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#Reconciliation
eubybubble · 3 months
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slytherin boys after an argument
ft. Tom, Mattheo, Theodore, Lorenzo
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Theodore Nott
Realization hit him hard after a prolonged silence. The air felt thick, and he felt nauseous as he shifted his gaze from a small crack on the wall under his fist to your face. He just swallowed and left the room without a word.
He was terrified of himself, didn't he promise to never raise a hand on loved ones? Technically, he hadn’t, but it was too close. Thoughts flooded his mind as he rushed up the stairs in a desperate attempt to breathe fresh air. It wasn't surprising that he instinctively headed to the Astronomy Tower – your favorite place. Reaching the top, he stood there and retrieved the cigarette pack with trembling fingers. After hesitating, he lit one. Everything seemed to remind him of you. It was never that serious, you just wanted to help him.
Now, he felt like a total fool. Leaning against a wall and sliding down, he pondered over the the relationships. You were too sweet, he couldn't let you suffer near someone like him. With that, he set his mind on ignoring you and breaking up with you because "that'd be better for you." It seemed like you would only agree, he didn't consider any other possible answer.
In the next few days, he deliberately skipped meals and tried to ignore your questioning gaze in halls. However, you heard a slight cough from behind after the lunch.
"May we discuss something?"
"Well, if it isn't Theodore Nott! What—" he didn't let you finish.
"Let's break up." you froze, staring at him in disbelief.
"Nott, are you insane? Didn't you think to ask me?"
"I'm doing it right now."
"Really? It felt more like you just stated a fact and I can only accept it. It was really low of you to avoid me." Your eyes became shiny as tears started to accumulate involuntarily. Theodore noticed it, and despite the cold agenda he planned, he rushed towards you, wiping the tears.
"You wouldn't want to be with me," he mumbled.
"What? We could've talked! We've always talked about how important communication is, but how come we don't practice it? I know you, and I know myself; I wouldn't give up on our relationship that easily. And more than anything, I know that I want to be with you. Why would you do that to me?" you sobbed, clutching onto him as if you were afraid that if he left now, you would never see him again.
"Shush, principessa, I'm so sorry-" he didn't expect such a reaction from you. As you hid your crying face in his chest, his heartbeat only became faster. What an idiot he was for even thinking of such a thing. "I'm so sorry. For everything I've done and said. I'll work to be better for you," he rambled quietly. "Do you trust me? Are you ready to give me another try?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked the last question. You just nodded, and he chuckled at the sight. "Tesoro... I'm so sorry. I promise you it won't happen again." He gave you a forehead kiss, and he really meant it. Even though he didn't say anything about it, he decided to quit smoking. Yes, it won't be easy or a short process, but at least he found a far better addiction - you.
Tom Riddle
From the moment you saw Tom, you thought it could have worked out. At least, you hoped so. It all felt dumb. All those times when your friends told you to break up or said that he didn’t care about you - you refused to believe them. And now, it got you here when the most precious person told you were some troublesome trivia. In the past, you and Tom would at least talk during lunch or sit next to each other in Potions where he patiently helped you, but now, he skipped most lessons, and if he attended one, he’d sit alone. Everyone noticed it, and you became the target of their whispers and snickers. Some even went as far as mocking you in the halls.
“Well, if it isn’t the one Tom Riddle dumped. What, did he finally realize that you’re pathetic?” you tightened your hold on your books and tried to leave hurriedly until the blonde boy from the group shoved you into the wall. “Aren’t we talking to you? Why are you leaving so suddenly?”
It was a pretty loud encounter, so Tom, who was walking nearby, heard it and stopped in his tracks. To tell the truth, he didn’t even want to break up. He invented this silly excuse to protect you because he was afraid of his own actions. He hoped you’d be stubborn and come once again, but you didn’t. That’s when he knew he messed up, but his pride held him back from going to you. And now, someone was bullying his treasure.
But they underestimated your power. You didn’t want it to escalate into violence, but they started it first. With a swift movement of the wand, you threw them off with a big blast. Not even bothering to look behind, you paced up and bumped into someone.
“Oh.” As he put his hands on your shoulders to steady you, he eyed the unconscious group behind. “Using a spell of such power at this hour?” he mumbled nervously.
“Care to explain why you care? Get off, Riddle.” You tried to shove him away, but his grip was strong.
“What’s going on with you? I didn’t even do anything to make you that mad.” You nearly choked at these words.
“Tom.” He hesitated. “Do you think I’m that dumb to fall for your words? Move out of the way.” But he just stood there without a change.
"Don’t leave. I was just... I was afraid I’d hurt you," he whispered as he clutched onto you. "I was afraid of my own plans, of my own thoughts. But please, promise me never to leave, even if I change. I won’t hurt you, just stay by my side. I never expected to fall in love..I had everything planned ahead in a neat way, but you came in like a surprise. Yet, here we are, and it's you. There's no turning back now" You never saw Tom being so vulnerable, and you could do only nod. You cupped his face.
"Hey, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll be here," you softly reassured him, not noticing how easily he drew you right back.
Mattheo Riddle
You had hard time absorbing everything Mattheo said. It was already dark outside, but you didn’t care to turn on the light or illuminate the wand with “Lumos”. You sat on the bed and went through the box with a glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that he saved every gift, every letter, note - even those that you gave him before dating. Quiet sobs escaped your chest upon finding the promise ring at the very top. Why does it feel so awful when you believed you made the right choice?
As if on cue, your roommate entered the dorm room. "Hey, look what everyone’s talking about in school- oh, are you okay?" She turned on the lights and noticed your teary face. Quickly wiping everything away, you pretended to be busy, gathering everything back into the box. "Yeah, my eyes are sore from reading in the dark," a lame excuse, "what were you gonna tell?"
She knew you disliked having your privacy intruded upon. "So, three students were caught for an outrageous duel and a series of mobbings in Hogsmeade! Surprisingly, it was two Gryffindor students and one Hufflepuff. That fits into the ‘don't judge a book by its cover' narrative. I wonder when the stereotypes about the houses will end. Remember when everyone didn't doubt that it was Slytherin?" she sighed.
As if it weren't enough of a heartbreak, you discovered that everything you had ever suspected Mattheo of was all filthy lies and gossip. Suddenly, you felt dizzy.
