to Epstein’s grotesque predilections, there really is not even the slightest scintilla of a warped excuse. They knew enough to know. Donald Trump, of course, was the only one stupid enough to say it out loud, laughing in an interview that his friend Epstein’s girls were “on the younger side”. But please don’t suggest Bill Clinton, an extremely clever man, was too stupid to make basic assumptions, or that even Prince Andrew couldn’t have glommed on once Epstein had been convicted of procuring an underage girl for prostitution. Those are just the presidents and the prince; there are countless others besides. Perhaps Ghislaine Maxwell will fill in some of the blanks behind their blankness.

For now, you might think the truly bewildering thing is that so many people didn’t say anything. You might think it’s absolutely bewildering that these intelligent, privileged, financially cosseted individuals never confronted Epstein about something even they must have felt iffy calling a “lifestyle”. And yet, it isn’t bewildering. There is, of course, a perfectly simple reason why they never did the right thing. They didn’t want to.

• Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist

#prince andrew #duke of york #ghislaine maxwell #jeffrey epstein #royals #brf

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Fifteen

Part Fourteen

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 3k

Warning(s): Language, mentions of pregnancy complications, violence

Tag List: @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif

****Let me know if you want to be tagged****

———————————————————————

I stare at the doctor, confused and dazed, my brows furrowing slightly as he explains the complications to me, but all I hear is, "there's a heart, but no heart beat when there should be one by now."

Zoning out entirely as he continues to speak, my heart dropping to my stomach, disappointment flooding me.

"Mrs. Sixx?" I snap out of my fog and look at him, trying not to cry.

"What?" I ask him, shaking my head a little bit.

"Your first trimester ends next week. The fetal heartbeat should have already developed especially since there is a heart. We can wait for a couple of days for a D&C to see if anything changes, but the longer you carry this around inside of you, the higher your risk of getting sick." He explains and I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak before closing it again, unable to form words. He grabs at my hand, giving me a sympathetic look. "I'm very sorry. I'll give you a few minutes to think about it."

Just as he's about to leave the exam room, I grasp at his white coat before wiping my eyes and letting out a breath.

"I want it out."

I wasn't going to make myself sick by pretending my baby wasn't dead. When things die, you no longer prioritize them.

I left that day with my first and only ultrasound picture of that baby, with no intention of telling anyone the truth, and went home to coddle Nikki.

He had left that party completely wasted and Drug-sick, and ended up trying to lose some crazy girls that were following him. He turned a curve at 90 miles per hour and crashed in to a telephone pole, dislocating his shoulder. If he would've had a passenger, the telephone pole would've went straight through them.

The doctor sent him home with his shoulder in a sling and a bottle of Percodan.

I walk in to the apartment, seeing Nikki passed out on the couch, Doc sitting opposite of him in one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table.

"How's he doing?" I whisper, taking off my jacket and stepping to him.

"Hasn't moved since you left." Doc tells me and I sigh out, nodding a little.

"Have you heard from the guys?" I ask him and he shakes his head. "Assholes." I mumble, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen.

"How did it go?" He asks me and I freeze for a second, my mind briefly flashing to the ultrasound picture in my jacket pocket before I answer:

"Really funny actually." I pretend to chuckle but he buys it, smiling with slightly furrowed brows. "Turns out I'm not pregnant." I state. "The test I took was a false positive and I've just gained some weight, is all."

"He'll be relieved." Doc points out with his own relieved expression. "Not that he wasn't excited but, I mean, Viv, imagine him being a dad at this point in his life. It would be nearly impossible. This is better for the both of you." He's right, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear.

"Exactly." I nod, agreeing with him, trying not to cry.

He frowns a little and gently pats me on the back.

"It'll happen when it's the right time for you two." He reassures me. "I gotta head out, though, but call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Doc." I say as he grabs his keys and steps to the door.

Once it shuts, I'm taking my jacket to our bedroom and getting the picture out, hiding it in my drawer of random crap.

"Is he gone?" Nikki groans out when I get back to the living room and I sit on the coffee table in front of him and smile, moving his hair from his face.

"He just left." I reply.

"Thank fuckin' God. He wouldn't let me do anything." He grumbles in a sleepy slur, trying to sit up and I lean forward and help him, making sure he doesn't mess up his sling. "What did they say?" He asks me, yawning, reaching out and brushing his fingers against my stomach.

