#this went through the fucking wringer

[savage-rhi]

(⊙‿⊙)

#i feel like i downloaded a whole other life from a parallel version of me with memories and all and I'm shook #is this supposed to happen when you try lucid dreaming a lot??? #asking for science #its been an hour since i woke up and my body feels like it went through the fucking wringer physically and emotionally #i dont know if i want to laugh cry or scream its intense #sorry if tmi guys #I'm just shook #brains fucking with me #not worthy of a magenta tag but some secret third thing

[just-turn-it-off]

"if hayley and taylor break up, paramore is over!"

???

hayley isn't an immature teenager anymore and taylor isn't josh

#to even compare taylor to josh is just insulting #all those pmore breakup comments are SO misogynisic too btw... like haykey went through the wringer when the farros left #and now yall are already tossing her to the wolves over speculation over what could happen if she abd taylor broke up?? #yall realize youre blaming her already for something that hasnt even happened right?? thats fucked up #like i bet this is EXACTLY why hayley and taylor have kept their relationship so private and are now declining to talk about it. #they knew exactly what people would say #ps josh didnt leave bc he was hung up over hayley... lets stop feeding into that myth. #josh left bc he was jealous about his name not being on the contract #(which usually means its about the money and he wasnt happy about the split) #(but he was also getting writing/melody cred so he was still making more than zac who left for completely different reasons) #and we ALL know that was out of hayley's control no matter how hard she fought #she was also a literal child navigating a predatory system #ok gtg b4 my adhd makes me rant too much

[oflgtfol]

god so my interest in caves started with reading a bunch of shit about floyd collins. which i learned about from jacob geller's fear of depths video. and in turn i learned about that video from. a fanfiction. that i cannot name and i totally wiped from my mind until now but after my thermo final tomorrow im gonna hunt it down and reread it

#SHIT WAS LIKE A 30K ONESHOT of these two characters dying and suffering in a fucking cave it haunted me so bad #and its for a ship i dont even care for #it wasnt even really shippy i mean they were just dying in a cave !!!! #god its like that one ao3 prompts post. your otp is dying in a mining accident or whatever #but anyway despite all that. it was written so evocatively #like i absolutely felt like i was dying in a cave beside them #and it shook me to my CORE and i cannot believe thats what kickstarted this whole shit ejufgidijoi #like i was glued to my screen feeling sick to my stomach all day trying to read this long ass thing #the author cited this video as inspiration hence why i went on to go watch it #bc i was shook to my core after reading that and so i wanted more things that made me feel that same level of utter existential dread #and then i spent all day the next day reading about floyd collins and feeling sick again #and then just spending that whole week invested in fatal caving accidents and putting myself through the emotional wringer #all because of a fucking ********** fic !!!!!!!! #brot posts

[hex-of-els]

holy fuck ‘and justice for all’

#like I went in expecting a mediocre ride and a few good scenes from al #and yeah for the most part that was right #but holy shit ‘a few good scenes’ my ass those were MASTERCLASSES IN PERFORMANCE #how does the man do it?????? #I just don’t understand how he can like..thespianize so fucking well I’m always blown away #also I think the movie got way better in the 2nd half but the dialogue and the…kind of forced flow of events still took away #from it being all that it could have been #like it’s pretty heavy handed with its themes and I don’t particularly like it when it feels like - #a character is ‘forced their hand’ by being put through the wringer by a very obviously ‘authored’ set of events #but anyway it doesn’t detract from the performance being fucking like. amazing. holy shit #and justice for all

[xzaddyzanakinx]

My Best Girl

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x Femme Reader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: domestic violence/abuse, non-con/dub-con, oral sex, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting

Info: this is a graphic and accurate depiction of an instance of domestic abuse/non-con. Read at your own risk.

🕊dead dove do not eat🕊

“Don't lie to me," he snarled, his hands gripping your wrists tightly. "I saw you."

He leaned in closer, his ice blue eyes boring into yours, filled with pure undiluted jealousy.

"Tell me the truth." Anakin’s fingers dug into your wrists just like your knees dug into the tile of the kitchen floor.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter, having a wonderful little moment to yourself. A big tall glass of blue koolaid, your favorite snack and your comfort cartoon playing quietly on your phone for background noise while you worked diligently on repairing your younger brother Luke’s loth-cat stuffie.

The poor thing had been through the wringer this week; left all alone in the cold dark cubby overnight in his preschool classroom, ran over by Leia’s tricycle, and his undoing was being left unattended in the living room under the watchful eye of your family dog. The horrible shriek that pierced your ears was enough to burst your eardrums, you went rushing, hoping that you didn’t walk into a bloody mess.

Though the tantrum that ensued after his initial shock was more than enough to wish maybe just alittle bit that Leia had just wacked him upside the head with her toy doctor’s kit again.

You’d sworn on your life that his ‘only best friend’ would have his leg reattached and in it’s rightful place under his arm when he woke up tomorrow morning.

So there you sat, sewing his leg back on when your stepfather Anakin returned home from work. Covered in oil and grease from his day at the garage, he walked past the kitchen and gave you a wave and crooked smile. You gladly returned the gesture, your relationship with your stepdad had begun rocky, arguments and mean words exchanged on a daily basis. But now, months later, you’d finally begun to get along.

He was a good man, a good dad; it wasn’t his fault that he had a bit of an anger issue. He worked hard to keep it in check, attending therapy, taking CBD gummies, he even tried meditating.

You’d quickly come to realize that his anger was a front to hide his vulnerabilities. He was a horribly cocky and arrogant person outwardly. But inside, tucked away in a beat up box, was a messily stored collection of vulnerabilities and insecurities.

Anakin thrived on praise and affection, he was happiest when he was eight inches deep in your poor little fucked-out pussy. Bathing in the sounds of your babbled compliments, the sweet lilt of your whiny voice when you begged him for more. His favorite thing? The best compliment? The quickest way to reassure him of his worth? That was the devastatingly wet *shlck* of his cock sliding home between your thighs.

It never failed to astound him. The way your body responded to him, the way you were tucked under his thumb. When he was pounding into you night after night while your mother worked the late shift; that’s when he truly came to life.

You made him feel needed. Wanted. Valued. But most importantly? Worshipped.

There was nothing else like the rush of warm adoration he felt from every little noise your pretty mouth made. It flowed over his tired, work-worn body and soothed all his stress away. He needed it. He craved it. He had to have it.

You.

You were the only thing that mattered.

It would be an understatement to say that he regretted marrying your mother. Every second of every day he hated her more. She wasn’t you. She could never be you.

Divorce, the hours of research on annulments, laws and stipulations, the legality of things. He’d searched through it all. He had the best lawyer in the state on speed-dial. Set on retainer for the moment he saw his opportunity to snatch up his brand new trophy wife.

But it’s not exactly acceptable to divorce your wife of six months to run off with her freshly 18 year old daughter is it? No. But was he going to do it? Absolutely.

You were his good girl.

You were his good girl, til now.

Anakin crouched down in front of you, getting on your level somehow made you feel even smaller. Any other time you would’ve taken the time to admire his freshly washed hair that stuck to his forehead in little swoops, the scent of his cedar soap, his bare chest and that delicious V carved into his lower abdomen.

But instead all you could see was the hard line of his lips, his knitted eyebrows… he was trying so hard to be angry. But you could tell he was just in pain, those big beautiful blue eyes were holding back tears, and you so badly wanted to comfort him, to make him understand.

“Anakin. Please listen.” You pleaded with him, desperate to get him to hear you out.

“Oh? I’ve been listening.” He stood back up and grabbed your hair roughly, tilting your head back to force you into eye contact. “I just don’t believe what I heard.”

“Just look!” You said gesturing at your phone laying on the counter near him, the screen cracked. “Please just look at you’ll see.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Seeing what I already know is there.” He scowled.

“Am I not good enough for you?” He hissed, shaking your head by your hair. “Is that it?”

Before you could even answer him he grabbed your jaw and pried your mouth open and shoved two fingers down your throat.

“That’s alright. You don’t deserve me anyway.”

Collecting your saliva on his digits, he removed his fingers and flicked the spit on your face, making you flinch.

“Not even gonna waste my spit on you.” His voice tinged with hurt under the grit of his anger.

Your eyes welled up with tears, never had he spoken to you this way. You never imagined that he was capable of being so mean. Of course he had his issues, you’d argued plenty before you both finally allowed the hands of fate to shove you into each other’s arms. But never like this.

“I come home from work, see you sitting all pretty and patient for me.” He starts, his voice low and dark.

“Then I come back from the shower, ready to hold and love and spoil you just like I do every night. I leaned in to give you a sweet little kiss and what do I see?” You weren’t sure if he wanted an answer, so you stayed silent and waited. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He grumbled. “You were so eager to talk earlier, so fucking talk.”

“You saw me decline a phone call.” You said quietly, trying hard to keep eye contact with him through the blurriness in your vision.

“A phone call from who?” He prodded.

“My friend Tyler.” You answered meekly.

“Exactly.” He released your hair by pushing you backwards, causing you to catch yourself with your elbow right on the granite tile flooring.

Pain shot up your upper arm and wracked your body with a momentary spasm of tension as your brain tried to sort out this new pain. Extended your arm gently you breathed in relief that it wasn’t actually damaged, but you would definitely have a gnarly bruise.

Anakin had turned around, his back to you. One hand on the kitchen counter and the other ruffling his wet hair, shaking off water droplets as he did so.

“Why?” He asked, his tone quieter but no less menacing. “Why would you hang up like that if there wasn’t anything to hide?”

“B-because Ani, I was talking to you!” You tried to explain as you stood up and hesitantly stepped closer to him.

“Don’t.” He barked over his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“I was- okay.” You said, backing away.

“Anakin I was just trying to focus on you that’s all. You’d just gotten home, I didn’t want to be bothered while I was spending time with you.” Your whisper sounded cracked, broken.

“Why is a boy calling you at 8:00 on a Friday huh?” He spun around quickly and grabbed your arm.

“They’re not a-“ You tried to speak, to explain yourself but he didn’t give you a second breath.

He stole the air from your lungs and the words from your mouth with a resounding *smack* to your cheek. The impact was so forceful that your head felt like it was on swivel and you stumbled back. Too shocked to even cry, too hurt to look at him.

“Were you planning to cheat? Is that what this is?” He scoffed.

“N-no!” You squeaked. “No I wouldn’t! Never!”

He laughed, not in amusement or cynicism, but in a strangled bout of hysteria.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” His teeth clenched and bared.

“You think someone else would treat you as well as I do? That they’d be able to put up with your attitude?” He laughed again, pointing his finger in your face.

“You’re a fucking brat you know that? There’s not another man in this galaxy who could love you like I do. You’re a spoiled bitch. But you’re my spoiled bitch.”

You flinched at his choice of words. He’d called you a brat plenty of times, sometimes even as a term of endearment. Bitch though? The thought of him calling you that was previously inconceivable.

“You want me to show you how someone else would treat you? How this stupid fucker Tyler would handle you?” He growled, putting a hand on the back of your neck and forcing you to your knees.

“Anakin wait! Just let-“ He shoved your face into the soft flannel of his pajama pants, fisting your hair to hold you in place while he ground his cock across your tear stained cheeks.

“No sweetheart I’m not Anakin right now remember? I’m anyone but me.” He corrected you.

“Take your fucking shirt off. I want to see those pretty tits.” He smirked as he watched you quickly comply. “There. Not so difficult Hmm?”

You shook your head no in agreement with him, hoping to appease him. You had no idea where this was going, but you knew for damn sure that you weren’t gonna like it.

“That’s right.” He said as he gripped your jaw once more, chuckling when you instinctively dropped your mouth open. “That was the last easy thing you’ll be doing tonight.”

“Pull out my cock.” He demanded, the look on his face giving no indication that this was negotiable.

You hesitated, then steeled yourself to comply with his order. His pretty cock, the beautiful thing that made you feel like you were floating amongst the clouds… was standing tall and proud. This was the only time you’d ever been unhappy to see it and you hoped it was the last time too.

“Oh don’t look at me like that.” He grumbled. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? To be a whore? To cheat on me?”

“No! Anakin Tyler isn’t-“ He scoffed and took advantage of your open mouth and forced your head down around his length.

“Fuck.” He mumbled his stomach muscles tightened momentarily before relaxing again.

“Finally some fucking peace and quiet. I’m sick of your whining. I don’t ever want to hear that fuckboy’s name again do you understand me?” He growled, his eyes filled with jealousy painted red with rage.

Anakin started to thrust quick and shallow into your mouth panting while he glared down at you like you were his mortal enemy.

“You like this?” He asked, watching you shake your head no vigorously. “No? Didn’t think you would.”

“Can’t fucking believe this shit.” He moaned, tipping his head back toward the ceiling before letting his chin fall to his chest.

He growled, seeing you drool down the column of your throat. A fire lit behind his eyes and burst into an inferno after only seconds of this brutal punishment.

“Move your tongue.” He commanded, jerking your head to the side when you didn’t do it immediately. “Fuck, that’s better.”

Your tongue lay flat against the under side of his shaft as his cockhead started to bully its way down your throat, in and out in deep ruthless strokes. Tears pricked your eyes and began to fall, this time from discomfort instead of the horrible emotional pain he’d dealt to you.

“What?” He laughed again, looking down at you with a menacing grin that didn’t meet his glassy eyes. “Don’t wanna be a whore anymore do you?”

You shook your head no to the best of your ability and Anakin nodded in agreement, his breath caught in his throat just like his cock was stuck in yours.

“This is how men treat whores.” He said matter of factly. “Like a stupid little fuck toy. Do you want to be a stupid fuck toy?”

“No of course you don’t.” He tsk’d. “You want to be my good girl, my sweet princess.”

You nodded vigorously, choking on his length accidentally from the quick movement.

Your gag reflex kicked in violently, caused by your choking fit as you tried to cough, your body begging for some control to be returned to you. You struggled to breathe as he continued his brutal assault on your throat. But despite the pain, there was an odd thrill running through you, a sick satisfaction knowing you were pleasing him in this way. You should hate him for what he’s doing right now, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t find it alittle bit hot.

He was unraveling quickly, his hips snapping fast and deep. You heard the familiar change in breathing that happen just moments before he would cum, the cute little high-pitched whimpers that left his beautiful plump lips.

You tapped his thigh, looking up at him with furrowed brows and pleading eyes. Begging him to relent for just moment so you could breathe.

“No, I’m close. You can wait." he growled back, his pace unrelenting, but his voice becoming shaky.

“I don’t understand.” He panted, looking down at you with a pained expression. “Why would you want to be treated this way when I give you all the love in the world? When I love you so much?

“Seeing you hurt like this baby… it hurts me.” He sniffled, on the verge of tears.

“Just think, imagine it sweetheart; what if you went out there tonight and that horrible guy did this to you?” His eyebrows turned up in a deep swoop.

“You know I’m only doing this to help you right baby?” He let out a choked sob as his cock twitched in your mouth.

“I don’t want you to get hurt! I love you!” He cried out, his own tears freely flowing, salty drips hitting your face as he stared down at you with the face of a broken man.