You didn’t care about decency or dignity as you rushed to Mattheo’s dorm. He, too, was struggling. Despite everything, he regretted speaking harshly and leaving the memory box. What if you never returned and tossed it away? His heart clenched at the thought.
Feeling too irritated and unwilling to join others in the common room for a card game, he was all alone for now. In futile attempts to fall asleep, he heard a light knock on the door.
"Who’s that?" he groaned, too lazy to open the door.
"Hey, can we talk?" His muscles tensed upon hearing that familiar voice. Rushing to the door, he unlocked it immediately. "Oh, hi," you blushed and stopped mid-sentence, staring at his torso. He glanced down, realizing he forgot to put his shirt on.
"Shit. Sorry, one second," he shut the door in embarrassment and put on a random sweater. "What do you want?" he still held a grudge against you.
"I wanna... apologize. You have every right to shut the door, but I wanted to tell you that our relationship isn’t a joke to me. I love everything about you. I was just so stupid to believe all the gossips floating around Hogwarts, but that doesn’t matter. I came here to tell you how insane you make me feel. I mean, these days when I tried to collect my thoughts and was avoiding you, I was thinking of you non-stop. Mattheo, I’d fight the world to be by your side." As you rambled on and on, his gaze softened, and he pulled you by the waist.
"That’s my girl. I felt terrible when you acted the way you acted, but I hope it won’t be the same in the future?... I also apologize for saying unnecessary things."
"That’s okay, you had every right to be mad. What about I’ll order the food and we’ll watch a movie?"
“Gladly” he was grinning now. It wasn't necessary to tell him that you were also ordering a new broomstick, the perfect one for the perfect boy to make it up. It was the least you could do now. As you scrolled through the list of new films, Mattheo coughed.
"So, uh, can I get my box back, please? You didn’t go through it, right?" a light blush covered his face.
“Actually, I did, Matty. I didn’t know you are so sweet” he groaned at this comment “but I’ll return it to you. Sure.”
Lorenzo Berkshire
The moment Lorenzo received his numerology exam back, he couldn't believe the mark he saw. 70, satisfactory. Many would pray for such a grade, but he had studied and sacrificed too much for this.
As he walked to breakfast, he scanned the Great Hall but couldn't spot you. The previous day's argument flared up in his memory, and he wrinkled his nose as he sat down to eat. As predicted, a white owl sat on his shoulder, delivering a letter with Berkshire's family logo.
He run his eyes over the text. “disgrace..wasting time..bad influence” and blah blah blah. Nothing’s new, except the threat that ordered him not to come home until he got back on the track academically. He's been following his parents' wishes for too long; he was too afraid to ruin the perfect son image that he completely lost hold of his priorities.
Oh, how he wished to be in your embrace now, to listen to your soothing voice and nuzzle up to you in the dark. But he ruined it single-handedly.
He stood up and went to lessons, scratching an apology note for you in the meantime. At DADA, the only class you two took together, he tried to sit next to you and apologize, but that place was taken by a Hufflepuff girl, to which he could only frown. Throughout the lesson, you felt his gaze on you, but never once did you turn your head back at him. If he needed a break that much, he could get one. After all, you got tired of constantly begging him to relax and spend time with you and felt like a total fool.
After the lessons ended, you were the first one to leave the classroom, but he's not an idiot either. You felt someone gently taking hold of your wrists and pushing you into the empty classroom. The door closed behind.
"Can we talk and communicate like grown-ups?" Lorenzo inquired.
"You said everything you wanted last time. I have to go, Hermione's waiting for me in the library," you blatantly lied.
"Oh, really? Because when I last talked to Hermione, she told me she would be with Ron," he calmly stated, stepping closer. "I don't really remember things I've said, but-" You didn't let him finish.
“Enzo, you needed break and I’m giving it to you” his jaws tightened in frustration at your unwavering stance. “You told me I was a burden and you know what? I think you were right because lately, that’s what I felt like in relationships with you. It’s like I’m begging you to spend time with me. Maybe it's best to return to being friends” you mumbled. But he just shook his head, moving nearer once more until he stood right in front of you.
"I'm sorry I made you feel this way. It's not an excuse for my behavior, but I've been stressing about..something," he sighed. "You don't deserve to be treated like that, but trust me, I'll be better." He gently reached out for your arm. "I need just another chance. The only one. I've already written back to my parents, and I hope they will get off my back. I've also told them about us," his voice got quieter. "I hope you won't mind." Your breath hitched. He had always been postponing this, even if you wished for it. There was a minute of silence and apprehension before he wrapped you in a hug. "I hope you can forgive me, sweetheart. How about we go to the cafe you like this weekend?" he mumbled, peppering your face with kisses.
a/n: I apologize if it's not the way you imagined, but hey, I tried my best. Also, I think they were super careful and sweet afterwards!
taglist: @lilanxietysstuff @nopedefe @marina468
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reasonsforhope · 1 month
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"Minnetonka first started selling its “Thunderbird” moccasins in 1965. Now, for the first time, they’ve been redesigned by a Native American designer.
It’s one step in the company’s larger work to deal with its history of cultural appropriation. The Minneapolis-based company launched in the 1940s as a small business making souvenirs for roadside gift shops in the region—including Native American-inspired moccasins, though the business wasn’t started or run by Native Americans. The moccasins soon became its biggest seller.
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[Photo: Minnetonka]
Adrienne Benjamin, an Anishanaabe artist and community activist who became the company’s “reconciliation advisor,” was initially reluctant when a tribal elder approached her about meeting with the company. Other activists had dismissed the idea that the company would do the work to truly transform. But Benjamin agreed to the meeting, and the conversation convinced her to move forward.
“I sensed a genuine commitment to positive change,” she says. “They had really done their homework as far as understanding and acknowledging the wrong and the appropriation. I think they knew for a long time that things needed to get better, and they just weren’t sure what a first step was.”
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Pictured: Lucie Skjefte and son Animikii [Photo: Minnetonka]
In 2020, Minnetonka publicly apologized “for having benefited from selling Native-inspired designs without directly honoring Native culture or communities.” It also said that it was actively recruiting Native Americans to work at the company, reexamining its branding, looking for Native-owned businesses to partner with, continuing to support Native American nonprofits, and that it planned to collaborate with Native American artists and designers.