I can't say anything for a moment, trying to gauge his mood before clearing my throat.

"Um, well, I'm not pregnant." I tell him hesitantly and he furrows his brows, confusion evident on his face. "The test I took wasn't accurate and I got to the doctor's office and he said that I wasn't even pregnant to begin with." I explain. "So, there's no baby. I'm just a fat ass who's gained some weight." I chuckle and he joins me, going quiet after a moment, looking at me as if he sees right through my pathetic attempt to pretend like I'm not upset over it.

"I'm sorry, babe." He mumbles and I continue to laugh, tears coming to my eyes, and he pulls me to his lap with his free hand.

"It's just...you think you have something and you get attached to it, just to find out it wasn't really yours to begin with..." I say to him, my laughter turning to light sobs.

He soothes me the best his half-unconscious mind possibly can, pulling me close to him so I can rest my head in the crook of his neck and I close my eyes, ignoring the fact I'm getting tears and even some snot on his skin.

He doesn't care, having had more questionable bodily fluids on him before.

"You wanna drink or something? You can have one of my pills if you need one of those, too." He offers me after a few minutes when I calm down and I give out an honest chuckle, shaking my head.

"No, thank you." I sniffle out, shaking my head.

"Worth a shot." He says under his breath, knowing I'll hear him and I sit up and elbow him a little, scowling down at him jokingly. "I need another dose, though." He tells me, seriously.

"I can tell. You're actually speaking instead of incoherent babbling." I get off of him and step to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of painkiller and getting one out, taking it to him.

Once he downs it, he's wincing and standing up.

I help him to our bed, listening as he curses under his breath when he lays down and repositions himself to better accommodate his shoulder.

I go to use the bathroom, and just as I'm washing my hands I hear him let out an actual whine with my name tangled in it.

"Poor baby." I tease him.

"Shut the fuck up." He grabs at me with his free hand and snatches me on to the bed.

It's sad to see a big bad rockstar become a needy little boy again, needing someone to baby him when he's ill.

I feel bad for him and let him get me wherever he needs me, which is the current position of him laying his head on my stomach with my legs on either side of his body, his free arm wrapped under me. It looks uncomfortable for him because of his sling, but he doesn't complain at all and after I run my fingers through his fluffy black hair for a few minutes, he's drifting off to sleep.

I push away with urge to start crying again, reminding myself, as far as he knows, I'm suffering an inconvenience. Not a death.

The next week, he's slowly weaned off his Percodan and put on over the counter meds, and insisting to go back to the studio.

"You can't afford to be a Ferrari right now. You're trying to go 200 miles per hour and you don't have insurance." I say to Nikki as we walk inside the studio building, trying to convince him to go back home and take it easy. "The doctor said you can't play until your shoulder is healed."

"Success doesn't have breaks, babe. We're almost done with the album and then I'll take it easy. Just let me do what I do, for now, babe." He argues cooly, waving me off.

"Nikki," I start but he stops in the hallway and turns to face me, giving me a grin.

"Viv, I got this." He assures me, pressing his lips to mine briefly. "I gotta take a piss and I'll be back." He states, heading to the bathroom and I head in to the studio, seeing Doc and one of the sound engineers waiting for us.

Tommy, Mick and Vince are behind the glass window, Mick actually working while Tommy and Vince goof off.

The second I join them, however, they both go quiet.

"Hey, Viv." Tommy says cautiously, reading my pissed of facial expression.

"How's it hangin'?" Vince asks me and I plop down on the couch.

"Fine." I say flatly, waiting for Nikki to come in here and disrupt the tension.

"You don't sound fine." He states, peacocking his way over to me with a smirk. "I can get you in a good mood." He adds and I raise a brow and look at him.

"I'll bite it clean off." Is all I say and his expression shifts before he's stepping away from me cautiously.

"What's up, Viv?" Tommy asks me next, twirling his drum sticks, sitting on the couch arm next to me.

I don't answer and he stops twirling his drumsticks and exchanges a look with Vince and Mick.

"...How's Nikki?" Tommy tries again and I roll my jaw.

"He's been at home passed out a majority of the time." I snap passive aggressively, examining my polished finger nails.

"Oh, damn." He replies. "We didn't know that."