“Promise me you won’t ever make me do this again.” He whispered, lovingly wiping the tears from your eyes. “I can’t stand it.”

“Promise? You won’t ever do it again? Please baby.” He cried, his chest heaving with a sob as his face scrunched up.

“Can’t do that to me, you can’t! I’d die.” He was practically hysterical, seeing him like this was tearing you apart in ways his rough treatment couldn’t. The pain and torture in his voice was a worse punishment.

“I wouldn’t wanna live without you. I wouldn’t.” He sobbed, his thumbs softly caress your cheekbones made you forget all about the way he was brutalizing you. It made you forget the hurtful things he’d said. You weren’t even sure your throat would be sore after this; how could it be worse than having your heart bruised the way Anakin’s must be?

“My sweet girl.” He sniffled. “My poor baby, I’m sorry. So sorry I had to do this. You understood don’t you doll?

You nodded, crying for an entirely different reason now. If you could, you’d be wailing. Pleading with him as you comforted him with kisses and gentle touches, holding him as he cried over your actions. How could you have done this? How could you be so cruel!?

“Good girl baby.” He hiccuped. “Good girl. I love you. Love you so much babydoll, g-gonna hold you n’ make love to you like you deserve.”

His hips stuttered against your mouth, his stomach tense and his hand tightened around your hair.

“My best girl.” He whined. “Do you want my cum? Those horrible bad men wouldn’t give it to you. They wouldn’t know how much you love it.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back in your head. He’s right. They wouldn’t know, how could they know? No one knew you like Anakin did.

“Mmm… yeah? G-goddamn.” He whimpered, pushing your face deep into his groin, your nose pressed firmly into the curly hairs at the base of his cock.

He sobbed, a full loud heart-wrenching sob as he came violently down your throat. You gratefully drank it down, thankful he’d let you have it after all you’d put him through.

Gently he pulled himself from your mouth, wiping his eyes dry as he sniffled. Tucking himself back into his pants before scooping you up into his arms and rocking you against his chest. Then he walked over to the recliner in the living room and sat down with you.

He let you cry it out while showering you with love and affection and beautiful sweet words in his warm honeyed voice. Finally once you’d calmed down he tilted your chin up to face him. Giving you a slow sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that was almost sticky, your lips wanting to stay connected for as long as possible.

“Are you okay sweetheart? Do you need anything?” He whispered against your lips in a pleading tone.

“No.” You shook your head, still taking shaky short gasping breaths. “M’so sorry Ani.”

“Oh baby. No, it’s okay.” He cooed. “You didn’t know. That’s why I had to teach you huh?”

“Uh huh.” You sniffled.

“You understand now don’t you doll? No body could ever love you like I do.” He squeezed you tightly as you agreed.

“That was horrible wasn’t it?” He sighed. “Those other boys… oh princess it would be so much worse you know that?”

“I couldn’t be as mean to you as they could, not even half as bad.” He said softly as if the information were scary to even say outloud.

“R-really?” You squeaked, not even half as bad? You shivered at the thought that if could ever be worse than he’d shown you.

“Yes baby.” He nodded, a sad and solemn expression on his tear streaked face.

“Th-thank you Ani.” You sniffled. Feeling grateful that he wasn’t even capable of what must be such horrendous brutality.

“Oh sweetheart. Don’t thank me,” he whispered, petting your head. “Just hold me and I’ll hold you okay? We both need alittle extra snuggles tonight after that don’t we?”

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @bunnylovesani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee

@sweetcheesecakesblog@rga11 @luvskywxlker

@angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin x you #sw anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #stepdad!anakin #hayden christensen #james kelly

[sharks-n-bones]

JOHN DORY TIME LET'S GO

Survivalist pre-flood

Luckily already good at surviving after being alone in the woods for 20 years

When the water first started rising, he and Rhonda went to higher ground and JD started building his boat. When the rains started coming, a nearby river let into a flash flood and washed them away

JD woke up fine on a dry (for now) piece of land, covered in cuts and scratches but nothing serious

Rhonda was nowhere to be found

He has this hiking pack/backpack type deal he keeps on him that he luckily managed to hold onto, so he still had his survival stuff (and some memorabilia)

Most of his clothes and stuff, though, were lost with Rhonda

He managed to make a decent boat before the water rose too high. With every island he stops at, he tries to expand it to fit Rhonda (and his brothers) when he finds them

Despite losing Rhonda… she isn't his biggest concern. He's looking for his brothers, first and foremost

He doesn't believe they're dead, and he refuses to believe this flood could kill them, but he's a Big Bro™ and he's concerned for his bros so you bet your bottom dollar he's gonna be lookin for them

His boat started small, and he fashioned a paddle out of an old shovel just in case there was no wind to catch the sail

Once the storms finally cleared, the sun started doing its duty, and John Dory had to stop wearing his beloved jacket because it's just too damn hot in the sun

He did, however, fashion himself an open shirt out of some leaves

Now, the seas are pretty trying, a and the creatures even more so. JD can fish better than most, but sometimes fish fight back. He's got a couple scars from having to fight some off

From being alone for 20 years and now the flood, JD is a bit on the feral side. Trusts his instincts, knows how to hunt, great nose and better hearing

Perches on the front of his ship sometimes

He was actually perched on the front of his ship when he saw the tiniest troll floating along on a piece of driftwood

Poor thing looked exhausted and — he looked closer — fuck, the poor thing was bloody-

He quickly jumped into the water, grabbed him gently and brought him onto his boat. The poor thing immediately passed out once it was out of the water and that's when John Dory realized it wasn't just an abnormally small troll, it was a baby

John cursed to himself and quickly brought him inside. He washed him off with a damp rag, wincing at the wounds and hearing the baby's weak grunt of pain, and quickly set about sanitizing and patching the wounds

It was a bit difficult, considering just how small the baby was, but John had plenty of practice patching himself up over the past 20 years living alone in the woods, so he got the job done

He even ground up some medicinal herbs into a paste and smeared it on bandages before wrapping the wounds with them. The salt water would've helped sanitize them and kill the bacteria as it was, the paste was just an extra precaution

JD made a little space in his room for the baby to sleep. Built a little bed the same height as his own with a little railing for safety. Washed an old shirt and cut it up to make a decent blanket

It was a day or two later when the tiny baby woke up. John had placed the baby in the bed he'd made for him for the time being and was brushing his teeth in the connected bathroom at the time. So imagine his surprise when he hears a loud, deep-ass voice calling out and wondering where he was

John Dory got over his shock fairly quickly, and explained how he found him and what he'd done to help. John asked what happened, and Tiny explained his situation

JD felt bad for him. Almost being eaten, almost dying, now not knowing where his dad could be? Tiny Diamond (apparently that's the baby's name) had been put through the wringer

JD mentioned that he was looking for his brothers. Maybe he could help Tiny find his dad too? He was glad he offered ‘cause Tiny little up and, if he wasn't injured, JD was certain he would've jumped on him

It took a few weeks for Tiny to recover, but JD found it was nice to have company on the ship. He didn't realize how lonely it was before

Tiny was such an energetic thing, despite his injuries. JD gave him a stick to help him walk around, and once his wounds had healed, he sharpened the end so he'd be able to defend himself if another fish tried to attack him. He even made a little strap that goes over his chest with a holster in the back so he could carry it around easier

Sometimes he and Tiny would sit in the front of the ship together, Tiny nestled in his hair, and they'd watch the waves and the sky. Sometimes Tiny would talk about his dad and how much he missed him, what he was like, his aunt, and a few others. John got a kick out of his stories

John would tell Tiny stories of his brothers. How they were all in a band, what they were like. He'd tell Tiny silly stories about them to help cheer him up sometimes

John found himself looking out for Tiny more. Making sure he was okay and not doing anything reckless. Helping him when he tried to do “grownup stuff” like furl the sails when they reached land or when he tried so hard to lower or raise the anchor

He started treating Tiny as if he was his own kid, he'd realized at one point after teaching him how to fish. He'd miss the little guy when they eventually find his dad. Having Tiny around almost made him want a kid of his own

Eventually, they found another ship at an island, and JD had Tiny hide in his hair while he spoke to them, just in case

JD lowered the anchor and jumped onto their ship from his own, saying how he was looking for his brothers. That was, of course, right before he spotted one of them. His youngest brother-

"Baby Branch!"

#trolls #trolls band together #trolls au #trolls world tour #john dory #john dory trolls #spruce trolls #bruce trolls #clay trolls #floyd trolls #branch trolls #brozone #trolls flood au #flood au #guy diamond #tiny diamond #queen poppy #cooper trolls #biggie trolls #smidge #fuzzbert #satin and chenille #king peppy #snackpack

[courtingchaos]

Hiding

FBoy!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Uh oh, Eddie found your hiding place.

Warnings: Language

A/N: It’s been a while, I know. I went through a lot of ways these two would run back into each other and I liked it not being a huge thing. Just Eddie being pushy and you trying to keep a brave face.

Late summer morning blows in off the lake, a cool breeze that mingles with the bright sun climbing a cloudless sky. Another night spent at Rick’s helping Lisa and another week spent ignoring most of your life. The floating pier you’re dangling your feet off of bobs under you with the small wakes that hit the shore. The house that you desperately needed to get out of stands darkened behind you, even though you can still here Lisa giving Rick every level of hell.

He’s been a bastard, a motherfucker, a shitheel and a fucking bastard again in about 20 minutes after another little blonde was found creeping out of his basement. You’d actually been the one to see her while you put your small bag of groceries away and she had tried to pad out past you through the back door. Honestly you probably would have let her go with just a searing stare but as luck would have it, Lisa had been outback, smoking. So to say sleep had been light was an understatement while Rick was sent through the wringer and Lisa threw anything she could get her hands on.

At least you could catch a hint of fall on the back of the breeze where it rustled the leaves in the bright yellow ginkgo trees lining the walk down to the pier. You’d lit your cigarette and promptly forgotten it, tucked between your fingers that clutched the edge of the wet wood. There’s a few almost waves that slap against the platform under you when an early morning boater glides by, drowning out the crunch of steps behind you. The ripples in the water have your three hours of sleep beat and the hypnotic shimmer around your bare calves has you almost laying back to take a nap.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

The last voice you’d expect at 7 am, the gravel in it betraying his own lack of sleep. You know you visibly tense but you’re not turning around to look at him, two months of avoided texts should have been a big enough signal for him. There’s maybe a quarter of your cigarette left that you end up sucking down, something to do while you continue to pretend he isn’t there.

“Gonna ignore me in person too?” Eddie steps onto the pier and it springs up.

“What are you doing here?”

“One of the guys called me, said Romeo and Juliette were at it again.” He takes a few more steps out and you still don’t turn around. “Asked me to come out and talk some sense into Rick.”

“You’re gonna have to pry Lisa off his neck.”

“Yeah, she’s taking a lap.”

That makes you turn to look back up at the house and you realize the shouting has stopped, Lisa’s Audi gone from the drive.

“Shit.” You stub out the ember on your smoke and finally drag your legs out of the water, snatching your slides when you stand up. Finally you lay eyes on him and he looks different. Old Slipknot shirt a size too big, jeans that he probably owned in high school by the amount of holes in them and terminally ill reeboks that saw better days a decade ago.

“What?”

You try to ignore him and walk away but he’s too quick for you on this thin strip of wooden slats.

“No, you don’t get away easy like that.” He grabs your arm to get you to stop and you chance falling into the water when you yank it out of his grip.

“Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

“Because I don’t care.” The look you give him is dirty, your best practiced Mean Girl. You have no armor on this morning, no sharp liner or outfit that shows off your only assets. Even with your hair pulled up and grungy house clothes on you still slide into that persona like an old sweater. “Do you, Eddie?” You cock your head at him and point one of your long talons at him, one that desperately needed a fill. “You with your groupies and your two sets of friends. Why are you bothering me when you’ve got Dani and her Gucci purse? What happened to Kim?” You click your tongue at him and turn to keep walking away. “Go bother one of them.”

He doesn’t follow you until you’re well on your way up the embankment, far enough behind that he can’t hear you mumbling to yourself about him blowing up your phone. Inside is quiet except for the movement of Rick from his room. He’d sheepishly come out into the kitchen when he’d heard you come in, a hopeful look on his face that fell when he realized it wasn’t Lisa crawling back.

“Can I use your car.” You don’t ask, just stare at him until he scoffs and tells you no.

“You ran Lisa off, how am I getting home?”

“Uber for all I fucking care.” Rick runs a hand down his face, stubble scratching under his palm.

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“I never claimed to be one.” He grabs his keys off the counter and eyes you before heading back into his room and slamming the door.

Your shit is everywhere in the guest room and you sigh at yourself. Three days this time around and it looks like you’ve lived here for three years, shoes kicked under the bed and duffel bag left open and empty on the chest at the foot of the bed. There’s a short knock on the doorframe and you think maybe Rick is done being a dick but the scuffed white sneaker that comes into view tells you otherwise.

“Get out.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Not from you, get the fuck out.” You keep picking up your work shirts and throwing them violently into your bag. Maybe he’d finally get the message.

“How’s your hand doing?” He apparently doesn’t and also avoids whatever fight you’re trying to start.

“It’s fine, get out.”

“Lisa told me you broke your fingers.” He moves into the room fully and stands at the foot of the bed looking too soft. His hair isn’t tied back this morning and it fluffs out around his head, obviously unwashed and freshly bed headed.

“Well she’s terrible at keeping secrets.” You have a handful of socks you try to drop but that hand with the still healing fingers cramps up at the most inopportune time and Eddie gets to watch you grimace and slowly unclench your fist. “Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me.”

“Had to somehow since you still don’t know how to answer a text.”

“No I can text, I just don’t reply to you.” Still avoiding his gaze but you’ve run out of clothes to pick up so you stare at the hardwood floor and sigh. “Seriously just go. I got a ride.”

“You paid for an Uber.”

“Same thing! Why are you stalking me Munson, huh?!” You yell and round on him finally. It would seem Rick’s was the place to have it out this morning. Eddie remains unfazed when you get in his face, voice rising and fingers jabbing into his chest. “When I don’t answer ten calls and a hundred texts it means I don’t want anything to do with you! I want you gone!” You shoo him towards the door, a gesture he also ignores. “You treat me like I’m some random asshole and then expect me to drop everything because what, you’ve got feelings all of a sudden?” Your laugh cuts through the quiet in the room and you catch the flinch of his shoulders. “I don’t fuck around with nobodies who push! I had my fun and now we’re done!” Mean Girl says this to him, full force voice and a final shove with your finger to make your point clear.

Mean Girl means all of this and she’s great at being cover for you. She keeps everyone on knifes edge and keeps everyone in check and keeps everyone’s dirty little secrets. She gets to eye Eddie like a butchers case and take her pick of prime cuts. She cuts and she cuts and she stays quiet and she gets the privilege of front row seats to heartbreak and fistfights and you? You get to pretend you’re her all the time.