Benjamin partnered with the company on the first collaboration, a collection of hand-beaded hats, and then recruited the Minneapolis-based designer Lucie Skjefte, a citizen of the Red Lake Nation, who designed the beadwork for another moccasin style and a pair of slippers for the brand. Skjefte says that she felt comfortable working with the company knowing that it had already done work with Benjamin on reconciliation. And she wasn’t a stranger to the brand. “Our grandmothers and our mothers would always look for moccasins in a clutch kind of situation where they didn’t have a pair ready and available to make on their own—then they would buy Minnetonka mocs and walk into a traditional pow wow and wear them,” she says. Her mother, she says, who passed away in 2019, would have been “immensely proud” that Skjefte’s design work was part of the moccasins—and on the new version of the Thunderbird moccasin, one of the company’s top-selling styles.
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[Photo: Minnetonka]
“I started thinking about all of those stories, and what resonated with me visually,” Skjefte says. The redesign, she says, is much more detailed and authentic than the previous version. “Through the redesign and beading process, we are actively reclaiming and reconnecting our Animikii or Thunderbird motif with its Indigenous roots,” she says. Skjefte will earn royalties for the design, and Minnetonka will also separately donate a portion of the sale of each shoe to Mni Sota Fund, a nonprofit that helps Native Americans in Minnesota get training and capital for home ownership and entrepreneurship.
Some companies go a step farther—Manitobah Mukluks, based in Canada, has an Indigenous founder and more than half Indigenous staff. (While Minnetonka is actively recruiting more Native American workers, the company says that employees self-report race and it can’t share any data about its current number of Indigenous employees.) Beyond its own line of products, Manitobah also has an online Indigenous Market that features artists who earn 100% of the profit for their work.
White Bear Moccasins, a Native-owned-and-made brand in Montana, makes moccasins from bison hide. Each custom pair can take six to eight hours to make; the shoes cost hundreds of dollars, though they can also be repaired and last as long as a lifetime, says owner Shauna White Bear. In interviews, White Bear has said that she wants “to take our craft back,” from companies like Minnetonka. But she also told Fast Company that she doesn’t think that Minnetonka, as a family-owned business, should have to lose its livelihood now and stop making moccasins.
The situation is arguably different for other fashion brands that might use a Native American symbol—or rip off a Native American design completely—on a single product that could easily be taken off the market. Benjamin says that she has also worked with other companies that have discontinued products.
She sees five steps in the process of reconciliation. First, the person or company who did wrong has to acknowledge the wrong. Then they need to publicly apologize, begin to change behavior, start to rebuild trust, and then, eventually, the wronged party might take the step of forgiveness. Right now, she says, Minnetonka is in the third phase of behavior change. The brand plans to continue to collaborate with Native American designers.
The company can be an example to others on how to listen and build true relationships, Benjamin says. “I think that’s the only way that these relationships are going to get any better—people have to sit down and talk about it,” she says. “People have to be real. People have to apologize. They have to want to reconcile with people.”
The leadership at Minnetonka can also be allies in pushing other companies to do better. “My voice is important at the table as an Indigenous woman,” Benjamin says. “Lucie’s voice is important. But at tables where there’s a majority of people that aren’t Indigenous, sometimes those allies’ voices are more powerful in those spaces, because that means that they’ve signed on to what we’re saying. The power has signed on to moving forward and we agree with ‘Yes, this was wrong.’ That’s the stuff that’s going to change [things] right there.”"
-via FastCompany, February 7, 2024
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tarjapearce · 6 months
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YOU CANT JUST LEAVE US HEARTBROKEN LIKE THAT 😭😭😭😭😭
HOW DO THEY MAKE UP??!!!!!
he better does grand gesture, and apologizes the right way!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

Ngl, I'm so nervous about this. 🫣. Hope you like ~
Pt. 3
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Miguel remained glued to the door where you just left. It wasn't the raucous door slam he had expected. Dread sit on his gut at the quietness of your departure.
You weren't one for boasting up or make a show out of the situations, but you had your temper and seeing this quiet yet nerve wrecking side of you only enervated his anger. Froze it completely, leaving him with a whirlwind of emotions that mutinied in his head to be felt first.
Self loathe and guiltiness the main contenders.
His arms rested on his chest, crossed. Defensive as the creaking door from Gabriel's room opened wider.
"Miguel?"
Gabriel's voice echoed so distant in his head, despite his younger brother being a few steps away from him. A raging stupor spreaded through his limbs.
"You ok?" Gabriel tried even though he already knew the answer. He just gave a silent nod and Gabriel didn't pry further. He'd try later.
----
One week. It had been one week since you had crossed that door and vanished from his life. His mind was a corded mess of over thinking, intrusive thoughts and of course, you.
No matter how much he tried to overwork himself back in the lab, his mind often gravitated towards you.
What would you been doing? We're you doing the same as he was? No. You were probably crying and letting it all out. Something he was still working on his own. Of course you'd recommend therapy, but again, pride and fear always came his way. He was doing fine, wasn't he?
Bullshit.
Lying to himself was another thing he had perfected to a T. And it was low key terrifying for him for you to see underneath the layers (he had made sure to build sturdier), with such ease after a couple of months into the relationship with you.
But there he was, tired bones, body and soul aching from the lack of sleep. His stomach churned at the little food he consumed, the rest was coffee, to try and keep himself awake.
Cause after trying to call you next day, the only reply he got was the automated announcement of the operator.
The number you're trying to reach is no longer available or is out of reach, please contact your-
And the message kept replaying over and over. His texts didn't go through. And it didn't help that Peter arrived with the box full of his stuffs you had kept.
Peter's words fell upon deaf ears.
Peter always knew how to give him his space, but wouldn't hesitate to step up, even if it meant to be called nosy and annoying by him later. He knew he meant good. But he wasn't ready to fully grasp the fact that you had left. All thanks to him and his insecurities, something you had embraced and loved without restrains.
You loved him.
His chest constricted at the raw memory of you saying that. And tightened even more upon laying down and feel your empty space in his bed. The pillow was still deflated in the shape you had left it that fateful morning. He didn't puffed it up, fearing that the little scent of you etched to it would fade forever.