"Well, you would know that if any of you bothered to call or come by. All any of you knew about the situation was that Nikki's car was crumpled on the highway somewhere." I hiss at them and Vince's expression twists.

"What the fuck is your damage, Vivian? You expect us to hold his hand when he does stupid shit and pays for it?" Vince asks me defensively.

"I expect you to be there for each other when something goes wrong for one of you. If any of it happened to one of you guys, he would at least call and check up on you." I scold him, standing up, causing guilt to settle on Tommy's face, but Vince is still relentless.

"I'm not gonna let you label us shitty people all because our world doesn't revolve around Nikki Sixx like yours does." He laughs out without humor and I step closer to him.

"You have been a shitty person for a while now, Vince, but you not even bothering to give a twenty second phone call to your temporarily crippled best friend further proves it." I snap back to him. "And your world should revolve around Nikki Sixx because you wouldn't be here, with the opportunity you have, without him."

"Like hell I wouldn't." He's pissed off now, nearly yelling it at me.

"No, you wouldn't, because contrary to what you believe, Vince Neil is not God's gift to rock n' roll and women everywhere. If Nikki would've just said he needed a messy, blonde, singer, he could've just as easily hired Tansy and gotten her liquored up before every performance, instead of spending time trying to convince you to join them."

"And if he needed a rabid bitch, he could've just as easily gone to the pound instead of wasting his time knocking one up and marrying it!"

In the blink of an eye he's holding his nose, blood smattering his chin and under his eyes, a gash is evident in his skin where I my wedding ring cut into him when I punched him.

The second he's realized what I've done, we're both screaming jumbled profanities over each other, and Tommy's blocking us from each other as Nikki comes in with Doc on his heels.

"Guys, calm down!" Doc tries to tell us, but we're completely ignoring him, trying to see who can curse out the other the loudest.

An ear shattering riff suddenly shrieks from the amp beside us, causing Vince and I both to stop yelling and cover our ears.

Mick puts an abrupt stop to the noise, glaring at us.

"We were assholes and should've at least called the bastard that's got us this far." Mick states to Vince and he sighs and rolls his eyes. "And we'll all do things that'll make us out to be shitty people at some point, that's inevitable. Vivian, you're suppose to be about the forgiving and forgetting bullshit. Act like it." He gets on to me and I look at the floor, crossing my arms. "...And if you bust his face every time he says something asinine, nobody will be able to recognize him within a few months. We get our revenue from sex appeal so don’t ruin the most promiscuous one.” He adds as he motions to Vince, who's still clinging to his busted nose and bleeding cheek.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

"Can someone take me to a fuckin' hospital to see if my nose is broken, before G.I. Jane strikes again?" Vince huffs out.

"I will." Tommy offers, grabbing Vince's keys off the couch a few feet away.

I get a death glare from the blonde as he pushes past me, and once he and Tommy are gone, Nikki's staring down at me, seemingly pissed and I leave him, Doc, and Mick, to their own devices.

“What the hell, Viv?!” Nikki yells at me as I storm in to the parking lot, following me close behind.

“I’m sorry, am I suppose to ignore the fact that they’re stunned you’re not in better shape after you crumpled your car with a telephone pole?!” I shout back and he wipes down his face with his free hand.

“Baby, it bothers me, yeah, but not to the extent that I feel the need to punch one of them.” He states.

“I didn’t want to punch anyone until Vince called me a ‘rabid bitch.’ If he thought I was being one by just snapping at him, then I might as well actually be one. So I was. Not my fault he doesn’t know how to get out of the kitchen when the heat’s too hot to handle.” I go to open my car door but he stops me, slamming it shut again. “Oh my goodness gracious, Nikki.” I groan, squeezing my eyes closed for a second, just wanting to go home and he’s not helping.

“You defended me.” He says out of nowhere.

When I open my eyes, he’s smacking on his gum cockily, looking me up and down.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Devil Spawn.” I shoot back, leaning against my car and he gets closer to me, placing the palm of his free hand by my shoulder on the car, trapping me in.

“No, no, you punched Vince out because he popped off at you for sticking up for me.” He’s smug as he speaks, his face inches from mine.