You’d like Eddie to stay and you’d like a ride from him. He could drive through somewhere and get you a coffee for the ride home. Maybe he’d even help you pack up your laundry and even help you start a load at your place. He could look around your apartment and glean some personality off of your things and maybe he could let you have a redo of two months ago. He could clean off your rings and your knuckles; he could get you patched up and comfortable and not get thrown out. You wouldn’t close up this time.

But this isn’t that, it isn’t anything. He’s a fling, was a fling, with a full roster already and you refuse to warm a bench for him.

“Fine.” He shrugs coolly and leaves the room in two steps, hands still tucked up into his underarms. “See you, Red.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind him this time.

It takes your driver forever to find the house, giving you enough time to finally get ahold of Lisa. She’s already basically forgotten what she was screaming about, especially since Rick turned her Amex back on an hour ago.

“So he just called to tell you that?”

“No, I called him to ask if he was going to say sorry and he said he turned it back on.”

“So it’s kind of like an apology, but not really.”

“Babe, you wouldn’t get it. We’ve never put a label on us…”

You stop listening to her try to reason her way out of it this time. Your phone buzzes and you pull it away from your ear to stare at the notification that your Uber finally arrived. You cut her off to tell you’re leaving and she blows kisses over the Bluetooth in her car. You grab your things and pound on Rick’s door before you leave and when you get onto the front porch there’s no car. A double check of your phone shows that yes they were here but the only cars in the drive are Rick’s Jeep and Eddie’s Challenger.

“Where’s my ride, Eddie?”

A jerk of his head before he opens his door and climbs in, car already idling, waiting on you.

“I’m not getting in your car.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in it again.” He presses a button and you hear the passenger door unlock. “I’m taking you home.”

God you want to fight him and not just verbally. The ache of your fingers reminds you that you shouldn’t but the fire remains lit all the same.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because I want to make sure you get home safe.”

He doesn’t yell or spit it at you. He says it sincerely and you feel very soft and stupid for a moment. The low car looks almost inviting in the morning light, Eddie in overly worn clothes and sleep still settled in the faint lines around his eyes. He nods again at the passenger seat and closes his door while he waits for you to decide.

It’s not long, not with your options what they are and you slide in with your bag silently.

Eddie was expecting a little more fight from you and seeing you still and silent and unarmed gives him a swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach. He punches in your address and starts the 30 minute drive and he wonders who’ll break the silence first.

“I’m sorry about last time.” You say quietly, eyes glued to the handles of your bag. He reaches out and takes it, drops it in the backseat in the hopes that you’ll look at him.

“I really was only trying to help.”

“I know.”

“It was nice, what you did for Dani-“

You snort and cross your arms over your chest, head shaking at nothing in particular. “Always about fucking Dani.”

“It was about Dani!” It’s amazing how fast the switch is, from soft words to the yelling between you two.

“What do you want from me?” The firmness behind your question gives Eddie a clue to not fuck around right now. He lets the first thing in his head out of his mouth and flinches at your look of scorn.

“I want to be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Is that so unbelievable?”

“Yes.” A matter of fact nod of your head. “One hundred percent. You have yet to show that you even enjoy being around me so this?” You circle an open palm at him, “This is why I’m confused why you’re playing knight suddenly.”

He’s not really sure either but it makes sense. That first night was harmless fun but then he’d stare at your contact info, racking his brains for something to text you for. A pickup or a party, anything that didn’t make him feel like a teenager again, too afraid to ask out the cool girl. But now those ideas are moot as you’re sitting in his car without any of your façade, willingly letting him take you home.

“I just…” He won’t say it because it wouldn’t be true. He doesn’t think it would be true.

You’ve become a thing he looks forward to during his nights playing dealer, a welcomed distraction that no longer felt like just a distraction. Eddie cares what you think about him, from his clothes to the girls to his fucking car, but he’s spent so long avoiding those thoughts it feels foreign in his head.

“Can we start over?”

“This conversation or-“

“I could use some more friends.”

That makes you chuckle, a puff of air blown through your nose. “I thought you said you had enough?”

“Well I miscounted.”

The tension bleeds away with the faint music, the new silence warm again in its place. There’s a smile playing at the corner of your lips and he’s suddenly determined to make it grow.

“Since we’re friends now…”

“Mm.” A fraction of growth while you play with your phone.

“I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Just us.” Stopped at the red light he looks over at you just as that smile drops before it could ever form.

“Eddie…”

“Christ, what? I can’t ask you to hang out?”

You give him a heavy look and he almost misses the light turning green.

“You’re still just trying to fuck.”

“Maybe I’m trying to ask you out!” His hand slaps the steering wheel out of frustration and he passes the car in front of him, speeding unnecessarily.

“You’re asking me out.”

“Not now!” He sounds like a whining child, even to his own ears. He can’t look back over at you, refuses to see whatever derision or disgust you’re gracing him with. He drives in silence and the ruined mood he created yet again while you sink further into your seat. He’s turning into your complex before he’s ready to let you out, a lot of dumb emotions still sitting like lead in his gut. His phone burns against his leg with all the unread messages from the morning and not for the first time does he wonder why he’s even trying to do this.

The door unlocks and his attention snaps over to you before you can open the door.

“I’m serious.” He blurts out and drops a hand on your knee that you immediately stare at. “About the date.”

You freeze under his touch, such a change in your normal response to him and he feels a twinge of trepidation. You stay wound up around yourself but there’s a softening of your shoulders and you don’t push his hand away so he takes it as a small victory.

“One stipulation.”

“What?”

“You need to delete their numbers.”

He doesn’t need to ask who’s. He stares past you at something outside, eyes unfocused while he chews on his lip. “I mean that’s-“

“If you want to take me on a date, a real date, then you’re going to treat me like I’m not a random hook up.”

The car idling is loud in the silence that follows and Eddie thinks it’s a little pathetic that he can’t find words, let alone lie to you right now. Normally his silver tongue gets him out of situations like this with nothing more than a whisper and a practiced grin.

“Of course baby, I’ll delete them.”

But he doesn’t know for sure if he will. You give him such a tired look and he doesn’t want to be the reason you look so defeated but he knows himself, the kind of shit he pulls.

“I uh, I don’t want to make a promise I might not keep.” Honesty wrapped around a shitty reality.

You huff softly and reach in the back to grab your duffle, carefully swinging it to rest on your lap before you exit his car.

“Seriously? A few numbers?” You ask and he can hear what you’re really trying to say, ‘Aren’t we a little old for this?’

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Doesn’t get you a date just because you don’t want to.” The door opens and the bright morning light spills into the tinted interior. You climb out of his car and lean back in for your keys and he has a distinct memory of playing pool with you. “I hope you grow up some day Eddie.”

You don’t slam the door like he expected, like the last time you were in his car. You don’t walk away with a switch in your step and you don’t look back at him with a cheeky wave. Eddie watches you climb the wooden steps slowly, tiredly, to the top landing and he watches you unlock your door and disappear from view.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Angst #Eddie Munson x Reader #My Work #My Fic #Vlad

[yb-cringe]

i was starting to make a post abt how like. qpac in the past has, when things went wrong, let himself spiral into despair but thats. not what happened. at least not recently.

when mike went missing, when the eggs went missing, fit was there to lean on. tubbo was there to lean on. he was able to process his feelings even while going through the fuckin wringer, he hasn't been as bad as he was during maybe the happy pills in a long while. yeah things got bad but he had people there for him (he had fit)

and i was like oh thats rly good! and then!! i remembered!! that his whole getting up and moving on immediately, especially for other people, has always been something he's done for Mike.

After being kidnapped, if he didn't have the space to safely be depressed he just would move on. he even did an outfit change then too. Specifically just to quickly move on so MIKE could have someone to lean on.

I don't know exactly whether thats better or worse I just think its so fucking interesting that he's actually reverted to coping mechanisms he had before fit showed up, now that he's certain he's gone. or in general; if he doesn't have someone to /feel bad with to process those feelings/

#qsmp #qsmp meta #this is a lot of like. jsut character analysis theres no big point here #i just think if thats an intentional character choice then thats brilliant #because i may be wrong but i dont remember him doing this exact quick move on from anythiung else #like maybe purgatory 2 but thats in dubious canon territory #maybe after purgatory 1 but i felt like pac was still in that outfit post-purgatory talking about it until the new eggs came along #so maybe its just a matter of if he feels like he cant be a #burden or he cant feel his emotions so he throws them aside #idk long rant lmao sorry

[amhrosina]

I'm With You (Always) - Frank Castle x Reader

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: This one ended up being a tad shorter than most of my other fics, but I felt like it told the story I was trying to tell. I didn’t want to drag it out if it wasn’t necessary. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for requesting, nonnie! <3

Request: Omg your fics always HIT 🫶🏻💀 I feel like there’s a bunch of fics of Frank comforting the reader, but none really of the opposite. Could you do something like that? I mean mans been through the mf WRINGER

Summary: On the 5th anniversary of Maria’s death, Frank grapples with the guilt of loving someone else (i.e., you) for the first time since her death.

(Warnings: it’s angsty as hell (sorry not sorry), cursing, frank is way too hard on himself, frank castle needs a hug!, reader comforts frank, all im asking marvel is for them to make him happy!!!!!!, references to what happened to Maria and the kids) 

Frank knew he should call you. It was the least he could do, considering the shit you’ve put up with for the past ten months. He’d put you through hell, showing up on your doorstep at all hours of the night, bleeding and in serious need of medical attention. It was something you handled with grace, even though he was undeserving of your gentle nature.  

He was a moody, cut-throat bastard, and you both knew it. He was emotionally withdrawn, irritable, and had very little trust left in him to give. But you never minded, and he spent most of his time with you perplexed at your ability to forgive and forget so easily.  

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he knew it was you calling without having to look. You had called him this morning, too, and left a short voice message about how you’d be free this evening, if he wanted to see you. The serene warmth in your voice had caused his chest to ache, an all too familiar feeling when it came to you.  

Of course, he wanted to see you. He always did, even when he was being the angry bastard version of himself that he hated so much. Your tone, so doubtful and hesitant, fueled a heavy rage in Frank’s heart, and he cursed himself for being the cause of it. He should fucking answer the phone.  

He watched as the screen faded to black. He hadn’t moved from his unrelaxed position on the floor, and he’d just ignored you, again. He shoved his face into his palms, running his fingers through his hair and tugging it in a motion fueled completely by anger. Anger wasn’t foreign to Frank – he'd had his fair share of things to be angry at – but this type of anger, the one caused completely by his own actions, was new to him.  

You didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you, and he was actively fucking it up more as the night went on. Despair weighed heavy on his heart, and he wanted so badly to explain it to you – beg you for your forgiveness and apologize for being a broken man who still loved his wife, even years after her death. But the date on the calendar had paralyzed him, and he hadn’t moved from his hunched position in eight long hours. 

Five years. It had been five years since his family had been taken from him, and he was still just as broken as he was the day it happened. You knew, of course, that his family had been murdered in cold blood, right in front of him, but he’d never told you the details, and you never asked. You had no idea that today would push Frank beyond his boundaries, like it did every year, completely shutting down his ability to function. 

Frank used to let the rage consume him, let it burn through him until all he could see was red, but he had personally killed every fucker involved in the plot to murder his family, and once that rage had sputtered out, he was left with nothing but a massive, aching hole in his chest. 

This year felt a little different, if he really thought about it. The patch you’d begun mending in his heart was present, a gentle reminder that someone, somewhere cared for him deeply. But as hard as he tried to pick up the phone and call you, he couldn’t find it within himself to do it. Every time his thoughts drifted, and he ended up thinking about you, a pang of betrayal would wind its way through his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Would Maria be okay with this? Would she like you? Would the kids? It all felt very surreal to Frank, so he did what every other jarhead had been trained to do and shut it all down until the numbness finally overpowered the ache.  

His phone flashed with a notification, and he glanced over, expecting it to be a text from you, angry and done with whatever this thing was between the two of you, but it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. It was you, and your kindness would always win when pinned against your anger. It was a simple message, one that Frank couldn’t figure out how to feel about.  

‘I’m coming over, and I’m bringing you dinner. I won’t stay, unless you want me to.’ 

Clearly you were aware something was going on with him, and his heart ached at the thought of you worriedly walking through Hell’s Kitchen to come to his aid. He thought about leaving, going out and walking around until he was sure you wouldn’t be here when he got back. You shouldn’t see him like this, so beaten down by life that he could barely move. He could text you, tell you to turn around and go home. Maybe you’d be so put off by his rude behavior that you would turn around without a second thought. 

Frank didn’t do any of those things though. Maybe he needed a lot of things, or maybe he didn’t, he didn’t know, but more than anything, he knew he needed love, and he would be a fool to turn down what you were trying so hard to offer him. He slowly picked up his phone and typed out a short response. 

‘Okay.’ 

- 

You stared at the door for three long minutes before you finally reached forward and knocked. The adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins earlier had caused you to rush into this plan, and now you were second guessing the bold text you’d sent Frank. Was it too much? Too harsh for him on a day when he deserved the utmost softness?  

His rapid response had fueled your hurried haze, and you had picked up your already-brisk pace, only stopping to rethink your plan when you arrived on his doorstep. You could take the coward’s way out – leave the bag of takeout food on his front steps and bolt before he opened the door – but something about that felt inherently wrong. 

The squeal of the floorboards on the other side of the door sounded, a precaution Frank had purposely installed to make him aware of anybody entering his home, and you tightened your grip on the bag. You didn’t know which Frank would be on the other side of the door, but you were determined to at least give him something to eat. 

The door swung open, revealing an incredibly disheveled looking Frank. The red sting of his eyes was immediately noticeable, and your heart broke looking at him. You wanted to hug him, kiss him, anything to remind him that you loved him, but you didn’t know how he’d react to physical affection on a day like this. A day of mourning, of loss, of immense and immeasurable grief.  

He glanced down at the food in your hands, and you stiffened at the thought of him taking the food and shutting the door in your face. You had given him that option, but the last thing you wanted to do was abandon Frank on the rare occasion when he needed someone else to lean on.  

“Hi.” You mumbled, raising your hand in an awkward wave. “I brought you food.”  

“Hi. Thank you.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, and your heart broke just a little bit more hearing the sorrow in it. He opened the door wider. An invitation beckoning you to come inside.  

You stepped through the doorway, awkwardly shuffling your feet as Frank closed the door and deadbolted it behind you. No one said anything for a moment. You didn’t know how to comfort this level of grief, but you’d always been taught to make yourself present in a grieving person’s life, so you ignored the awkward silence and tried to act like this was a normal interaction between you and Frank.  

“Have you eaten?” You asked, lifting the bag of food for emphasis.  

Frank shook his head. You turned, setting off towards the kitchen to unload the food. You’d gone a little overboard, probably, but you didn’t know what type of food he would want, so you got a little bit of everything. When Frank saw the spread of cuisines you had laid out on the counter, his eyes widened.  

“Did you stop at every restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen?” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you quickly turned away, unsure if you should feel ashamed under his gaze.  

“It’s,” you paused, trying to figure out what to say, “comfort food. I just didn’t know which kind was your comfort.” You shrugged, looking over the array of food in front of you. 