He'd fall sleep watching that small space, hoping to feel you in the morning, snuggled next to him, with your head nested on the crook of his neck, holding him like a tiny marsupial that refused to be separated from it's tree.
It was when he slept the most. Soundly and comfortable. But now, only bad dreams came for a visit.
There was no good morning kisses, no bantering for whose turn was to make the breakfast and coffee. No morning sex that probably made Gabriel uncomfortable, but the younger O'Hara was too into his business and polite to say anything. No more corny movie nights he indulged with you just for the sake of hearing you laugh at the terrible acting and cringe dialogues.
No more of your hands playing and caressing his hair just cause you wanted so, no more excited bear hugs everytime you saw him. No more of your comforting touch and words whenever he had a bad dream. No more you praising him. No more you.
Gabriel had tried to distract him, but the effort only lasted for so little that he went back to his silent mourning.
He missed it all. Missed you.
---
Gabriel let Peter and Jess in, Peter's muffled voice trying to appease a caustic Jessica whose eyes settled on a surprised Miguel on the kitchen, drinking his fifth cup of coffee.
Peter gave him an awkward smile as he followed Jessica.
"You look terrible."
Despite her anger, Jessica only pointed at his unkempt and disheveled looks.
His stubble had grown, the eyebags underneath his lower lids more prominent, bloodshot eyes that were set in a void and solemn gaze, skin ashy from the lack of sun.
"Miguel" Peter started with a sigh, "You're clearly not fine. "
He grunted and sipped the bitter coffee.
"Look, this is not our business, but we're here as your friends."
Jessica saying your name and how you were doing made his grip on the mug tighter.
"I just... don't understand. You out of everyone know the relationship with her family. Yet you accused of being like them."
"I did not"
Miguel rubbed his face and sighed. Already feeling the emotional toll he had been neglecting for the past week.
"Are you calling my friend a liar, then? She came to me, weeping, with a hecking anxiety attack saying you didn't love her anymore."
"That's.... Not true."
The constricting feeling came harder than ever upon hearing Jess' words. How could you even think that he didn't love you? He did. More than he let on. But pride was surely costing him big time.
"Then own your mistakes."
Miguel's eyes casted away from the both. Peter rubbed his neck and sighed.
"Look, Mig. We're not telling you what to do here. But I can't stand see you like this. Not when you know you can do the right thing."
"It's not that easy"
"It was easy for you to judge her-"
"Jessica"
Peter frowned and Jessica glared
"It was easy for you to say such things to her, but it's hard to apologize?"
"Exactly. You think I don't know I fucked up? I know I have to make things right-"
"Then do it!. And take a bath, I can smell you from here."
Miguel half scowled half pouted at her words. Peter just patted his shoulder softly before leaving.
-----
His first attempt at apologizing failed. He had sent flowers to your job, only for the delivery man to tell him that you had returned them, along with the box of chocolates you've always wanted to try.
He wanted to taste the waters before actually step in. And so far they'd drown him if he ventured deep enough.
But he was fighting against the tide.
---
The cold rain had soaked him, ruined the flowers and his hairstyle. He wanted to make things right, but knew that couldn't do it looking like shit. He had taken the time in getting ready. Black pants and shoes, a deep green button shirt, one that you had picked for him and praised him nonstop about it in one of your shopping outings.
Necklace in one of his pockets, flowers in one hand and his heart on the other.
Gabriel just teased him with a smile before he left. Glad that his brother seemed with a spark again.
But the rain, had ruined his plans. And now he was soaked, hair a wet wavy mess, shivering with a single tulip in his hands, all before your apartment's door.
He'd know you'd be home, it was your resting day. Taking a deep breath and swallowing back the anxiety gnawing at his head and heart, he rang the doorbell.
Small taps of your fuzzy slippers echoed closer and closer, your voice soft and serene. The same way you'd talk to him when he was grumpy or in a bad mood.
Who were you talking to?
The thought of you moving on so fast crossed his mind but instantly was fulminated. You weren't like that. You still loved him.
Right?
His breath hitched once your door swung partially open, revealing you. A messy bun ontop your head, phone on hands, puffed eyes that were red from previous crying, a sweater double your size and comfy pj pants.
"I-I'll call you later. Hm. Bye" You sniffled and hung up the call.
You closed the door on his face and he stilled for a moment, the shuffling of your locks finally turned to swung open the door completely. He swallowed thickly
Mahogany eyes locked in yours, you frowned and he sighed.
"May I... Come in?"
Miguel sighed and offered you the lone and wet white tulip. Your favorite, as a peace offer.
"Please?"
Despite the inner turmoil in your heart, you stepped aside and let him in.
Baby steps.
He swallowed as he ventured deeper in your home. It had changed little to nothing. Just like you. The only visible change in your factions was the restless look he shared with you.
You went to the bathroom and brought him a towel. He didn't know how would you react if he just pulled you closer and held you tightly.
He just took the towel instead, brushing cold fingers against warm ones. His body almost sung in delight at the little feeling of you again.
But he knew he had lost the right to your physical affection. To your attention, and the fact that you had received him and still looked after him in the admist of his wrongdoings, humbled him.
You went to the kitchen and put the kettle to boil. He was on the edge as he removed his shirt and wet clothes.
"W-What are you..." You looked at him in mild alarm as he wrapped the towel around his waist. The storm kept raging outside, thunders only enhancing the heavy atmosphere that settled between you both.
"Relax, don't wanna catch a cold."
His skin full of goosebumps, probably cold by the unforgiving rain. You went back to the living room and fetched the blanket you were using.
"Here."
You only watched him, but he refused to meet your gaze just yet.
"Im sorry."
He blurted and his eyes softened at you bracing yourself.
"I fucked up, didn't I?."
"Big time."
He nodded and wrapped himself the blanket on his shoulders. Being both emotionally and physically naked before you wasn't something he had planned on. But it was one of the least of his concerns.
You had put the tulip in a small vase and soon poured two mugs of hot cinnamon and milk tea, a drinking habit he had rubbed on you.
You sat on the couch, he followed.
"I know you don't want me here but, I really need to make this right. If... you don't want to continue this, I'll understand. I'll respect whatever choice you make."