“Okay, so what? You fend douche bags off of me all the time. It’s not that big of a deal.” I shrug and he doesn’t say anything, giving me a sly little grin before chuckling to himself. “Why’re you looking at me like—” I’m cut off by him crouching a little, hugging me by the bottom half of my waist before throwing me over his uninjured shoulder. “Nikki!” I complain, my back colliding with the hood of my car.

He settles himself between his legs and I laugh nervously, his lips pressing to my neck.

I feel weird and uncomfortable for some reason, not because we’re in public, but because I know regardless of whatever protection we use, there’s a chance I’ll get knocked up again and it’ll go sour.

“We cannot do this in public!” I tell him as I sit up, nudging him off of me a little and he looks around. The sun’s already gone down, and there’s no one necessarily around, but there’s a good bit of trafficking cars, and if anyone were to look across the way hard enough, they could see us. “Besides, your shoulder is hurt.” I try to come up with an excuse.

“Fuck my shoulder, it’s been over a week since I’ve gotten any.” He tugs on the laces of his leather pants and I breathe out.

“Nikki, do you really want to consummate our marriage on the hood of a car?”

He looks at me pointedly, as if to say, “you know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Of course.” I answer my own question.

Just as I’m about to speak again, he’s kissing me, his tongue meeting mine passionately as his hand slides up my white denim skirt and tugs my panties down my legs.

I try to avoid thinking about anything but him, not wanting to ruin the mood, but I can’t help it.

“Nikki.” I pull away hesitantly and he furrows his brows a little, realizing something’s up.

“What’s up?” He asks, studying my facial expression and I blink.

“I just...I’m not in the mood.” I explain honestly, wanting to add, “I would be in the mood if I weren’t thinking about our dead baby.”

He looks almost stunned by my denial of his advances, hurt and confusion cloaking his face.

His ego took a beating. It was the first time any girl had ever said “I’m not in the mood” to him, and possibly confirmed the stereotype of marriage being dry as the dessert, only having boring missionary-position sex that lasts two minutes and only occurs once in a blue moon. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I failed at providing an adequate environment for our kid to actually function properly.

Aside from his shoulder, everything was going great for him. Ignorance is bliss, and I wasn’t going to be the one to piss all over his.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #the dirt #the dirt movie

[cocomoraine]

Meet Me At Chernobyl (And At St.Petersburg)

This is the result of me ignoring my studies, then watched a romance film, and got ideas.

Here’s a little drabble, and I’ve got to stop getting fic ideas from everyday things I see, hear, smell, eat, and feel, damn, I need to study. This is a short thing, just a mess of thoughts put up by me, so I may not be posting this to A03, because, yup reasons. Unless, you guys think I should? I also used tons of liberties from the ideas generated by the lovely and amazing people at the discord of hell, so thank you sm guys!

Rating: probably just Gen. Just watch out for some internalized homophobia, and talks about death. Otherwise, it's all romantic movie tropes. Unbeta’ed because this is a spur of the moment reaction.  WARNING. IT'S SO EFFING LONG OMG. (3k words, I am at disbelief with my self sometimes)

Here y’all go.

Meet Me At Chernobyl (And At St. Petersburg)

1956 (Moscow)

Valery Legasov turned towards the warm coffee shop, intent on just ordering one black coffee to satisfy the employee, and prevent him from getting kicked out so he can organize his papers in peace.

Kurchatov Institute may want him, but he has to prove himself in order to officially get in. If he will not be able to pass this paper in time, with the correct answers, he might officially ruin his chance to step inside Kurchatov.

Settling in at a table near the window, Valery instantly bent down to finish his work. He didn’t notice the door of the small coffee shop he just found at random open to admit a middle-aged man, wearing a dark coat and gloves, face covered by the hat he is wearing.

Valery is within his own world, that he didn’t notice the newcomer coming towards his table.

A deep voice resounded above him. “I don’t usually deliver other people’s orders, but the coffee is so strong it would be such a waste not to give it to you.”

Valery’s head shot up. 

The man, late thirties, has removed his hat, and now holding out a cup of black coffee towards him.

Valery’s jawed dropped. He stammered out excuses. “Oh god, I truly apologize, I have forgotten about that, it just I am so preoccupied with these papers I have to finish so I can…”

“Take the goddamn cup, will you.”

Valery instantly stopped talking, and took it. Placing it at the far end of the table, away from his precious papers. He blushed, refusing to meet the stranger’s eyes.