He shifted beside you, and you suddenly became aware of his hand on the small of your back. He pressed a long kiss against your temple and grabbed the box of Thai food closest to him. His affection eased some of the tension in your shoulders, and you leaned against the counter with him as he dug into his food.  

“Should I... I mean do you want me to...” your question trailed off as you motioned towards the door. 

He glanced between the door and your hand, still hung in the air in an awkward pointing position, and shook his head.  

“Stay.” He murmured, and added, after a pause, “Please.” 

Frank Castle didn’t beg, but you could’ve sworn that it sounded like he was pleading with you. Stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with my demons. You nodded and began to put the extra food in his refrigerator as he devoured his meal.  

The silence between the two of you was no longer awkward, now that Frank had made it clear that he wanted you to be here. As you finished organizing the contents of his fridge, he moved across the kitchen, grasping your hand between his and fiddling with your fingers. 

“How did you know?” He asked, eyes cast downward where your hands met.  

“About today?” You leaned into his hold, pressing your knuckles against his hard abdomen. He nodded, the only response he could give you at the moment. 

“I had a funny feeling when I woke up this morning, and then I hadn’t heard from you all day, so when Karen asked me how you were holding up, I sort of put the pieces together myself. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

He shook his head, bringing the tips of your fingers to his lips.  

“I don’t know what to say.” He murmured against your fingertips. You reached forward, cupping his cheek with your free hand.  

“You don’t have to say anything, Frank. I’m with you no matter what, okay? Whatever that means for you.” 

He nodded and leaned into your palm, closing his eyes.  

“I will always love Maria.” He mumbled, tears threatening to spill behind his closed eyelids. “But I love you, too. And, after Maria, I didn’t know I was still capable of that until I met you. Is that enough for you? To share me with someone who’s de-,” He stumbled over the word, clearing his throat, “Who’s dead?”  

You’d never heard Frank speak so plainly about Maria before, and the ache cascading from him was a palpable feeling. You held back your tears as you pressed your other hand to his face.  

“Frank, she was your wife, and she was taken from you. Of course, you still love her. I wouldn’t expect anything different.” You pressed your forehead against his, fully leaning into his warmth. “You’re always enough.” 

Your final statement had Frank collapsing against you, pulling you into a tight hug. His body shook with sobs against yours, and you clung to him like you would a life raft in the middle of the ocean.  

“I love you.” His voice was a muffled whisper against your shoulder. You lightly ran your fingers along the nape of his neck. 

“I love you too, Frankie.”  

“Thank you for coming over, baby.” 

“I’ll always come for you, Frank.”  

It was a promise you knew you would never break, and you’d spend your life proving it to him if need be. Frank would always be hurting, even in the good moments, and you were determined to show him a love deeply enough to help remind him during those times that he was cared about and loved, flaws and all.  

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle fluff #frank castle angst #frank castle x y/n #the punisher #the punisher x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #the punisher fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel #jon bernthal #frank castle needs a hug #requested #amhrosina

[drabbles-mc]

Gone Soft

Takeshi Kovacs x F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: nursed back to health

Warnings: 18+, language, blood/injury, mild angst

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I've been tossing Tak around my head like a pinball for weeks now. Eventually I will get my thoughts and feelings about him together to do some longer fics and all sorts of stuff. But this was a nice little something to start writing him 😌

Altered Carbon Taglist: @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

He came to with a groan and a cough, which was about what you had expected. Well, for a little while there you were wondering if he was going to come to at all. But Tak wasn’t ever the type of man who stayed dead. Might go down for a year, or a decade, or a century, but he always came back around. Lucky for you, this time he didn’t really go down, and he was only out for a week.

You looked over at him from the chair you’d set up beside his bed. Your bed, but for now it was his. You watched the way his face contorted—exhaustion, confusion, pain, all in rapid succession. He shut his eyes tight for a moment before opening them up all the way. After a few long, slow blinks he finally turned his head to look around the room. The confusion faded slightly when he saw you sitting beside him.

“You’re back,” you said as you uncrossed your legs, leaning forward.

“Didn’t realize I left,” he grunted. He braced his palms against the mattress, went to try and push himself upright just enough to lean back against the headboard. He didn’t get very far before the pain shot through him again and he dropped back down flat onto the mattress. “Fuck.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your face. “Yea I’d just stay flat if I were you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said, still staring up at the ceiling. He brought his hands up to his face, dragging his fingers down as he wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes. “How long?”

You laughed. “Not like you were on ice, Tak.” He turned his head so that he was looking at you. Propping your elbows on your knees, you told him, “One week.”

“And it still hurts this fuckin’ bad?”

You laughed. “Imagine if you hadn’t been out.”

He groaned, letting his eyes shut again. “I’m going back to sleep.”

You chuckled, shrugging. “Sure.”

He was already awake when you came in to check on him the next morning. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, wondering what he was thinking about. He knew you were there—it wasn’t like you’d been quiet. And even though he’d been put through the wringer you knew that his senses were still going to be sharper than most, sharp enough to have heard you the second you got up off the couch in the living room.

Flicking on the light, you stepped in. You couldn’t help but to chuckle at the groan he let out. “Like you didn’t know that was coming.” He turned his head so that he was looking at you. Not that you needed a reason to be popping in to check on him, but this time you actually did have one. Holding up the pack in your hand, you said, “Bandage change time.”

He let out a deep breath. “Right.”

Walking over, you peeled the blanket down off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed. For the first few seconds, your lingering stare could be written off as checking to make sure that everything was healing alright, the bruises, the cuts. But it didn’t take long for that excuse to run its course. Then you were just staring because you could.

When you finally made your eyes look into his, you found him already looking at your face. Despite the exhaustion and the pain, he still had that same stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. “Is it everything you remember?”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the smile that was creeping across your face. “Shut up. Just making sure you didn’t wake up with any new injuries.”

“Yea, I can see that.”

If he wasn’t already so beat up you would’ve given him a shove or clipped him on the side of the head. That seemed a little unfair given the circumstances. Rather than dignifying it with any kind of a response, you opted to start peeling away the bandages that were secured to his side and his chest.

“Couldn’t find me a sleeve that wasn’t beat to shit?” he asked, cringing slightly at the pull against his skin.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But I actually like this sleeve.” You paused, looking up at him until he locked eyes with you. “It’s pretty enough to make me forget how annoying your stack is.”

He chuckled at that, and you could feel the movement of his muscles beneath your fingertips. Somehow you managed not to fumble at the sensation of it, managed to keep a straight face. He could still sense the shift in you, though, because of fucking course he could. Whether or not you believed in Envoy Intuition was a moot point because Tak could read you like an open book and you had faith that he would be able to do that just as easily even if he wasn’t an Envoy.

“More work than it’s worth,” he said with a shake of his head.

Your eyes were back on his wounds again. They were already much better than they were when you’d managed to get him back to your place, but he was still a ways away from being healed. You didn’t have the money or the connections to get your hands on things that would heal him instantaneously. The selfish part of you in that moment didn’t mind it too much.

“I’m always in need of a good hobby,” you answered casually. You heard him chuckle at that and you looked back over at him. “But got it—next time I’ll let them throw you back on ice.”

He shrugged, and you knew that there was part of him that really would be that flippant about the prospect of going down again. Even if he wasn’t gonna come back for another couple hundred years. “No more hobby for you, then.”

You tried your best to reciprocate the energy. “I’m sure there are plenty of other broody men out there who need patching up.” Your expression shifted and you allowed yourself a moment of honesty even if Tak wouldn’t do the same in turn. “I would’ve found you a new sleeve if I thought I had to.”

His satisfied grin made you want to take it all back.

“Don’t,” you told him with a shake of your head.

“What?” he asked and even though you weren’t looking at him anymore you could still hear the smirk in his voice.

Rather than giving him the satisfaction of saying any of it out loud, you dumped disinfectant onto the gash across his stomach that hadn’t completely closed and started to scab over yet. He pushed the air out sharp between his teeth, hands balling into fists as he clutched your bedsheets between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at your face, eyes shut tight for a moment instead. When he finally pried his lids back open, he looked at you, able to just catch from the angle you were sitting that it was your turn to have a self-satisfied grin on your face.

“Feel better?” he asked, voice still strained as he worked his way through the sting.

“Who knew you’d gotten so soft, Tak?” you taunted with a smile.

“Wouldn’t be soft if you’d grabbed me a new sleeve.”

“You’d still be soft,” you joked. You paused, taking a moment to wipe away the excess medical alcohol on his stomach. “And if you wanted someone who could just grab you a new sleeve anytime you got yourself into a goddamn shoot-out,” you locked eyes with him, “should’ve been nicer to your Meth buddies.”

“They weren’t my buddies,” he said the word like it left a physical bad taste on his tongue.

“Did you tell them that?”

“I think the shooting might’ve said it for me.”

“You assume too much of them.” You said it with a chuckle, almost like it was a joke, but you didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he heard the truth in what you were saying.

It grew quiet between you again. You were more at ease than you thought you were going to be. Up until now, swapping out his bandages had been a solitary activity since he was still unconscious. You were expecting him to try and brush you off, try and take care of it himself. It crossed your mind, you found yourself hoping, that maybe this was progress. He was still tense beneath your touch, still sidestepping almost every chance at a real conversation with a joke or a snide remark. But he was letting you help. He was sitting still and he was letting you help. That was something.

“How often you been doing that?” he asked when you were done.

“First two days it was twice a day. Once the bleeding slowed it was just once a day.”

“Why?”

“So you didn’t get blood all over my sheets.”

He huffed out a short, quiet chuckle. “No. I mean, why put in all the effort?”

“What is your problem with this sleeve?” you asked, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Not about the sleeve.”

You paused, lips curling down into a small frown as you turned over his previous question in your mind. “Wish I could say I just didn’t want the guilty conscience.” You shook your head. “But unfortunately, I think that I care about you now.”

It got a brief, weak smile out of him. “Very unfortunate.”

“For both of us, apparently, since it means I’m gonna make sure you stay alive.”

He let his head drop and rest against the pillow. “Looks like I’m not the only one who got soft.”

#altered carbon #altered carbon fanfiction #takeshi kovacs #takeshi kovacs x reader #takeshi kovacs x you #x reader #x reader fic #navy and roos sleepover #navy and roo's sleepover #slumber party bingo #slumber party #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[animentality]

heyheyhey idk if u know how cool and important it is to have a badass assassin story with something other than cis gays and have it be Not a Big Deal but,,, it’s literally one of the first legit published books I’ve ever found like it?? And in a genre that I love??? And written well?? And genuinely funny as fuck?? Idk I’ve never seen an enby that gets to exist without it being A Tragic Plot Point or something To Overcome so thank u??? Like so much???? I can’t tell u how much???? I definitely didn’t cry at all about it nope not even once

:DDDDDD omg, my heart started pumping faster when I saw this ask. I am always so giddy when people talk to me about my books, especially the specifics about characters and tone and things they liked!

Yeah, I wanted to include every goddamn color in the pride flag!!

Pansexual/ bisexual assassins, nonbinary demons, a transgender assassin, an unrealistic number of gay and lesbian demon summoners! That's my fantasy world. It's not talked about, because it's simply normal.

Irvine in particular I adore because I am nonbinary myself, but also because they are just so powerful, and they don't even know just how much yet!

I always disliked how many nonbinary characters in fantasy and sci fi are just token "they/them" body guards, robotic or asexual leaning non-humans, or quiet, unassuming love interests who only exist to show a character is pansexual or something.

Irvine was my love letter to my own identity because I thought hey what if there was a nonbinary character who just fucks shit up, every time they appear? What if there was an enby who just kicks ass and is sexily never showing their face, and wears a badass hood all the time?

And then Irvine was born. My little storm demon :)

Also, I don't know if you ever saw the commissioned art, but I will post it in this ask for your viewing pleasure:

so glad you love my child. my baby blorbo.

who i intend to put through the wringer, lemme tell you, because i like to put all my favorite characters through it.

So glad you find it unique too! I honestly was feeling so badly about it, after months of querying and beta swapping, and getting feedback from dozens of people who only found things to criticize as being too strange or too different or stylistically confusing.

I went through a year of being told it wasn't good, and-and I'm a little emotional and overcome with appreciation and gratitude to all the people who not only bought or downloaded the book while it was free, but who also actually read the whole thing, and found it GOOD.

Like people...think i...write well??? oh gosh. oh god.

chills.

The asks I get keep me going through this mundane, dull little world. They give me something to look forward to, in between the doldrums of normalcy...

They also validate me for thinking someone...someone out there must find this good...

Thanks for taking the time to send this ask :))) it means the world to me.

I save them all in my drafts so I can look at them when I'm sad...

Also, THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THAT THE BOOK IS FUNNY.

in between the angst and the action and the blood-filled fist fighting and crazy sniper/melee battles, there is a lot of dark comedy!

I love dark comedy. I love satire.

As much as I love being edgy, I think a story without any humor at all is unbearable.

I want you to hurt with my characters...but you should also laugh with them! Laugh at them! Be amused by their stupidity...or by their cleverness.

Be charmed by their vulnerability, but also their insane, abnormal, bizarre points of view!

AAAAH, I'm so glad you found it funny AND heart-breaking!

That is exactly what I want every story of mine to be.

Thank you thank you thank you for this ask!!

Link to referenced book here, for all the poor spectators who have to see me blubbering like a child.

Please leave a review on Amazon/Goodreads if you haven't already, but if you have, thank you for that too! Every review helps me out so much!

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #reading #book recs #literature #spilled ink #ao3 #lgbt #nonbinary #assassins #demons #demon summoners

[pianokantzart]

Omg PLEASSSE GO OFF about the movie I NEED your thoughts

THE BEGINNING WAS THE BEST PART. THE SCENES WHERE THE BROTHERS WERE JUST VIBING WERE SO GOOOOD.

LUIGI ATTEMPTED TO MIC-DROP HIS PHONE AND FUCKING SHATTERED IT THE MADMAN.

Foreman Spike: You're an idiot... Mario: lmao Foreman Spike: ...and your brother is an idiot Mario: FUCK. YOU.

The dinner scene with the family was fantastic. It's clear that Mario is seen as the impulsive troublemaker, but on the flip side Luigi is walked all over (mostly by members of his extended family.) His uncles are continually cutting Luigi off, taking food from his hands when he was half-way through serving himself, etc, until his Mom has to step in and just put a bowl of soup directly in front of him. Also, the moment Luigi confirms how much he likes mushrooms Mario just starts picking all the mushrooms off his own plate and piling them on Luigi's I LOVE THAT. Mario's Dad: Your dream is stupid Mario: Uh huh yeah Mario's Dad: And you're dragging your brother down with you Mario: :( I'll be in my room

So much of this movie was Mario brute forcing his way through restricted areas demanding his brother and fighting anyone stupid enough to get in his way.