"I just don't know if I can trust you, Miguel."
A stab on his chest. A well deserved one. He nodded.
"Is there anything I can do to fix that? Can I still fix it? "
You sighed softly and shook your head, "I don't know. I want to believe you, believe that something like that won't ever happen again."
You squeezed the mug in your hands
"You have no idea how... your words hurt. Even worse when you looked at me with such anger and disgust. It felt like my family looking at me when I left them."
Your voice cracked and he tensed, but slowly reached for your hand. Relief washing over him as you didn't recoil from his touch this time. The tea long forgotten.
"Te prometo, que nunca volverá a pasar. Y sabes que soy un hombre de palabra. I know what I said is unjustifiable, But I can't stand this... space between us" (I promise this won't happen again. You know I'm a man of word)
You knew he wasn't good with feelings, that he sometimes needed a reminder to  look for help, the way he breathed as he spoke the last two words made you smile a little. He was trying.
"I know" You sniffled and wiped your eyes.
"Do you... want me to stay away until you feel ready to try it again?"
A vehement shake of your head.
"I need to get it out cause... I don't know if I can't keep bottling up these things anymore. I'm not... sweeping my feelings under the rug anymore. I'm tired of that."
"That's... something I need to keep working on"
His hand slicked his front bangs away from his face.
"It's something I've always admired from you, mi niña." His hands grabbed yours once more, relishing in the warmth and grounding feeling your body provided him, "You've... always made it look easier. I tried to learn but... I guess it doesn't works like that."
"It takes time. And willingness to share. I could teach you."
"Have you... ever felt like I'm not willing to share things or that I'm too closed off with you?"
"Yes. I feel like mostly of the times I need to take initiative for you to do things with me. That's why I said you didn't want me"
He rubbed his face as his chest constricted, just like his throat.
"I know, sometimes I'm an ass"
"Un pendejo, de hecho" (A dumbass, actually)
He chuckled and nodded as he entwined his hand with yours.
"And I'm sorry if I ever took you for granted. I'm sorry for... the many things I should've done better but I didn't cause I knew you'd stay with me anyways. And... I'll forever regret that it came to this point for me to realize that" 
He cradled you close and held you with such gentleness it made your heart thump in relief. One of his arms went around your waist as his other hand caressed your hair.
Miguel was now resting on the armchair of your couch, you lying ontop of him. He didn't need the blanket anymore. His hands were too fearful of you slipping away from him.
"Have you ever felt judged by me?" Your voice soft, and melodic, music to his anxious heart.
He shook his head and pressed a firm kiss on your temple. You closed your eyes, melting into the caresses he gave as his hands roamed gently your back, saying 'She's here. She's real. She's mine again'
"All the opposite. You really felt that I didn't love you?"
"That and that you didn't want me anymore"
He sighed and cupped your face to give you a tiny and gentle kiss as he squeezed you against him.
"Mensa." (Dummy)
Your hand reached up to pull a strand of his hair as a little vendetta and he chuckled.
" Te voy a demostrar que te amo" (I'll prove my love for you)
"Can't wait" There was a little flush on your cheeks. You knew that his heartfelt and most sincere words came better in spanish.
There was a silent moment, the drip drops of the rain against your window were the perfect lullaby for you to close your eyes.
Tonight you'd sleep soundly, so would he. His hand on your hair trembled. These forms of intimacy always made him marvel at how easy was to keep you and himself happy.
"I've missed you." He whispered only for you. Your heart frisked in contempt, cause only you could make him say such words.
"I've missed you too"
He caressed your cheek once more and smiled gently.
"Are we good?"
"We're working on it"
The heavy and unpleasant feeling slowly melting off from him. He smiled as he secured you in his arms.
---
The dim lit room soon made him to yawn, awakening in a different place. A soft startle, but feeling his arms occupied with you, snuggled against him, face hidden in the crook of his shoulder, deeply asleep.
His arms couldn't get enough of feeling your skin. Feeling you, to make sure his mind wasn't hallucinating. You had given him another chance and he was ready to prove himself worthy of you.
His soft kisses on your hair stirred you awake as you hooked a leg on his waist, But when he mimicked you, his whole frame engulfed you, earning a little squeal.
He smiled as he kept crushing you.
"Miguel!" You whimpered and he let you go. Everything felt like before. Like it should.
"Want some breakfast? "
He whispered as he curled on you. you'd gladly make the big spoon if needed, strong hands cradling you closer as you nodded
"Later though, Let's stay five more minutes." You kissed his forehead in exchange.
Yeah, everything was as it should. His world was spinning again and you in the middle of it. His own moon and stars.
"Pitufina?"
You grunted at the nickname.
"¿Me amas?" (Do you love me?)
"Y mucho." ( A lot)
You mumbled in between sleepy whispers. the golden necklace once more around your neck.
"Do you?"
He grope you tighter at the question.
"More than I thought possible."
------
Taglist:
@kinkybandages
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cheerfullycatholic · 11 days
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ayyy-pee · 5 months
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Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi
Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader
Summary: Following his mothers passing, Nanami inherits his family's rundown bakery. With the bakery on its last leg, Nanami reluctantly takes on the task of trying to save what his family has worked to keep for decades, but he can't do it alone.
Genre: Bakery/Coffee Shop AU
Warnings: Workaholic meanie Nanami, employee x boss relationship, but also enemies to lovers, death, grief/mourning, profanity, jealousy, fluff, angst, Nanami owns a bakery, parental loss, Nanami is bad at feelings, I don’t know if I’ll do smut for this one but sexual tension, mutual pining, Nanami is sort of an asshole here
Art by: Ilameys + (Unknown artist (right pic). I'd love to credit the artist so if you know who it is, please let me know!)
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Chapter 1 - Inheritance
A/N: There's some Danish in fic that I hope I'm using correctly! (If not let me know) Nanami calls his mother "Mor" in this fic, which is Danish for Mom (according to Google lmao)
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“Are you okay with this arrangement?” a stocky, bald man ahead asks. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the office, the beads of sweat forming on his head are apparent. He reaches up and swipes his hand across where his hairline probably resided at some point in time, but is now long gone. He clears his throat, repeating the question.