“I apologize, please, don’t let me be on your way, I just--”

Valery shuffled his papers again. He looked at the man.

“Did I?”

“You at least managed to pay for it before just sitting out here, expecting for the worker himself to serve it to you. You really are taking advantage of the working class--”

“Again, I didn’t mean to.” Valery looked for the man on the register. He waved and raised his voice. “Keep the change!”

The man nodded. The other man in front of him smiled, albeit little.

Valery took a good look at him. Politician. He might be older than me, but he still looks good, for his age. 

“It’s rude to stare.”

Valery blushed. 

“At least invite me to your table first.”

“What?”

The stranger looked at him, then pretty much seated himself at the table. Valery was shocked.

“Kurchatov?”

Valery was having a whiplash with everything that has happened, he can only nod mutely as an answer to the question.

“Are you a little young to be working there?”

“I am not. I mean, I am not working there, yet.”

“You are trying to get in? Impressive, especially for a man of your age.”

Valery looked at the man. There are no hint of ridicule or judgment in his eyes, only open curiosity and a little bit of awe.

“Shcherbina.”

He extended his hand towards Valery. Valery could only stare at it for a few seconds.

He swallowed. Stop being so rude, Valery. Appreciate this good looking stranger getting to know you.

“Legasov.”

“Tell me your whole name, after I place my order.”

The man stood, but Valery knows he will be back.

***

“How come I already told you mine, but you still haven’t said yours?”

The stranger’s smile fallen off his face. Valery was afraid he might have offended the man, then, he would sentence him to death by a thousand shots he is an apparatchik for god’s sakes, well, by the looks of it, but he spoke.

“Boris. Boris Shcherbina.”

“Well, Boris,” the way his name feels on his lips, “What else do you think we can talk about?”

***

They talked for almost 2 hours, Valery nearly finishing his paper, when Boris stood, take a look at his watch, and smiled ruefully.

“I have to be off. Things would go to shit down there if I stayed out longer, though I deserve it for putting up with a lot of them.”

Valery was writing the final equation, then looked up at him. 

“What it is that you do, really?”

Boris smiled.

“You are a smart man, Legasov. You can figure it out. Till next time.”

The man put on his hat, and walked out of the coffee shop.

Valery’s eyes followed him until he disappeared into the streets. He took a look at his own watch. 7 pm.

I was only supposed to be here for just 30 mins. 

He never saw Boris again.

1966 (Kurchatov Institute of Atomic Energy)

Valery wanted nothing more but to go home and rest, but his superior said he needed to stay, especially that some Career Party men have made their way to this event, and of course, to make sure they are on the good side of the Party, so that they will provide them the budget they need for future projects, which are all good in Valery’s opinion.

But socializing for a whole night is not made for him. 

He was quietly listening to whatever his superior said to the apparatchik I forgot his name already, when someone at his back bumped him, nearly making me spill the vodka into his superior’s clothes. 

Luckily, a steady hand braced the movement, avoiding the disaster. 

“You need to pay more attention to yourself, Comrade Legasov.”

That voice. 

“Comrade Shcherbina?”

“I am flattered you still remembered me.”

Valery ducked his head to avoid the piercing gaze both from his superior and from Boris. He adjusted his glasses.

“Memory served me quite well, despite all the work here at the Institute.”

Boris smiled. One of the apparatchiks engaged in an earlier conversation with Valery’s superior asked, “You two seems to have been acquainted. How did you meet?”

Valery was frozen, he didn’t know how to phrase his chance meeting with this man that has never left his head since last time into a more polite, and something free from insinuations, but luckily for him, Boris took the wheel.

“I just passed by him here at Kurchatov during one of my earlier visits. He does have a reputation here, so clearly, a name you cannot easily displace.”

The warmth emanating from Boris felt like a welcoming gratitude for Valery.

***

“How have you been?”

“Don’t play that game, Boris. It doesn’t suit you.”

They were talking, some semblance of being alone, at the outskirts of the function hall.

“You and all career Party men at least have an idea of almost every project done here at Kurchatov. And we are trying our best to please you all, so the support will keep on coming.”

“Kurchatov has been good to you, Valery, it seems. Looks like a road to directorship not far from here.”

“Nonsense. It will be a long time for such a daunting task.”