The FLASHBACK SCENE WITH BABY MARIO PROTECTING BABY LUIGI HURT MY HEART. When the flashback ends and Luigi just... looks at his bound wrists... completely dejected and defeated... desperately wishing his brother was there to help him be braver. Bowser, vindictive and full of violence: DOES PRINCESS PEACH HAVE A CRUSH ON YOUR BROTHER Luigi, confused, panicking, and in pain: I DON'T KNOW BUT SHE'D BE STUPID NOT TO DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW COOL MARIO IS!? The reunion was beautiful, wish it could have been longer but everything was too busy literally and figuratively exploding. But Mario got to gently cup his brothers face and ugly cry, and I appreciate that from the bottom of my heart.

I was surprised how much they legit beat the shit out of Mario in this movie holy crap both boys went through the wringer. And I don't know the logistics of one super star powering two plumbers but I don't even care. Glad they both got to wail on bowser <3

SPEAKING OF Bowser was a delightful balance between being a total dork and the absolute worst person. I was worried the Peaches song would be annoying but it was the perfect length for the joke to land and was legit good.

I can't wait until the sequel where his son & squad of adopted koopalings bust him out of jail.

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #I'm TRYING to hold back the firehose I'll post more later #I have so many thoughts #Mostly about Luigi #as is to be expected #long post #not art #asks #super mario brothers movie

[noneatnonedotcom]

that's actually a good reason

jaune: "dad! why won't you train me to be a huntsman?" papa arc: **sighs** "alright I wanted to spare you from this part of the world but..." jaune: "I can handle tragedy" papa arc: "this story isn't about tragedy jaune, it's about stupidity" jaune: "what?" papa arc: "let me tell you the story of team strq" papa arc: **with a thousand-yard stare** "Our story starts with the members Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen her brother, tai-yang xiao-long and their leader Summer Rose. Raven got teen pregnant in her first year in Beacon and then left as soon as she had her daughter Yang. two years later Summer got with Tai since they weren't kicked out of Beacon for not having enough people for some reason and had Ruby while also still in Beacon. they graduate and that means that for 5 years they were an independent team of three that still kept the four-letter name for some reason but then Summer dies because she went out on her own for a hunt. which means that they must have kept Yang and Ruby with them before that since it's said that qrow and Tai were always with her before and they didn't have babysitters for the girls. she then dies, Tai goes into a depressive episode and since Yang was ten at the time Ruby and Yang almost died that means that they were left alone with him for two years before qrow thought maybe he should step in and stop that shit. jaune: ".... you know what? fair enough, I don't wanna be a huntsman anymore"

papa arc: "It's not that I don't think you could do it physically jaune, you're a literal genius. it's that I've seen what the huntsman system does and it's really fucking stupid" Papa Arc: "Like, sweet Christ Jaune, it is peak mental gymnastics 24/7" Papa Arc: "It's demanding as all hell and it will put you through the wringer. And even having other responsibilities won't stop it from fucking you over." meanwhile with yang and ruby Ruby and Yang: listen to the story of the mental bullshit that Tai and Qrow go through

Ruby: "...Hey Yang?"

Yang: "...Yes Rubes?"

Ruby: "I don't think I wanna be a Huntress anymore."

Yang: "...I don't think I want to either." edit: big thanks to @thatorigamiguy for helping me write this

#rwby #shitpost #jaune arc #papa arc #ruby rose #taiyang xiao long #yang xiao long #this all must have happened the way I describe it for tai to be in his 30s during the show as the wiki says #the timeline just ain't adding up chief

[galexibrain]

Something that bugs me a little is the insistence that Gohan actively hates to fight period. Bc that's not true!

(This ignores everything that happened outside the original manga/the DBZ anime)

Yes, he lacks Goku's or Vegeta's laser-focus on all things martial arts, but let's be real, all half Saiyans do. Goten & Trunks sure have more passion for fighting than Gohan does but they're much more "human" about it than their dads and have other interests in their lives too.

But while Gohan originally became a fighter out of necessity and had little choice in the matter there are instances when he clearly shows that he is totally capable of enjoying himself in a fight.

For once there's obviously his fight against Cell - once he snapped his "Saiyan side" took the lead and he was enjoying himself a little too much (and ruined it, like a good Saiyan must).

But it also becomes clear in the early Buu arc. Yeah, initially he's not rly interested in the tournament and wouldn't have participated if not for Videl forcing him.

But once he was in he was in. He even got a little annoyed by Videl interrupting his training, and he did want to win. If he really hated it so much he could have entered with the plan of failing the preliminaries, or losing in the first round. But the thought never crossed his mind. I think if you'd suggested he botches it deliberately to get out of it he'd been horrified.

He was going to have fun with it! I think his most "Saiyan" trait is that he's a bit of a showman lol. He likes to be flashy! And he likes to boast! He COULD have just used a plain costume and mask to hide hid identity but nope, Great Saiyaman it is! He likes being seen and being known as a crazy strong superhero. Maybe he'd have been into pro-wrestling with their fancy costumes and showmanship

Even before things went off the rails at the tournament and Buu arc was set in motion he was ready to go. And yes his crush on Videl might have served as motivation: "haha cool she won't be disappointed if someone beats her dad! (I can date her if I beat her dad)" -> he WOULD have thrown Satan out of the ring if he'd gotten to fight him, no questions asked.

And once he, Goku & Vegeta are in Babidi's spaceship it gets even clearer: now, no one is forcing him to fight. Ofc Gohan always wanted to fight when it was necessary, even at 5yo he wouldn't stay home, he made it very clear that he was going to Namek.

But while they were going through the levels in Babidi's ship this still wasn't a serious thing. Pui Pui and Yakon were a joke for them. Vegeta was getting pissed, ok, but aside from that it was just fun and games for them, and Gohan could easily have said "nah have at it you two, I'm sitting this one out" but never once did he so much as consider NOT taking part in rock-paper-scissoring it out to decide who gets to go first.

He was eager to fight Dabra! Dabra told them to take him on 3:1 and Gohan flat out told him "no way, this is MY fight!". And if Vegeta had interfered with that fight to end it quicker I'm 100% sure Gohan would have decked him in the face and told him to fuck off. (Maybe that would have cooled Geets' mood a little lol.)

The problem isn't that Gohan hates fighting from the bottom of his heart. He doesn't. The problem is he grew up with a dad who was 100% a fighter and a mum who was 100% into education, and he didn't find a balance. He didn't even know that might be an option! He thought he'd HAVE to choose one thing, and one alone, and so he chose education.

Who could have taught him otherwise? Maaaaybe Piccolo (post-reunification with Kami), but tbh I think he didn't want to give Gohan the feeling he had to fight. I think Piccolo feels a little bad for putting 4-5yo Gohan through the wringer so much.

Like idk. Let my boy be both. Let him have Goku's legacy as well as make his own!

(I've read about Dragon Ball Online a little and tbh Gohan writing a book on ki and making it widely known? Perfect. I love it. Best idea ever. Probably the best thing that happened to DB since the original manga and Z anime ended. I am accepting this as canon 100%.)

#dragon ball #dbz #dragon ball z #gohan #son gohan

[fruitcoops]

Falling for Forever

Two for two on deadlines, baby! Ignore the fact that it’s been 11 months. This fic put me through the absolute wringer and now I get to stand on it and witch-cackle in victory. Almost 11k words of physical, mental, emotional, and...all those other types of healing. Bon appetit, babes! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, to whom I owe my heart and soul for building this universe.

TW for past injury/ memory loss, working through trauma

Part One: What You Have, What You Hate (the amnesia fic)

Part Two: Sirius Love Yourself and Remus Get Therapy, Electric Boogaloo

It just wasn’t fair.

Sirius was fine. Honestly, genuinely, from the bottom of his heart—he was fine. Sure, some days his head hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d wonder where he put his phone when it was still in his hand, or enter a room and forget why he went there in the first place, but those weren’t new occurrences. He could walk and talk and remember just about everything from his life, with the notable exception of the ten minutes before the hit.

But Remus hadn’t slept properly in days, and Coach wouldn’t let him back out on the ice, and the whole damn thing just reeked of pity he didn’t want. Pity he didn’t need.

Remus’ hands flickered over him, tucking and retucking the sheets until Sirius caught his wrists and pressed a kiss to each pulse point. His broad shoulders sagged. “I’m being a bother again, aren’t I,” Remus muttered. He shook his head without waiting for a response. “Fuck, I am, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being a bother.”

“No, I totally am—”

“You’re not,” Sirius repeated. The shadows under Remus’ eyes lightened every day, but still lingered. He looked threadbare, his voice thin, like someone had taken an eraser to his edges. He held Sirius tighter at night than he ever had before. The worried crease between his brows smoothed when Sirius pulled him down to sit on the mattress with a small smile. “Lay down, I’m cold.”

Tension had been holding Remus up like a second skeleton for days now, ever since they had been discharged from the hospital and promptly collapsed into bed for ten hours. Sirius had only seen it release him in deep sleep—a fleeting event at best. It was like the hospital had followed them home and seeped into the walls, staining Remus’ vision until they were right back where they started.

Remus turned out the lamp and curled into his usual spot against Sirius’ chest, shuffling around until he was comfortable; Sirius splayed a hand between his shoulder blades and tucked his nose into soft curls. Of all the aftershocks he had prepared himself for, the fatigue had snuck up on them both. “Bonne nuit, mon coeur,” he whispered.

“Night, baby.” Lips brushed the peak of Sirius’ cheek before Remus snuggled up once more.

Kiss me, and I’ll know, Sirius had said into the inch of space between them on a paper-thin hospital pillow. And Remus had, because he was made of everything light and good and kind in the world. It had been six days since they came home; two weeks since the hit. That remained the only time Remus had kissed him on the mouth. Sirius closed his eyes against the ache in his chest and readied himself to try and rest.

--

That first night home had been distilled bliss. They showered together—showered, dear god how Sirius had missed that—and Remus had washed his hair and the spots he couldn’t reach with reverent hands. They were both so, so tired from the endless discharge paperwork and so, so silently afraid to step away from each other for more than a few seconds. Remus was shaky, but happy. Contented. Solid in Sirius’ arms when they finally laid in their own bed after days upon days. They spooned the whole night and into the morning, neither budging an inch.

“We should eat,” Remus had sighed when the sun was finally too high to ignore. His hand moved in slow strokes, tracing from Sirius’ hand to his elbow and back again, just to touch. The intimacy of the movement settled something deep inside them both if his drowsy smile was anything to go by.

They stayed in bed for another hour in comfortable silence before their empty stomachs won out. Even in the kitchen, Sirius had hugged Remus from behind with his chin propped on a well-muscled shoulder to watch him cook. “Mon coeur,” he murmured into the shirt that had once been his. The smell of the hospital was long gone and the fabric was soft. “Mon loup, mon amour.”

He had trailed his mouth along the curve of Remus’ neck and held him close. The frayed edges began to ease.

The routine came easily. Nothing else did, so Sirius had to be a little grateful for it. They left social media to its conspiring and only spoke to family, face-to-face on the doctor’s orders. Leo meal-prepped like a madman; they could hardly keep Dumo out of the house; Lily brought Harry over in an obvious ploy to distract Sirius while their husbands fixed the leaky faucet, though he wasn’t offended by their caution. If it were James on the injured list, he would have swaddled him in bubble wrap at the first opportunity.

“Hey.” A kiss feathered Sirius’ temple and he looked up from his crossword, blinking back the memories. Remus perched on the table with a smile he couldn’t help but mirror, clad in a sweater that brought out the hearth-warm brown in his eyes.

“Bonjour,” he managed, a little breathless.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Really?” The doctors’ definition of his permitted ‘minimal exercise’ amounted to literally walking up and down the stairs—even a wander around the block was pushing his luck. Sirius had tried extraordinarily hard not to be jealous when Remus took Hattie out every few hours so she didn’t destroy their couch pillows with excess bursts of energy, but it felt like he was a toddler in time-out. “A real walk?”

“A real walk,” Remus confirmed. He ran his fingers through the hair above Sirius’ ears and Sirius nuzzled into it with a kiss to his palm. That touch had kept him grounded at his lowest point. He knew better than to take it for granted, now.

“What about a run?” he asked, cracking a grin at the eye-roll it earned him.

And Remus laughed. The sound sent butterflies careening through his stomach; it hadn’t been absent since his fall, but it had been…well, a little rare, if he was being honest. More rare than his mostly-reliable memory told him it should be. Remus was joy incarnate, but he had been so tired lately. It was good to see him shine again, even for a moment.

Sirius pulled him in by the sleeve and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting the last bits of humor that lingered there. Not the lips. Not until Remus was ready. “I love you.”

Remus turned until their foreheads rested together and their noses bumped. He was smiling softly. “Love you, too.”

--

“Baby?”

Sirius made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t budge. His hands were warm in his pockets, and the sun was hot on his windburned face. Hattie’s collar jingled; he smiled when her nose pushed into his thigh and Remus’ arm looped through his own. “Hey. Good run?”

“That hydrangea was a real threat to our safety.”

Sirius grinned and opened his eyes to kiss the top of Remus’ head. Fresh air seeped into his blood, replacing the stale sludge he had been dragging around all week. Finally, he felt human. “I’m sure it was.”

“Excuse me?”

They both startled, stepping apart. “Yes?” Remus said, his tone curious but a little tense. “Can we help you?”

A young man shifted from foot to foot, as if he couldn’t quite believe they had acknowledged him. It seemed whatever (certainly invasive) question he was going to ask had become stuck in his throat. Sirius arched a brow and saw him swallow hard. “Are you—are you okay?” the young man finally got out.

There it is. Sirius forced a smile and knew it came out tight by the sudden regret on the other man’s face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

I’d be a lot more sure if you fucked off and let me enjoy my walk. “Very sure,” he promised.

The young man’s dark eyes flickered between them before settling on Sirius’ forehead. His beanie covered the small bandage, but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from staring. “You were in the hospital for, like…a while.”

“Just a few days,” Remus assured him. Sirius felt a light squeeze on his hand and returned it in a silent request; a gust of wind snuck down the back of his coat and raised goosebumps along his arms.

“Will you play at the next game?”

Sirius exhaled slowly through his nose as something bitter crawled up and stained his teeth. “We’re waiting on the go-ahead from the doctors,” Remus said placatingly. “Better safe than sorry. Thanks for your concern, though. Enjoy the weather.”

They were walking before the man could open his mouth again—Remus’ knuckles were white on Hattie’s leash and she had to trot to keep up with them, her fluffy tail bobbing happily. Sirius ground his back teeth so hard they squeaked. “Remus—”

“Don’t,” Remus murmured, clear and clipped. “Don’t go there, baby, it’s not worth it.”

“I need to play.” He did. He needed to play. He needed to not sit at home for another week, two weeks, a month, and pretend he was alright with it. Six days were manageable. Six more would send him over the edge. If he had to spend another beautiful afternoon cooped up in the house...

“You’ll play when you’re ready.”

“I am ready.”

Remus stopped cold, jostling both him and Hattie. He took a fortifying breath, mouth pressed into an unhappy line. “Please don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Sirius, just—don’t. You know I hate being the bad guy with this kind of thing.”