“Um-” he glances around at the other men at the table, dressed in bland, ugly suits. A bunch of blank faces that’ll be forgotten once this is over. The man behind taps his shoulder.
“Mr. Nanami?” He speaks.
Nanami’s brows raise as he’s brought back to the present and he looks around to find the men surrounding the table staring at him. He looks back to the bald man next to him. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
The bald man wipes his forehead again and Nanami hopes whatever paperwork and pen he is about to offer him is passed with his other hand. He resists shuddering in disgust.
“I was saying your mother has left her bakery to you in her will and testament with the wish that you continue to keep it open.”
Right. Nanami remembers now. His mother is dead - the only family he can remember having now leaving him alone in this world. He figured this would happen eventually. She was elderly and in declining health. He was truly surprised she lived as long as she did. To top it off, she wants him to keep the piece of shit bakery that’s been passed down generations in business.
Nanami didn’t get to see his mother often. He worked as a corporate executive so he didn’t have much time to allocate to visiting her and being forced into the kitchen with her. Instead, he opted to call her often and visited when he had the time. 
The sensation of his bottom lip trembling pulls Nanami from his thoughts.
“I don’t want it.” He confirms, voice as even as he can manage.
The bald man glances around nervously before looking back at Nanami. “Mr. Nanami, I understand this must be a lot to take in and quite difficult for you. However, this bakery has been in your family for generations. Your grandfather left it to your mother when he passed and now your mother to you. Are you sure you don’t want to–”
“It’s a sinking ship”, Nanami cuts him off. “I’ve seen the books a few times. I know it’s bleeding money and has been for some time. What do you suppose I do with that?”
The man shrugs, not that Nanami truly expected him to have an answer. Nanami pinches the bring of his nose, his brows stitching together in irritation. He really doesn’t want to deal with this. It’s annoying and an inconvenience. He wants to coast by in his cushy corporate executive job until retirement, making loads of money and not worrying about the crippling debt brought on by selling baked dough in some sad, rundown family owned establishment.
His mind drifts back to the very last time he was at the bakery, remembering his mother kneading the dough between her shaky, liver spotted fingers. When the aches became too much for her, she asked Nanami to give her a hand. He always complied if only to keep himself busy for the moment.
“When will you settle down? Work won’t be there forever”, she would ask as she took a seat on her stool next to the confectionery ovens. The massive machines loomed over her thin frame and Nanami wondered how she did this everyday. He wished she would close up shop and live the rest of her days resting. He had offered many times to support her, each time being met with a hard “no”.
“I don’t have time to date anyone. Besides, they’d just end up leaving me anyway. I’m too busy to make time for anyone else.”
His mother hummed in acknowledgement. “Yes, but you have to make time for them, Kento. A relationship is about compromise after all.”
“I don’t want to have to compromise. That’s the point of me not dating anyone right now”. His mother was always pushing for him to find someone. Asking for him to bring someone home to meet her before she met her demise - her words. She was always so dramatic, often prompting Nanami to roll his eyes in amusement.
Nanami molded the dough into an oval shape, grabbing the bread lame from the side of the table and quickly slicing leaf cut patterns into the dough - both his and his mother’s favorite. Carefully, he placed the dough onto a baking pan before gently shooing away his mother from her stool to slide the pan into the oven and turn it on.
“Kento, money comes and goes. You won’t have forever to live your life the way you see fit. And I want to see you get married before I’m dead and gone!” His mother sighed dramatically as she took Nanami’s large hard in both her smaller ones. “In all seriousness, sweet boy. I want to see you happy, living your life to the fullest.”
Nanami smiled softly down at his mother. He gently folded her up in an embrace. “My life is full as long as you’re here, Mor .”
His mother smacked him playfully in the chest. “Don’t try to butter me up with speaking Danish”, she scolded, though her voice held no anger. “Kento, take a break. Life will pass you by before you know it and you don’t want to look back at your life to realize you wasted it sitting in an office rotting under those awful lights.” She squinted her eyes to drive her point home. Nanami rolled his eyes playfully, looking down at his watch.
“I have to go back to work. I’ll call you later this week.” He bent low to place a kiss to his mother’s cheek before heading out through the front of the store.
The quiver in his lip returned and he let out a shaky breath to steady himself as the bald, sweaty man next to him slid over what looked to be a contract.
“If you’re sure, Mr. Nanami, we will have the bank take possession of the property. I’ll just need your signature here.” He extended his hand to give Nanami a pen and he fought the curl of disgust threatening to form on his lip when he noticed he held it with the same sweat-slathered hand he’d been using to wipe his head this entire meeting.
Nanami’s eyes roamed across the room. The faces of men he’d likely never see again surrounded him, just like every other day in this godforsaken boardroom. All dressed in some variation of the same ordinary suit and tie, talking amongst themselves about who knows what. And the lights, the fucking fluorescent lights threatening to trigger the same migraine Nanami found himself having everyday.
Life will pass you by before you know it and you don’t want to look back at your life to realize you wasted it sitting in an office rotting under those awful lights.
Nanami squinted just as his mother did that day, a wry chuckle escaping him. Fuck it. What did he have to lose?
“Actually–” he begins.
- - - - - - - -
Nanami is standing in the front of the bakery he now owns. It’s been about two weeks since he inherited this gaping wound bleeding out money every second it’s standing. He’s quit his corporate job, his peers whispering that his loss must have triggered a mental breakdown. They were almost right. The moment he signed the legal documents to take over the bakery, he felt free - as though the weight of the corporate world had been lifted from his shoulders. Now, as he entered the bakery and flipped on the lights, watching as a piece of ceiling tile tumbled to the lobby floor he felt his impending breakdown sneaking closer.
This place was a mess. He couldn’t blame his mother. She wasn’t able to handle the upkeep on her own and honestly, Nanami should have come around more to help out. Now, he was literally paying the price. It was no wonder the place was struggling when it was open. The furniture was worn, the decor was outdated and not in a trendy way. He understood wanting to keep the family memory alive, but the bakery was feeling more like a moldy old hole in the wall and not as welcoming as his mother believed it to be.
Repairs would be needed as soon as possible if he wanted to have a reopening for this place next month. He also needed to renovate the space and hire a baker who knew how the hell to run this place because he had no intention of doing it himself. No way. He fully intended on staffing this place up and collecting money from behind the scenes - the perfect retirement plan.