They looked at each other, some intensity and unlabeled emotion dancing around their eyes. Was it always been there? Since that chance meeting at a coffee shop?

Valery dropped the gaze first. He can’t do this. Not now. Not here. It’s wrong. His eyes immediately get caught around the golden band in Boris’s left hand. His brain short-circuited.

“I suppose, congratulations are in order?”

Valery sounded hollow even to his own ears. How is this even possible, it cannot be.

Boris followed Valery’s gaze. His face immediately became a mixture of forced happiness, and politeness. “Yes. I’ve married her last June. We’ve been together for almost three years, before tying the knot.”

Three years. Including that time I met you.

“Congratulations, Boris.”

Valery walked away, taking a large gulp of vodka, intent on leaving the institute, and go home, to sort whatever mess of thoughts his brain is concocting on him now. 

Valery didn’t see the faraway look Boris gave to him as he watched him walk away.

April 26, 1986

Valery was awoken to the sound of his telephone ringing.

He never knew that his life will never be the same again after that phone call.

“Professor Legasov?”

It cannot be.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Professor Legasov, no time for pleasantries. There has been an accident at Chernobyl.”

1986 (Chernobyl)

They eventually found the time to talk about the two of them, in the middle of a radiation poisoned land, in the middle of both a political and international crisis, in the middle of them arguing, politics versus science, in the middle of sentencing thousands of men to their deaths, in the middle of conspiracies and buried truths, in the middle of a tragedy.

Valery Legasov gave all of the time, energy, knowledge, expertise, his life, to fix Chernobyl. Boris by his side, his rock, his friend, is he stopping there. Being his friend.

Boris Shcherbina gave everything he had, the power, the influence, all the men, equipment, lunar rovers, anything Valery needed. Valery always by his side, the voice of reason, of salvation, his friend, is he stopping there. Being his friend.

Valery has no one he can fully call his friends. Except maybe for Ulana, a woman stronger than him in more ways than one, and Boris. His Boris.

“Valera.”

The moment he called him that, Valery couldn't take it anymore. Whatever thing he held for the man in front of him now, it finally made sense, when he told him they would be dead in five years, he understood. 

He noticed, he never saw the gold band in Boris’ left hand since they arrived at Chernobyl.

***

Boris wanted nothing more but to finally put a label to what he feels for the man he met at a random coffee shop in Moscow. But they are now in the middle of a disaster larger than both of them.

It shouldn’t be the place for something called love to bloom.

Yet in the radioactive wasteland Chernobyl has become, the seed was planted. And it grew.

***

Boris and Valery kissed, silently, desperately, tearfully, inside Valery’s room in the hotel. They never asked about the absence of the gold band in Boris’ left hand, or how long did you felt this way?

They never asked questions about it. For they are both afraid of the answers it brings.

***

“To hell with our lives.”

Valery and Boris were brought together by invisible forces. Twice. But now, they were brought together by the system. And now, Boris will lose Valery Legasov through it.

The truth indeed hurts more, it will forever hurt their love and both of them.

***

In the middle of a sunny, abandoned park in Chernobyl’s Exclusion Zone, Valery told Boris that he was the man who mattered the most. Boris tried to fight for whatever they have. To keep this last piece of heaven and goodness he had found. That they both found. 

Realism is something Boris should’ve had since being a career Party man. He prided himself for being the voice of reason and realism to Valery ever since the start, but now, he was willing to abandon it all for what he and Valery found. What he and Valery shared. He was willing to throw it all away for them, for this.

But sooner, Boris will discover, in the most painful way as possible, that whatever he was willing to give up for them, Valery also did the same.

Twice the value over. 

“Maybe we are just meant to go by one another. Always a passerby. That is what we are. Lovers in passing. Never stayed. Never truly left.”

(St. Petersburg)

The starkness of the snow falling into Valery’s face brings out the cold, but he welcomed it. The cool air around calms him and his nerves.

For the first time in a while, Valery felt calm, his breath sending up smoke into the air. He was watching the snow fall from the sky, then turned to look at his surroundings.

The people around were mostly minimal. They all go on their ways, as if all of them had a destination, unlike him. Valery is mostly here to look around, enjoy the sights, and the weather.

He felt, peace.

He suddenly bumped into a tall man, wearing a dark coat. Just by seeing the back of the man’s head, he knows, ohmygod, it can’t, how?