Sirius looked away. He did know that. He had seen how miserable Remus was when he had to bully Sirius into doing his exercises when his ribs were broken, how it had killed him when Sirius couldn’t put his fatal fucking pride aside for two seconds to heal. Guilt made his stomach squirm. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “But I—I need to play.”

“I know.” Remus’ eyes found his own then, gloved hands wrapping around Sirius’ wrists with something like desperation. “Believe me, I get it and I’m sorry and this has got to be the worst feeling. But this is different than your ribs, okay? We can’t afford to backslide. This isn’t some sort of—fucking punishment, I promise.”

God, he hated spoiling perfectly nice days because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His winter clothes made his skin prickle. “I feel fine, Re.”

“But you’re not.” Remus turned Sirius’ face back with a touch to his jaw and he went willingly, even though he wanted to see anything but the hurt in Remus’ eyes. Since when was he so terrible at listening? “Not yet. We’ll start here and work our way up. I won’t talk to the press about it after games. You don’t owe people like him a thing. Don’t make this harder for yourself by letting them get under your skin.”

Sirius took a deep breath. The steam of his exhale clouded the curls spilling out from under Remus’ hat. He had known this would happen the second someone asked about his health—it was his rookie season all over again, shooting pucks in the basement because he didn’t know what else to do. Remus deserved better than what Sirius had done to himself. “Let’s do another loop around the park.”

--

Remus had cried the third night. The days were easy; they could cuddle and cook and Remus would read to him while he napped, still drained from a week of hospitalization. They could watch one TV episode every evening and got permission to throw their diet plans out the window to enjoy some treats in celebration.

At two o’clock in the morning, Remus had bolted upright in bed and shaken Sirius awake, rattling off an endless stream of questions that Sirius couldn’t respond to. Not because he didn’t know the answers, but because he had been unconscious about four seconds prior and was still technically concussed.

“Non,” he had mumbled, grappling against waking and batting sleepily at the thing holding his shoulders.

A strangled sob had answered and Remus’ touch disappeared like he was touching hot coals. By the time Sirius registered enough of the world to attempt reassurance, all he could do was hold Remus and silently curse himself. Do you know me? Remus had asked. Sirius had given him the one wrong answer. Done the one wrong movement.

It was three o’clock when Remus finally let sleep take him again, slumping into Sirius’ side with tears drying on his face. Sirius laid them down and watched light play over the ceiling from the street. When Remus woke again at nine, he didn’t say a word about the nightmare, just turned into the hollow of Sirius’ neck and let his hand rest above his heart. Though Remus slept fitfully over the following nights, he hadn’t cried again.

They were working on it.

--

“Out.”

“But I—”

“Out,” Leo repeated, making a shooing motion with his spatula. Sirius muttered something under his breath and trekked back into the living room with a last kiss to his husband’s cheek, working up a scowl like he was getting paid for it.

“Impressive,” Remus remarked around a mouthful of chips from his seat on the counter; his gaze lingered on Sirius’ retreating back while Leo poured sauce over the stuffed pasta and popped the whole pan in the oven.

Leo set a timer, wiped his hands on his pants, then cast one more look out the kitchen door to make sure their respective boys were out of sight before turning to Remus with his arms crossed. “What’s up?”

Remus’ chewing slowed. “Just…having chips.”

“Loops.”

“Did you want some?”

Stubborn bastard. Leo pushed himself onto the counter next to Remus and gave him a look his mother would be proud of. “What’s going on? I’m worried about you, man.”

But rather than throwing the chips aside and spilling his heart out—not that Leo was expecting it from Remus ‘Brick Wall’ Lupin, though a guy could dream—Remus closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow. “You are the third person to say that in 24 hours, Knutty. I’m good. If I wasn’t, I would talk to someone about it.”

“See, if you had ever done that even once in your life, I would believe you.”

“I’m doing great,” Remus insisted. Leo wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Sirius is home, he’s healing, he’s making progress, we’re fine.”

The distant look in his eyes was gone, but something in his face was still too heavy. Leo hadn’t heard him crack a joke or seen a real smile all day. He chewed the inside of his lip and raised his eyebrows, and watched Remus’ resolve crumble. “I didn’t ask about Sirius, Re,” he said. “I asked about you.”

“I’m not the one who had amnesia.”

“No, you’re the one whose husband had amnesia, and that’s pretty fucking traumatic.” Remus shoved another handful of chips into his mouth with an unhappy crunch; Leo hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer until their sides touched. Remus tensed. “I’m not trying to push you, but I need you to know that I’m here and I want to talk when you’re ready. I can’t imagine how hard the last couple weeks have been.”

He had tried, the night he went to get Regulus. Every part of him felt full of pure energy—every red light had made him twitchy as the events of the day replayed in his head on constant loop. But picturing himself in Remus’ shoes, and Finn or Logan shoving him away from their bedside with a stay the hell away from me or that fragile, frightened confusion...that had taken the wind right out of his sails. He nearly turned around to go home then and there.

“It sucks.” Remus didn’t look away from the oven timer. “That’s kind of all there is to it, you know? It happened. It sucks. We’re working on it.”

Leo nudged him, just a little. A single crack in Remus’ careful walls was progress. “It does suck,” he agreed. “Have you been alone yet?”

“I mean, yeah, you guys are the first visitors in a couple—”

“Have you been alone yet?” Leo repeated.

Remus was quiet for a few seconds, then swallowed hard. “I fixed the faucet with James, but I can’t…I can’t. I don’t think either of us can right now.”

“Okay.”

Remus’ eyes flickered up to him. “Okay?”

“I’m not a therapist.” Leo shrugged one shoulder and tried for a smile. “I’m your friend. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not going to force you to do shit right now. I’m going to make dinner for you and a cake and then you’re going to tell me what you need a hand with so you can focus on dealing with this instead of, like, cleaning your windows.”

The kitchen was starting to smell like manicotti, cheesy and warm and full of tomato. Remus set the chips down and tucked his hands under his legs with a shake of his head. Ever so slightly, he leaned into Leo. Success. “I wish this never happened.”

Leo sighed. “Me, too.”

“I wish I had caught him in time.”

“I was closer than you were.” The guilt had been so raw at first, but it was scabbing over. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t fix the present. “Are you mad at me?”

“Fuck, no.”

“There was nothing we could’ve done fast enough, Re.”

Remus scrubbed his hands down his face, then linked them at the back of his neck. “I need to talk to Heather.”

Relief crashed over Leo in a tidal wave; he took Remus by the shoulders and pulled him in for a brief, fierce hug that drew an ‘ope’ of surprise out of him. “I really didn’t want to bring it up but yes, you do, and I will drive you there myself if you want.”

Remus laughed weakly, but didn’t try to pull away. “Is it bad that I want to lay on the floor for at least twelve hours?”

“I might suggest the couch instead, for the sake of your old-man joints.”

“Watch it, Knut.”

“Keep that up and you’re not getting extra sauce.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but it was worth it for Remus’ snort of amusement. Leo squeezed him in a quick pulse. “Fuck, dude, I missed you.”

Leo felt some of the iceberg-sized worry slough away at the tentative press of Remus’ hands on his back. In the other room, Logan and Sirius were already laughing. “Will you hide some of the manicotti so I can reheat it later?” Remus mumbled.

“There’s a whole pan in the back of the fridge behind your gross coconut water.”

“The kind Sirius hates?”

“Pre-cisely.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“I get that a lot.”

--

Lily sipped her tea with the same energy as a wolf watching a lame, juicy rabbit from across a riverbank. When Remus said as much, she cracked a smile. “Just thinking.”

“Huh, there’s a first.”

“Fuck you, too.” He felt a light kick to his shin under the table and feigned injury, just to watch her face scrunch in a snort. “Spoke to the hubs.”

“Yours or mine?”

“The less hot one.”

“And how is Pots today?”

“Looking DILF-ier every minute. That man needs another baby. But actually, Re, I think you and Sirius should talk.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

“Sounds like somebody has been squishing all those gross, nasty feelings back into the little box he just got them out of.”

“Oh, Jesus, it is not that bad—”

He jumped when Lily touched the back of his hand. Something knowing had overtaken the laughter on her face. “Remus, you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m seeing Heather on Thursday.”

“Good.” She set her teacup down and took his hand between both of her own, twisting his ring. “I’m worried about you.”

“Take a number.”

“Can you stop for, like, two seconds and let me try to help? I’m bad at this. Have some mercy.”

Something wriggled with discomfort inside him, but he put his cup on the table. “Lils…”

“Calm down, we’re not here to therapize each other. We’re here to have fun and watch bad TV and you’re going to let me paint your nails later. But—” She held her hand up when he made a face. “But first, I’m going to do my job as your best friend and tell you that some people think the patented Remus Lupin Avoidance Tactic isn’t going to work with this extraordinarily terrible event.”

“What people?”

“You know what people.”

Unfortunately, he did. Sirius, Talker, Leo, Lily…the side effect of a supportive family was having all kinds of people up in his business. Even more unfortunately, they were probably right. “Leo talked to me,” he admitted. “It helped. And I really am going to see Heather, and I’m going to try to—I don’t know, let go a little.”

Lily laced their fingers together the way he had done for her the night she found out about Harry. Her next breath came out less steady. “That means you have to let us take care of you, okay? Even if you’re busy taking care of Sirius. He’s got medical experts to do the heavy lifting. You’ve got Remus experts.”

“Lily, I’m not the injured one,” he said quietly.

“This hurt you, too.” The green of her eyes looked a little misty before she glanced away. “Holy shit, Remus, this hurt all of us, but I don’t ever want to watch you hurt like that again. I love Sirius to death but he’s got stuff to work through that you can’t fix. If you’re so worried about helping, then please let us help you.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“That’s why I’m offering.”

An exhale got stuck in his chest and he coughed lightly; Lily tilted her head back with a sniffle. Christ on a crutch, this whole vulnerability thing is harder than it sounds. “Leo made us dinner the other night. Talker and I are going skating on Saturday. I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you are. But if it had been James that fell, and I was the one in your spot, what would you do?”

I wouldn’t leave your side. He started to answer, then faltered. Lily’s mouth turned down at the corner. “Oh, shit,” he said thickly. Across the table, Lily nodded. “Oh—I have been awful to you.”

“No, no, no, I’m not mad.” The pressure of her hands on his own increased, like she was trying to push it into him.

“I’m scared.” His voice wobbled and he blew out a sharp breath. In the blur of his vision, their hands were the same vague lump. How could he be so self-absorbed? How could he push them all away without even knowing it? He opened and closed his mouth. I need help. I need help. It was right there, but all that came out was, “Lily.”

She tugged on his sleeve; in the space between breaths, they were hugging. Her breaths hitched under his hands a few times before calming, and Remus shut his eyes tight and held her closer. I hurt you. I’m sorry. He knew she wouldn’t accept an apology. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think it with all his heart. Somehow, she would hear it.

“All you have to do is let us be there,” she rasped, pulling away to hold him at arms’ length with a light shake. “We want to. You’re scared and that’s fine and nobody is angry with you. Just talk to us. Talk to Sirius.”

He nodded mutely. When Lily brought him close again, he didn’t pretend he needed anything else.

--

The isolation was what killed him most. They were given no privacy—fuck the media and fuck the inventor of cell phone cameras, motherfuckers the lot of them—and so Sirius saw it all. Everything he didn’t remember. Everything he had tried to forget. Remus, pale and frightened with Sirius’ blood on his fingers. Remus, unable to let go of his hand when the medics pulled Sirius onto the stretcher until James pried him off. Remus, tucked in on himself in the lobby outside Sirius’ room looking like he had been flayed inside out.

So he understood. He got it. The trauma, the pain. What he didn’t understand was why Remus wouldn’t let him in anymore.

It hurt a little (a lot) to hear Remus rustling around and know he wouldn’t get a kiss even if he asked. And when he did ask, his request would be met with a wan smile and a brush of lips to his cheek, chin, forehead, everywhere but his lips. There was love in those touches—he could feel it radiating—but the reckless abandon was gone.

It was like Remus wanted to melt into the walls. It was like he wanted to melt and leave Sirius behind entirely.

God, it was always him, wasn’t it? Always his fault. Everything that went wrong in Sirius’ life would track right back around in an endless circle to the laundry list of wrong decisions. The ache of knowing Remus didn’t want him anymore was constant and painful like a broken ankle, but the absolute fucking terror of being shut out was a killstroke Sirius had never wanted to imagine.

He didn’t like the person he was before Remus. He didn’t want to know what would happen if the frosted front was permanent. How could he be real and solid when the one thing that reminded him he was alright was…

Was not alright. So deeply not alright in every curve and angle of his body. Sirius wasn’t foolish enough to think Remus would willingly talk about his feelings, especially at a time like this, but some silly, devoted part of him had thought Remus would at least try. He had mentioned something similar (if kinder) to Lily over crepes and hot chocolate, and a funny expression had come over her face. She had touched his wrist and smiled, but a troubled shadow remained through the rest of their lunch.

When Remus came home after their day together and said, “I asked for help” before anything else, he knew that shadow had found its mark.

“You did?”

“I did.” Remus took his time with his winter layers, hanging and folding each one with unusual care. “Lily and I had a good talk.”

“That’s—”

“I haven’t been fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sirius blinked. Lily, what did you do? “… for what?”

“I’ve been all over the place.” His words were coming just a touch too fast.  Remus’ hands were cool on his face, but his lips were warm when he left a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks, like he had been biting them again. “I was trying to do too much for you, and I should have backed off. We both needed some space to process.”

“Um. D’accord.” He kissed Remus’ forehead and felt him melt. His shoulders relaxed. His hands came to rest on Sirius’ hips. Sirius left another tentative kiss by his temple; he would take every bit of affection he could get. “Is everything okay?”

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Remus repeated.

“I—no, I heard that part.” Sirius rubbed his back carefully. Remus had grown thinner over the month, though from stress or distraction, he wasn’t sure. The notches of his spine ran in a ladder beneath Sirius’ fingertips as he gathered him closer. Perhaps Lily had succeeded where he had failed. “You’ve done more than I could have asked for, loup.” More than I deserved. Yet Remus wasn’t pulling away from him, wasn’t showing the slightest sign of discomfort under his hands. “I picked up some zucchini. And made a cake.”

Remus made a faint noise of interest where his face was pressed close to Sirius’ collarbone.

“It’s chocolate.”

That got him a pleased mumble.

Sirius risked a kiss to the top of his head and got a happy sigh in return. “Come cook with me. We’ll talk. Tell me about Lily.”

Remus blinked slowly when they parted; the nervous buzz of energy had trickled to a hum. “What about Lily?” he asked. “You just had lunch together.”

Did she tell you I moped about you? “Ouais, but you talk about other things.” He left his hand on the small of Remus’ back as they crossed the short distance to the kitchen and found no protest. Perhaps it was time for a bigger question. “You look better, mon coeur. It seems like she helped.”

Tension twitched against his palm before settling down again. Remus stretched his arms out with a groan, then went for the cutting board drawer. “She did,” he admitted after a moment. “I was—yeah, no, she helped a lot. There was a lot happening in my head that I didn’t have words for.”