Nanami spent the day scheduling repairmen and interviews for the Head Baker position all within the next week. If he could find someone knowledgeable and adept, he could breathe easy knowing he would never have to be here unless absolutely necessary. 
After scheduling the last interview, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. This sucked. He was putting in way too much effort already and it did not seem worth it. Only time would tell.
- - - - - - - -
The first interview was easy enough. A young girl who seemed exhausted but eager. She had prior bakery experience, but the way the bags hung under her eyes made Nanami uncomfortable. It was as though she had something clinging to her and if he were totally honest, it gave him the creeps. At the end of the interview, he wished her well, advised her to try to get some rest and maybe see a medium about whatever strange aura was following her.
The second interview was an odd man with tattoos all over his body that looked something akin to stitches. He was young and lively, but it was apparent the moment he entered the bakery that he lacked basic hygiene skills. His long, gray (how old was this kid?) hair hung messily around his shoulders and the stench…Nanami could not describe the stench. If he absolutely had to describe it - like gun to the head, forced to recall the smell - he'd compare it to something along the lines of a sewer rat dipped in rotten eggs and left in the sun to bake. There was also the awful vibe Nanami got from him. He had a feeling if he hired this guy, Nanami would come in one day to find the entire bakery empty, the only thing left behind being hand soap since this man definitely didn’t wash his hands after using the bathroom, or shower, or brush his teeth or–
The third interview was annoying, but by far the best. Nanami sat at a table in the lobby as his eyes skimmed over the resume in his hands. A previous position as a Head Baker already, excellent. This resume even included custom recipes and pictures of their creations which he could not deny looked delicious. Nanami had to admit he was already impressed.
The door to the bakery opened and Nanami stood. Your eyes roamed around the lobby until you spotted him. You offered him a wide, friendly smile, holding your hand out to him as you approached. He asked your name, to which you confirmed and he shook your hand. Professional already. He liked it.
You both took a seat across from each other as Nanami went over the interview questions he had prepared. The usual - tell me about yourself? Tell me a time when…How would you handle…
Your answers were professional with enough of your personality shining through to let Nanami know you were a likable enough person. Nanami especially enjoyed the way your eyes lit up when you went over how you came to write your recipes. Clearly you were passionate about baking, something his mother would have appreciated. As you explained to him how you once created a cake made of broccoli for a child’s birthday party that had not a single crumb left by the end of the night, Nanami couldn’t help but think how much his mother really would have liked you. He shook the thought away as he watched you take in the bakery again. He suddenly felt ashamed of its condition.
“I apologize. This place is an absolute dump, but I’ll be renovating soon enough and will be sure you have top of the line equipment should you get the position.” He muttered, rubbing his temple to ease the migraine that had been slowly creeping up on him since his last interview.
You shot him a look of confusion, tilting your head to the side. “What do you mean a dump? This place is gorgeous !” You beamed. “I mean, look around. There’s so much character in this building. You can tell whoever ran the place loved it. It looks like it really met its purpose.” You ran your hand across the worn wood of the table and sighed wistfully.
Nanami scoffed. “It appears outside of baking, you have questionable taste.”
“How can you look at this place and see a dump?” You questioned, genuinely curious.
“Because I grew up in this bakery and it didn’t used to be a dump and now it very obviously is.” Nanami said easily.
Your grin faded into a scowl. “Mr. Nanami, with all due respect, you seem to be looking only for flaws here.”
You stood from the table and pointed behind the front counter to the kitchen in the back. “Do you mind?” Nanami shook his head, sighing as he stood with you and followed you to the back. 
Your head whipped around as you entered the kitchen, taking in the worn down appliances, pans, tools and other materials. You didn’t touch anything, only a small smile gracing your features as you observed everything.
“I love bakeries like this personally. I love to be in a space that feels like lots of love and care was put into the end product. Anyone can throw flour into a pot with some eggs and sugar, but what makes one bakery different or better than the next?”
You watched Nanami intensely, not speaking. Oh. Was he the one being interviewed now?
“How much money they make.” He answered confidently. You snorted.
“Loud and wrong”, you stated. “It’s love , Mr. Nanami.”
He rolled his eyes and you burst into laughter. Nanami was now slowly becoming convinced you were a crazy person.
“I’m joking…to an extent. But if you put in the time, the effort and the care into your baking you’ll gain so much more than you ever thought possible. The fancy furniture and stupid bright lights won’t make a difference if you just slap whatever dry, shitty bread onto a plate and sell it.”
Nanami stared blankly.
“What’s your favorite memory here, Mr. Nanami?” you asked suddenly. 
“Irrelevant to this interview”, he replied instead. You scowled.
“Come onnnnn, indulge me”, you pleaded.
“No.”
You folded your arms across your chest stubbornly. “Will you always be this difficult if we work together?”
Nanami’s brows shot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Will you always be this difficult if we work together?” You repeat, a little more slowly this time.
“I am not difficult”, he lied. He knew he was being difficult at this moment, probably sounding like a child arguing back. He could have just answered your damn prying questions but…he didn’t want to. Okay, yes he was being childish. Regardless, he continued.
“Why should I give you this job?”
You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it absentmindedly while you thought about your answer. “Because I love baking. I love baking more than I love breathing and I could work a boring office job like anyone else, but I know I’d hate myself for it. This place needs a little help and I want to be here to make it into whatever you need it to be.”
Hating yourself for working an office job, huh? Nanami could relate. He was in this position mere weeks ago. You were sort of annoying always trying to see the bright side - rainbows and butterflies and shit - but maybe he could look past that. He did need a baker after all and his only other interviews were not exactly what he was looking for. But, he needed to establish some ground rules first.
“If you accept this position, I will be your boss and you will respect me. Please don’t misinterpret this relationship. I am not interested in establishing a friendship. I simply need you to run this kitchen and make sure your desserts are up to par.”
You stood up straight, your demeanor shifting to strictly business. “Noted.”
Nanami sighed, feeling relieved that he was able to establish who the boss was around here before things got out of control. He squared his shoulders, looking at you from across the kitchen.
“Now, I am formally offering you the position of Head Baker. Do you accept it?”