Boris turned, the initial shock and a little bit of annoyance vanishing in his face the moment their eyes met.

And somehow, despite the snow falling into them, the warmth came back full force, unstoppable.

***

“The city just looks wonderful this time of the year, isn’t it? I find it kind of surprising that not a lot of people are outdoors.” Valery mused aloud. One thing he learned from Boris is that, the man will listen to him no matter what thoughts he voiced out. He may not agree with all of it, but he will listen. No wonder I was so captivated by him even the first time I met him.

“Well, not all people can survive walking around in this cold weather.” Boris smiled, it made his face years younger. The effects and shadows of radiation, gone, from his face. Valery tried to estimate the state of Boris’ health just by looking at him. All the past shadows that bought him and this man down, seemed faded and not present in this time, as they walk around the city.

“It’s not that cold” Valery raised an eyebrow.

Boris turned to him, judging from his eyes, he is also looking straight into Valery, calculating or seeing the changes brought on by radiation to the scientist. But like himself, Boris could find close to nothing. 

“It’s snowing, and it looks like it will continue on for a few more hours.” He held his arm out to Valery. It might be cold, but he knows Valera, he would continue on exploring, until all of his curiosities are satiated. 

“Shall we?”

Valery held into Boris’ arm. People be damned. Let me have this. Let us have this.

Valery smiled. “It's not that cold, really.”

***

They walked and talked, all those things they can think of, sooner or later, the topic goes to the territory they tried to avoid back then, but now, it seems there is no running away from it.

“Did you ever find peace doing it, Valera?”

Valery smiled, never met Boris’ eyes. “I know they will do their best.”

Boris stopped walking and turned to him. “Valera,”

“What has happened, will stay that way, Borja. The only thing we can do is to go on.”

“Do you still believe we are just meant to be in passing?”

Valery suddenly felt cold, despite walking around the snow-laden city for almost an hour now, he never felt the chill. But now, it's there. 

“What happened to her?”

They both know what ‘her’ meant.

Boris looked far into the horizon, the snow, and trees around them. “She stopped loving me the moment she married me. Ironic isn’t it?”

Valery’s face remained impassive.

“She told me it’s because I have changed, since that day I was assigned to the Kremlin. When I came home, after going to a random coffee shop my secretary said to me, just because I wanted to get myself coffee on my own for the first time. I changed that day, and she said I never became the same again. She married me because it was expected of us, and she wanted to protect me. At first, I balked at the idea. But all she wanted at the end of the day was the best for me. We became friends, but sooner, the work just drifted us away. She filed for divorce the day I was sent to Chernobyl.”

“I’m, forgive me, I’m sorry, Borja.”

“Don’t be, at least, now I’ve relieved you of the burden.”

They turned to one another, eyes meeting, the unspoken emotion flowing. “You don’t need to burden yourself, Valera, because this time, we are free, and we have each other.”

“Do you think it would be easy, Borja? That just because she left you, that things would be back to the way they were? We are broken men, we have seen too much, done too much. We will never go back to the way we were once then. Maybe that is the reason why we always just pass each other by, never staying, never truly leaving.”

Boris took one of Valery’s hands. It felt warm, despite the gloves covering it. Warm. Solid. Alive. As it could be.

“There is no such thing as going back to the way we were back then. You said it yourself, Valera, what has happened, will stay that way. The only thing we can do is to go on.”

We are here, and we have this place, we have each other. For me, that is enough. I can only hope that for you, it will be also.”

Valery looked at Boris. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. But there is no other place I would rather be.

He buried his face into the crook of Boris’ neck. We could have this. We could have each other. Maybe it’s more than enough. Maybe, we can be more than passersby this time. Maybe this time, we can both stay and never leave.

 “It is, Borja. It is enough.”

***

If you catch my eye across a crowded room

I'll fall into the atmosphere surrounding you

If you pull me close just to disappear

The chances are I'd wait for you a thousand years

If you light the fuse you know that I'll react

If you wrap us in your love just to take it back

You could hurt somebody like that

© Hurt, Lady Antebellum

#valoris #shchergasov #fic ideas #fanfic #drabble #inspired by the movie meet me in st. gallen #but happier ending #hi cocomoraine here how may i help you #cocomoraine writes