“I know the feeling,” Sirius half-laughed, passing him a knife. This was good. This was progress. Before the fall, they cooked together every night. His body knew the motions even if his thoughts were a whirlwind. Remus knocked their temples together lightly. Next step. “Like what?”

“What?”

“What didn’t you have words for?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder and began slicing the stems from the zucchini. “Just…stuff. Oh, you found really good ones.”

“I’m glad.” Sirius watched him work in silence for a few seconds, stirring olive oil in a pan with no heat under it. Remus didn’t appear to notice. “Re?”

“Mmm?”

“Were you angry with me?”

“Oh, god, no.” Remus jerked his head up, his brows pitching. Something in Sirius’ expression must have given him away, because his gaze softened. “I was just scared, I think. It’s been a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” he joked.

But Remus didn’t laugh. His cheeks flushed and he turned back to the zucchini with an uncomfortable cough. Fuck. Remus tugged his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at it in a tic Sirius had been trying so hard to break him of. “I couldn’t help you. At the rink, I mean.” The knife accentuated each word with a clack. “But I could help here, and so I was trying too hard. That’s kind of my—um, that’s kind of my default.”

“Je sais,” Sirius said quietly.

“So, I’m sorry for spiraling into you when other people know how to help better.” Remus let out a shaky laugh. “God, this is hard. I’m trying to be brave about it.”

“You were brave for me.” The words were gentler than expected. The chop-chop-chop of the knife slowed, and stopped. “You stayed in a hospital for three days. You were brave for me.”

A wobbly slice of zucchini fell on the cutting board. There was a slight tremor in Remus’ hand, now. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You were brave,” Sirius repeated. He reached out and stopped the knife, folding Remus’ fingers into his own. “I can’t imagine what that was like. Thank you.”

His shoulders shuddered. He still didn’t look up. The tremor had spread to his arms, fine and delicate under his sweater. “I would do it all again.”

“I know.” Remus sniffed at that, pressing his sleeve under his nose as if he could hide it from Sirius. A droplet hit the edge of the cutting board, staining the wood. “Mon loup.”

“For you, I would do it all again.”

“Remus,” he murmured, turning him by the shoulders until he could see Remus’ bottom lip quivering despite the turn of his handsome face. A noise caught in Remus’ throat when Sirius cupped his jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb over one damp cheek. “Re, I need you to talk to me.”

“I can’t do it,” he choked out with a slight shake of his head. “Not without you. I wouldn’t want to.”

And, fuck, if that didn’t just carve at something deep in Sirius’ insides. Remus couldn’t even look at him, his gaze somewhere between the cabinet and the floor, hidden under his too-long hair that was just starting to curl.

His next breath was almost a wheeze. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can.” Sirius gave his arms a light squeeze. Remus was strong and solid and more grounded than anyone he knew.

The sniffs came faster, his chest hitching over and over until it became a constant shiver; he swayed forward, hands slipping from Sirius’ elbows to grip the back of his shirt like it was the only thing holding Remus on Earth, his face pressed flush to Sirius’ chest as tears began to soak through it. Sirius caught him. Held him. He tucked his face against the side of Remus’ head and let him leave all that heavy burden in his arms for just a moment longer.

“I could,” Remus admitted, so miserable Sirius had to close his eyes. “Fuck, Sirius, I could, but I would hate every second of it.”

It should be impossible to feel heartbreak for something that never happened. And yet.

Sirius shifted to rest his chin on Remus’ head while sobs turned silent in the sleeve of his shirt. He would give anything to take that pain away. His fame, his money, anything in the world—whatever it took to make sure Remus never had to wonder if he would have to keep going alone. Sirius would be dead before he left him. But he supposed that was exactly what Remus feared most.

“You don’t have to.” He whispered the promise into the soft golden hair above Remus’ ear like the greatest truth. “You don’t have to, I swear. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I want you, and I care about you, and I’ll never leave you.”

The big talk could come later. He was more than willing to wait.

--

Remus woke in the middle of the night to the blankets shifting and a familiar weight absent from his side. Rather than giving in to immediate panic (a far-too-frequent habit, though he hated to admit it), he reached out with a sleep-slurred question and felt around blindly until Sirius’ hand caught him. “I’m here,” Sirius said with a laugh in his voice and a kiss to his wrist. Remus hummed. Of course he was. Sirius had never left him before. “Re?”

“Mhmm?” he managed, slotting himself into Sirius’ side and throwing a leg over his thigh. He was warm and wonderful.

Sirius was quiet for a bit, idly toying with Remus’ hair. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“Kiss you all the time.”

“On the lips.”

Ah, yes. Exhibit number 204 in the inventory of Remus’ weird hangups in the wake of terrible things. He was endlessly grateful for Leo and Lily—their talks had let him begin to classify the experience as actual trauma rather than dismissing himself more—but it still made him frown into Sirius’ shirt. The truth, while necessary, wouldn’t be pleasant.

“ ’m scared,” he said at last.

The hand in his hair slowed. “You’re scared… of kissing me?”

He finally blinked one eye open and checked the clock. Hours left until dawn, because they had never been able to have serious conversations in daylight. He stretched, bidding the dregs of drowsiness goodbye before he moved his head to the pillow and met Sirius’ troubled expression. Oh, god, I lost him. The words had ripped from him as he knelt on the cold floor of the hospital, disoriented and shattered, his world coming down in pieces. He had never thought it was possible, and that made it hurt even more.

Remus sighed through his nose and kissed the closest bit of Sirius he could reach. “It brought you back to me.” Kiss me, and I’ll know. “I’m still afraid it’ll take you away.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. “You know I was flirting with you, ouais? At the hospital. With the kiss thing.”

“I know, baby,” Remus laughed, a little bubble of happiness sliding all the way into his heart. He had missed their talks. “You were very smooth. But…I don’t know, it stuck with me. I know it doesn’t make sense. I want to kiss you all the time, and every time I try, I think about seeing you in that bed.”

Sirius’ palm nearly covered his whole cheek as he cradled Remus’ face, guiding him in to brush their noses together. “How about this bed?” he said, low and just for Remus to hear. “This is a good bed.”

Remus’ heart skipped a beat. Sirius’ lips were so close they were practically touching; he was comfortable and safe, and the hospital was far in the past. He knew what Sirius’ lips would feel like against his own, how his breath would catch after the first press. Kissing Sirius was a part of life and he loved it with his whole heart.

“You don’t have to,” Sirius whispered. Remus could feel the shape of the words on his own mouth and closed his eyes. “Re, you don’t have to, but I love you and I want you to know you’ll never lose me.”

A shuddering breath left him. He was afraid. But he could be brave at the same time.

Sirius’ breath caught when their lips met and Remus squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, feeling the rough scratch of stubble on his palm when he guided Sirius’ chin down for a better angle. His lips were as chapped and full as he remembered; his smile was just as sweet. Sirius let him roll them over until Remus could hover above him, supported by one elbow because he couldn’t bear to break contact now that it was in his hands again. “Re—”

Remus made a small noise and kissed him harder. No words. Nothing to take them out of this. Sirius curled a hand around his wrist and held it, his thumb rubbing circles over Remus’ pulse. It wasn’t until his lungs began to burn that he leaned back, lips sore and heart racing. “I love you,” he said around the emotion clogging every attempt at speech. A few weeks ago, that kind of kiss would have been nothing but a habit. “Sirius, you don’t even know how much I love you.”

“I know—”

“You don’t.” The memory of bright fluorescent lights bleeding in from the hall pushed at the back of his mind. His whole body tingled. When he licked his lips, he could taste Sirius’ chapstick. “I know you love me because you tell me and we spend time together and you hold me so close, but I don’t know how to tell you so that you understand.”

Sirius’ hands smoothed along his heaving sides. “I know you love me, Re. Have a little faith.”

“I have so much faith in you.” The air didn’t burn with antiseptic; their sheets were washed with plain laundry soap. “I would do anything for you. I love you so much.”

A tumble of soothing French followed and Remus sank into it, letting himself be guided back down and hugged. “This is important, so I need you to listen,” Sirius said with a scattering of kisses to his jaw. Remus forced himself to open his eyes. He would listen. He would do that for Sirius, whose gaze was determined, but not angry. Never angry. “I love you. I always have. I loved you from the second I woke up in that hospital room, even though it scared the shit out of me.”

Sirius had feared him in the hospital, had shoved him back. Get away from me.

“Please look at me.” He found Sirius again in the darkness. His calm eyes, his gentle mouth. “I’ve never doubted your love, Re. I can feel it in everything you do.”

“I try really hard,” he said, far too honestly. Sirius’ hand smoothed down his spine and Remus pressed into him. He wanted—he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Even being held was overwhelming. Another kiss might make him pass out.

“I know.” Sirius’ voice was heavy. “I’m sorry if I made you think anything else.”

Remus shook his head. He never wanted to leave their bed. “It’s just been a lot.”

“It has. I’m so grateful for you, Re.” Lips touched his forehead. “Mon amour.”

My love. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You can take your time,” Sirius said with another peck to his cheek that made him burn. “With kisses, and with—with everything.”

Hmm, no, please knock me out with your magic lips. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?”

“Ouais, mon vœu.” Sirius didn’t even try to mask the relief in his voice as Remus tilted his head up; his hand was steady under Remus’ chin when it dipped at the delicate kiss. “Fais de beaux rêves.”

He moved to pull away, but Remus chased his mouth and caught him for another. Sirius was right—this was a good bed. The sheets were familiar, the light a soft glow. It was home. They kissed at home.

He left one on the corner of Sirius’ mouth for good measure before settling back down with an arm over his ribs. The bundle of anxiety he had been carrying since they came home felt lighter. “Goodnight,” he sighed, vibrating in every limb. “I love you.”

--

Sirius knew it would feel good to be back on the ice, but he had never imagined it would feel like this. The puck found the flat of his stick just like he knew it would; the carbon fiber flexed, he squared his shoulders, and the whoosh of it sinking into the net brought nothing but joy to his whole body. Remus was right, per usual—hockey was love.

He took a wide, lazy loop while everyone else fucked around, chirping each other or fencing with their sticks or boxing, gloveless and playful. The ice was smooth under his skates; he let it carry him wherever it wanted and watched spirals form in his wake. His pads fit like a second skin, grounding him with their weight. Even his mouthguard settled just right over his teeth.

“Someone’s having a good day,” James teased, smacking the backs of his thighs as he passed. Sirius grinned, deliriously happy, and let James drag him into a hug; they collided with a familiar thump of pads. “Man, is it good to have you back out here.”

“It’s good to be back.” Five weeks was by far the longest Sirius had ever gone without skating. Even in the summers, he would find a rink or head to the basement when he got the itch. Mid-season, that number was down in the hours. His skates were home. He was finally settled in his skin.

“This captain shit is hard,” James laughed when they parted, eyes bright behind his contacts. “I’ve been doing it for a month, and I’m done.”

“Five years,” Sirius reminded him.

“I know, you fuckin’ hockey mutant.”

Sirius stole a puck out from under Finn and snapped it to James, who caught it with ease. All it took was a twitch of his brow and the game was on, keep-away across the ice with rules they both knew by heart. The cold air burned his face when he picked up speed; James’ crossovers were even better than they had been when they last played together, and Sirius smiled. A month of being captain had done him good.

The shrill chirp of Arthur’s whistle stabbed all the way to the base of his skull and nearly sent him flying into James’ back mid-dive. “Fuck—”

“Easy,” James grunted beneath his weight when he caught him. Concern had replaced the excitement on his face. “Hey, you okay?”

“I—yeah, I’m fine.” Sirius blinked and shook his head. Weird. He hadn’t had so much as a headache in two weeks, but already he could feel a faint throbbing behind his eye. He shook his head again and stood up straight, pointedly ignoring the worried looks several teammates were shooting him. He was fine. He was healed.

“I posted the schedule by the bench,” Arthur called, the whistle hanging innocently around his neck once again. “We’re doing fundamentals today, okay? Nailing down the basics is a strength of this team, so I want you to put a hundred percent of your effort into the technicalities. Save any fancy tricks for the scrimmage at the end.”

Sirius smiled to himself. He excelled at fundamentals, and if he knew Coach, those basic exercises would fall right into his wheelhouse. He wasn’t stupid—obviously it was Arthur’s way of saying ‘welcome back’, but Sirius wasn’t about to complain about a chance to show off a little and shake the rust away.

Passing drills? Easy.

Net accuracy? Piece of cake.

Puck handling? Sirius had more than enough trophies sitting at home to do it in his sleep.

He reveled in returning to the routine that had built his entire life. His stick was an extension of his arms and his skates added those few inches of height for the perspective he had been missing, always a bit too short to see things through the right frame until he was back where he belonged. His muscles burned just right; the gloomy fog lurking in the back of his head lifted under the bright lights of his favorite place.

Someone bumped his back just as he was (reluctantly) heading to the bench for a water break, and arms wound around his waist. “Hi,” Sirius laughed as momentum carried them forward.

“Hey.” Remus gave him a squeeze, then ducked under his arm. He was flushed with happiness. Sirius’ heart tripped over itself. “How’re you feeling?”

“So good.” His whole face hurt from smiling and he cast a look around at the perfect chaos. “So, so good.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Got a little wobbly earlier with James. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sirius assured him, tilting Remus’ face up for a kiss on his button nose. But it was for fun, now. They had been allowed more than enough time to figure out their issues, both at home with each other and alone with Heather. Impossibly, he felt better around Remus after a month of recovery than he ever had before. “I’ll tell you if I start feeling bad, but this is good. I needed it.”

“I know you did, baby.”

They made their way back to the bench together, hips bumping with each out of sync step until their skates were on solid ground again and Sirius let himself fall into the mess of his friends without hesitation. Shoulders jostled, elbows knocked—he was at peace. “Good to have you back out there, Cap,” Kasey said with a grin and a clap to his upper arm. “Needed someone who could give me a run for my money.”

“Hey!” Logan complained.

A hand caught Sirius by the scruff and he went willingly into Dumo’s side hug, nudging their temples together. “Thought you could take a break and come back just as strong, eh?”

Sirius grinned. “You know it.”

Dumo tsked and shoved him away by the forehead. “Remus! Five weeks, and you haven’t tamed the ego on this one?”

“Not nearly enough time,” Remus countered with a wink that made Sirius’ stomach flip. “I barely managed to keep him in bed, you think I was paying attention to the real elephant in the room?”

“Yeah, I bet you kept him in bed!” Finn wolf-whistled, earning himself a squirt to the face from Remus’ waterbottle. The conversation devolved rapidly into hollering and playful jabs from all sides, and Sirius gave as good as he got.

Then the whistle blew again, and black spots of pain danced in his vision.

He rubbed the corner of his forehead with the heel of his hand for some relief and felt the textured skin of his new scar pull. He frowned.

“Baby?” The guys were still loud as they flooded back onto the ice—he must have missed Arthur’s instructions, he never missed instructions—but Remus’ voice was barely above a murmur. “Sirius, you okay?”

“Ouais.” The spots faded out. The pain had been quick and sharp, like lightning. “It’s—yeah, I’m good. The whistle startled me.”

Remus had his PT face on, though, and Sirius’ heart sank. He wasn’t getting out of this one easily. “Your head’s bugging you?”

Before the fall and everything that came after it, he might have lied. He might have continued to tell Remus he was fine despite obviously not being fine, and Remus would have let him, but he would’ve been upset and it would take them days to work it out. Hell, six weeks ago Sirius would have cut every corner he found to get back into hockey as fast as possible. And because Remus loved him, because Remus was so goddamn committed to making sure he was happy, he would’ve been able to get away with a lot more before someone called him on his bullshit.

That was six weeks ago. That was before the fall.

“It’s hurting a little,” he admitted. “But only when the whistle blows, and only for a moment. We’ll check it out when we get home. I feel really good for the scrimmage, though.”

Remus nodded hesitantly, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. A frown touched his mouth. “Talk to Layla after practice?”

“I will,” Sirius promised.

And that was that. Honesty, an easy promise to keep, and they were good again. They had both learned over the first few stages of recovery that a lack of communication to salvage one good moment wasn’t worth the inevitable Jenga tower of problems later. Sirius didn’t have to be afraid Remus would leave him over an imperfection, and Remus didn’t have to fear Sirius feeling suffocated by him.

It was such a breath of fresh air.

He lined up across from Dumo, bracing for the puck drop as adrenaline dripped through him and focused his vision. He won the face-off in one quick swipe of his stick and passed it to James, who caught it just like the last million times they had done it.

“Open!” he shouted as the opposing defense closed in on James and Finn. The puck was a blur he knew well, easy to catch, easy to carry. He slipped past Olli and dodged Dumo’s attempted poke-check; Sirius couldn’t stop grinning. His body remembered everything it was supposed to.

He snagged a goal in the first period and two assists in the second. It wasn’t until they were well into the third period that he realized he hadn’t taken a single check.

At first, he wrote it off as a scrimmage courtesy—no checks meant a severely reduced risk of injury. But it lingered in his thoughts and dragged his gaze to spots he normally wouldn’t put that much attention in; Logan colliding with everyone but Sirius, Nado and Kuny’s play-fight, Remus’ quick hits that always shocked the puck from the opponent. Not even one of them came close to Sirius.

He called for the puck again and made a break for the net; Logan was on his ass in a second, but he didn’t make a move to try and steal it away. Sirius extended his stick a couple inches. Nothing. He did it again, giving Logan the perfect opportunity to snatch it away if he just bumped Sirius a little.

“Are you going to take it or not?” he snapped as they swerved around Dumo.

Logan immediately looked guilty. “I…”

Sirius ground his teeth and knocked the puck to James, who attempted a shot he didn’t even try and follow. If they weren’t going to play fair, he didn’t want to play at all. “What the fuck are you doing, Logan?”

“Playing defense.”

“I practically handed it to you!”

“Well, fuck you, too!” Logan said waspishly.

The throbbing behind Sirius’ eye had started again. He wanted to break his stick in frustration, but he didn’t know if he could do it. There were angles and force and—and his head was killing him for the first time in weeks. The others were gathering in little huddles around them. He fixed Logan with a glare. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“It’s a scrimmage!”

“So hit me!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

Sirius almost had him now. “You’ve hit me before! Split my fucking lip, too!”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

“I can take it, Logan!”

“Well, I’m not willing to fucking risk it!”

They were close enough to each other by then that Sirius watched Logan’s anger dissolve into instant regret in excruciating detail. The rink was dead silent. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered. The rest of them had the nerve to look surprised when he turned. Surprised and ashamed. “Is anyone here a doctor?”

Skates shuffled, tentative and awkward.

“Have any of you seen my medical information over the past month? Any treatment plans? Anything?” They huddled together like a pack of kicked puppies. Sirius took a deep breath. He was their friend, but he was their captain, too. He had their respect. He wasn’t about to lose it over one injury. “I don’t need you to worry about me. I need you to trust me. I know it’s my first practice back, but I know my body. I don’t need special treatment and I don’t want it.”

James raised his head; where shame tinted the faces of their friends, it found no home with him. “We’re worried. That’s it. It’s not worth the risk right now.”

“I don’t—” Sirius cut himself off before he could say something he regretted and pressed a hand over his eyes. Deep breaths. “Jesus, Pots, did you tell them to do this?”

“It was me.” His heart sank as Arthur leaned on the boards, unapologetic. “I told them to be gentle. You’re a great player and a good man, and I’m not going to risk your health in the first few practices.”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment. “It was a concussion. One concussion.”

“A concussion that had you in the hospital for close to a week and needed a month of recovery.” Arthur met his gaze and did not flinch. “You’re the captain of my team. I need you in top form, and I’m willing to make a little extra time to get you there. This team will not succeed if you throw yourself back in and get hurt again right away. Understood?”

His mouthguard squeaked between his teeth. Sirius looked down. “Yes, coach.”

Arthur tapped his clipboard against the boards. “Good. Scrimmage is over, boys. Do some cooldowns and then get stretching. Sirius, come talk to me when you’re done.”

Someone caught his elbow when he went to skate to the bench. “I’m not sorry,” Logan said, his jaw set. “I know you’re pissed, but I’m not sorry.”

Sirius sighed through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

Back to the beginning, then.

--

“I know I’m the prettiest person on this team, but don’t look at me. Look at the light.”

Sirius squinted into Layla’s small flashlight; she passed it in front of his eyes a few more times before clicking it off. “All good?”

“Fine and dandy,” she said. “You said your head was hurting?”

“Just with the whistle.”

“Then, yeah, that sounds like normal stuff to me.” She shrugged one shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “Your concussion is healing really well. Your focus was good, your pupils look normal, and light sensitivity seemed low. The auditory stuff is just taking a little longer to settle. How long until you’re allowed to play again?”

Sirius held down a grimace. “Three to six more weeks.”

“Sounds about right,” Layla said, apparently unbothered. “It’s good to have that much leeway, Cap. The noise sensitivity should wear off in a week or two, which means you’ll have plenty of time to get back on your feet at a hundred percent and play your best. If it doesn’t, come talk to me and we’ll fix it.”

“Yeah.” Paper pilled under his fingers as he picked at it. Six weeks would put them right on the doorstep of the games-that-must-not-be-named; he wasn’t exactly looking forward to being thrown into high-stakes competition right off the bat.

The exam table crinkled when Layla sat next to him. She was quiet for a moment, then patted his knee. “You’ll be okay. This is the kind of thing that shouldn’t bug you once you rest and recover. In a way, it’s better than your ankle.”

Sirius smiled wryly. He liked Layla—she had the same lovable good humor and unrelenting optimism in the face of injury as her predecessor. “I think most things are better than a broken ankle,” he noted.

“True.” She bumped his shoulder. “No more moping, Cap. You’ll be out there in no time.”

--

“Flashlight to the left. Okay, good. Give me the flat screwdriver.” Something clinked, then clattered, resulting in a satisfied hum. “Black tape. You looked excellent at practice today.”

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled. He rummaged in the battered canvas bag until something vaguely tape-textured hooked his finger. “Uh, this one is white.”

“The black kind should be in the side pocket next to the box cutter.” Dumo hummed again when he pressed the correct roll into his open palm. “Merci. Your footwork was especially good.”

“My footwork is always good.”

“I know,” he chuckled. Several more bolts (nuts? Sirius still couldn’t remember which were which) fell into the pan by his thigh like silver sprinkles. “Coach seemed impressed.”

Sirius arched a wry brow, even though Dumo couldn’t see him. “Coach was just surprised I didn’t fall on my face.”

“Non, he was very happy to see you—”

“He told everyone to go easy on me.”

“What, like you wouldn’t do the same if it had been Remus? Or Logan? Or me?” Sirius winced at the thought; with a squeak of wheels and a slight groan, Dumo scooted out from under the washing machine and gave him a look. “I know today was frustrating, but you can’t expect us to beat you up this soon.”

“It’s been a month.” He was well-aware of the slight whine in his voice, and judging by Dumo’s amused huff, he wasn’t alone.

“For you, maybe. Felt like years to the rest of us.” The nut-bolt-screws were cold when Sirius rolled them between his fingertips, scowling. Dumo patted his arm with a grease-streaked hand and began sliding back under the machine. “Give it time, mon fils. They just want you back safe and sound.”

“They need me back for the play—”

“Non,” Dumo interrupted.

“They do!”

Dumo muttered something under his breath before looking up at him again. “Sirius. Come on.”

“James said he had a bad time as captain.”

“Oui, because he missed you. He did great. You should be proud of him.” A screwdriver gently poked him on the kneecap. “This is not about hockey. This is about friends.”

Sirius set the pan aside and stretched out on the concrete floor. His legs ached from being crossed for so long. There were cobwebs between the cupboards and the ceiling, even with the cold weather. “It’s hard for me, sometimes.”

Dumo made an understanding noise and turned back to the screws.

“Falling was embarrassing.” It was so much easier to talk about like this. Heather was a godsend, but the words came easier in French and the soft noise of the garage was far more soothing than a blue room with a suede couch. “It’s like—who even does that? I was tired. That’s it. Now everyone is upset.”

“I disagree with the last part, but okay.”

“Remus is upset.”

“Since when do you count Remus with ‘everyone’?”

He saw Dumo grin at the ensuing silence and covered his face with a groan, letting his head fall back on the cold floor. “God, fine, I’m being mean again and nobody is actually mad at me.”

“Atta boy. Hand over the white tape.”

--

It got better. Sirius got better. He had daily visits with Layla—they both had a laugh about old habits die hard, but still they laughed—and his weekly appointments with Heather had finally begun to veer back to their usual conversations. Aren’t you bored of my shitty childhood by now? Sirius had teased when they made it thirty minutes without discussing his head.

Heather had scoffed at him and whacked him lightly with a pillow. As if I’d be sad to see you this happy. Don’t even think about more head wounds, puck boy. We’re getting to the root of that next.

Slowly, he admitted that he had been sick when it happened. (It seemed Kasey hadn’t spilled his secret, after all). He told her about the chattering teeth and the brain fog that set in that morning; about the fatigue that had piled onto him until he couldn’t even make it through the gate and had to let it win. He told her about the overwhelming feeling that it was all his fault and that everyone would hate him for taking a break.

The world hates me when I’m good and hates me when I’m bad.

They’re wrong for that.

That had made him smile. Heather rarely spoke in absolutes. I know, he answered honestly. She hadn’t pushed him on it, and he liked to think she even believed him.

Remus was laughing again, moonlight in darkness. The good snacks began to disappear from the pantry once more—Sirius couldn’t be mad about it, no matter how often he considered billing Talker for their monthly groceries. Every bag of chips he never got to taste meant Remus would come home and kiss him and ramble about the day like the most adorable runaway train in the world. “I love you, I love you, I love you” smushed into his cheeks, forehead, lips.

His boys carried them to the playoffs with ruthless focus. His pads still fit and the whistle was on his side. And when he was ready, so fucking ready it made his veins hot, Remus pulled him into the break room with a wicked grin that made him thank every cosmic moment that gave him pregame rituals. He would take every bit of luck he could get. The crowd roaring for him deserved it all.

It came in the dusk of the evening, when the blustering winds had calmed and Sirius’ mind felt quiet at last. It was the relief of a wound freshly bandaged—there was no burn of newness, and yet no itch of a scab. It was just a wide, soft couch and a chest rising and falling beneath his hand. Remus kissed his forehead and let it linger like a dream. “Oh, I love you.”

Sirius breathed in, and out. A single spritz of cologne. Lavender shampoo. “You said you couldn’t do this without me,” he said, keeping his voice low. Remus hummed his agreement. He lifted his head slightly, into the gentle pressure of Remus’ hand in his hair. An auburn brow arched in a silent question; he traced the shape of it with his thumb. “You think I can do any of this without you, loup?”

Remus’ mouth curved in a half-smile. “You can do a lot without me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s where we always end up, eh?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

#sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #james potter #leo knut #pascal dumais #logan tremblay #coops #jily #oknutzy #heather #layla #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff #hurt/ comfort #angst #cuddles #healing #past amnesia

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

omfg i'm sorry to rant but i NEED a sympathetic person to hear this. i like the every single album podcast more than most swifties, but today's ep -- and the last few -- are driving me insane. i am so fucking sick of hearing nathan and nora wring their hands over what joe might deal with. all harassment is bad, but i am done pretending that jake g and john mayer went through….any kind of wringer? they had like...a semi-awkward couple of weeks? jake is still a mega a-lister and john mayer is widely considered to be one of the greatest living guitarists. fuck, what mayer did was outright predatory -- and he's done it to multiple women -- and lbr, he lives 99% of his life totally unperturbed by it. he's not losing gigs or status in the places that matter to him; i suspect a lot of swifties aren't aware of this but i'm a guitar nerd, and uh, yeah, he's considered a living god and no one gives a shit what he did to taylor. and literally everyone woman in the public eye, including taylor, goes through worse every single fucking day, even at their heights of popularity. i don't know how to deal with hearing nathan and nora worry about :(((( omg what will joe go through :((((( when he's never going to have disgusting ai porn of himself explode across twitter on a random weekday. maybe i feel this strongly b/c i work in games, where hordes of male fans regularly ruin random women's lives because they animated a female character wearing a t-shirt instead of a string bikini, but i can't deal with this anymore. these men are fine. lots of people get mad at them, but it's because they did truly shitty things to her and she refused to absorb it silently. then it breaks, and their lives go on.

---

I feel like Nora really articulated what Anon was trying to say the other day about along the gist of "I hope something really bad happened to justify all of this." Interesting perspectives! Btw I just want to be super clear that I don't think Taylor or anyone has to justify anything like that! Just thought it was interesting how Nora put it in the latest episode and T's power is the unusual part of this equation.

---

In a very classic "I thought the two of you should meet!" re: today's The Ringer / Every Single Album pod episode.

I will say I read both of these messages before listening to the episode myself and tbh I think Nora ultimately landed in a pretty middle and reasonable place (it started out pretty rocky though) by the end of the episode. My understanding is she ultimately felt like Taylor has every right to tell the story that she wants / needs to tell and the work will speak for itself. That this is Taylor going face to face with the elephant in the room and (probably - we don't know obviously) not obfuscating the reality that we all saw play out in real time behind 'fictionalized' half truths roleplayed by semi-imaginary characters. And at the end of the day the (likely - AGAIN WE DON'T KNOW) reality is that she's prepared to walk through the narrative that is this pressure cooker storyline many are waiting with baited breath for which is the deterioration of her most significant relationship to date.

All that to say is that I think both of these points are incredibly valid. I personally have a lot of feelings wrapped up in it that do tend to come down more on the side of it's strange that the default position is this desire to sign up as first in line defence attorney for a man when the crime as we know it is 'woman writes her life into art'.

Nora interestingly noted that there's a "pressure for this album to come with receipts" (paraphrase) based on this (fan) hyped up narrative of something sinister having gone awry that this album will pull the curtain back on. And if it fails to do that, enter said self-appointed attorneys.

#opinion #tss nanonsense