“Absolutely”, you said with no hesitation before continuing. “But if you’re standing in my kitchen, I demand respect too”, you spoke up. “My desserts will never not be up to par, Mr. Nanami but please don’t misinterpret this relationship either. When you step into my kitchen, I am in charge here.”
You moved across the kitchen and held your hand out to Nanami, who shook it quietly as he assessed you. You were passionate, spoke your mind, demanded respect but you were also annoyingly way too positive. It would be an adjustment for Nanami to work with someone like you. He was used to the drab routine of office work and the bland personalities that came along with it. This entire process was going to be an adjustment for him.
Nanami walked you out of the bakery, giving you a start date of next Monday to go over recipes for a soft reopening. He watched you go, a small skip in your step and for the first time since losing his mother, his lips curled up into a tiny smile.
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ayyy-imma-ninja · 1 year
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So for your fairy au with Sun and moon, do either of the boys have nightmares themselves? And if so , what do they do to comfort one another?
p.s love your artwork keep it up 👍
They do...
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And the best thing for it, is to be there for each other.
takes place three days after the fight
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pratchettquotes · 2 months
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"I never shook hands with no king before," said Detritus. "No dwarf, either, come to that."
"You shook hands with me once," said Cheery.
"Watchmen don't count," said Detritus firmly. "Watchmen is watchmen."
Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant
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wardenparker · 13 days
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CONGRATS on 2.5k!! You deserve every follow! ❤️ For the co-writer (along with @absurdthirst) of the Whiskey fic that made brain go BRRRRR and got me into reading/writing our fave corndog, how about our Agent with the prompts: "Should we make it official?" and/or "Put me down!" Have fun!
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Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels. 2,300 words. "Put me down!"/"Should we make it official?" (Sequel to: "Wait! Please don't go!"/"There is no 'us'." ) Co-written with @absurdthirst
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When Jack hits the door, heads turn. The sharp, confident gait of a man on a mission who will not be stopped just shimmers in the air around him. Eyes sharp and narrowed, they scan the floor, looking for someone. For you.
“Can I help you, sir?” It’s the weekend, so a greeter is stationed at the door of the upscale retail store, to help direct customers through the maze of shelves and displays. It is the middle of the city so there are plenty of different kinds who come in every day, but this is definitely the first cowboy that’s ever set foot inside the Lexington Avenue Sephora.
Jack says your name and throws the woman a charming grin. “She’s helped me before so I’m hoping to see her again.” He lies, knowing that you won’t talk to him otherwise.
"Sure! Of course." The new girl smiles warmly, blushing a little as she's easily taken in by the charm that drips off of Jack like dew drops. "She's in fragrances today. All the way at the back of the store."
“Thank you kindly.” He tips his hat like a gentleman and starts for the back of the store. The past two weeks have been miserable. He’s drank, he’s raged, he’s blamed you for expecting too much. Then, when you rejected the bouquet of flowers he had sent to your parent’s house after misusing Statesman resources to find where you were, he had come to a hard truth. He had done you wrong. He hadn’t spoken from heart, not made himself uncomfortable for the sake of growth. Holding onto the fear of losing you if he loved you had caused him to lose you. And no surprise, he had loved you, because he is miserable without your voice in his ear, your fragrance on his sheets and your love in his heart. Now, he’s here to get you back.
You're there in the last aisle, helping a young lady find a specific gift she came looking for, in the uniform dress that you hate but tolerate for the sake of your new job. It doesn't pay well enough and it doesn't distract you enough to dull the constant aching hurt inside you after having walked out of Jack's place, but that's why you had started it the second after arriving back at your parents' place. To try to forget him. It isn't working. Not at all.
"I'll be right wit—" The figure looming a few feet away was only a shadow. It's the second you look up that your mouth runs dry and you feel sick to your stomach all over again. "I'm not sure I can help you, sir," you manage, hating the way your heart wings with so much hope. Hope that he wouldn't be here unless he had come for a good goddamn reason. But you have to stay strong. "You might want to try elsewhere."
“But sugar—” Jack drawls, grinning in pure relief at seeing your pretty face again somewhere else than in his dreams or the photos that haunt his walls. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
“Then you’ll have to wait.” Jack’s appearance has thrown you off completely, but you manage to finish up with your customer and take a deep breath — even hide your shaking hands behind your back — before you look at him again. “You came to my work?” Your voice is incredulous. Quiet. “It had better because you’re out of cologne.”
“You blocked my number and your daddy— well, I didn’t think you’d want there to be a brawl on your parent’s front lawn.” He huffs, annoyed that the old man had waved a hammer at him. He knows he could disarm him, but that would make you even madder at him.
“Ginger helped you find me?” You guess with disappointment. But Ginger is his friend. You can’t blame her for being on his side. “I left Jack. And I did it on purpose. Hell, we didn’t even have enough of a relationship to call it a breakup.”
“We had a relationship.” Jack snorts. “We have one still, this ain’t over, sugar.” He promises, “Not by a long shot.”
"We can't do this here." If he wants to have it out all over again, the least he can do is pay you the courtesy of not getting you in trouble at work. This is definitely going to get you in trouble. "I'm not going to lose my job because you can't take no for an answer."
“I love you, sugar.” Jack breaths out, finally saying the words he’s needed to for a long time. The words you deserve.
If there had been anything in your hands, you would have dropped it immediately. As it is, you feel like crumbling – falling down on the spot or running to him – something utterly undignified that would definitely get you written up at minimum. Your eyes mist and your shaking hands tangle around each other, but you can't break down on the sales floor. And beyond that? As much as you want to believe him, to let the anger and the heartache drip away so you can just go home to him where you want to be? It seems completely unbelievable to you that you walking out his door was somehow the magic tonic he needed to learn those damn words.
"My manager is watching," you murmur to him, glancing past him to the petite ice queen several yard away who has zeroed in on an employee not forcing product on every single person in the store. "We can't—it's not—you have to go, Jack."
“I’m not leaving.” He frowns, tossing the overly made-up manager a single look before focusing on you. “Did you not hear what I said?” He asks. “I love you, sugar. I need you.”
"I heard you." The water pressing at the back of your eyes is proof of that, and the way your voice cracks, but you can feel your manager's eyes drilling into your face and that gaze is angry. "I heard you. And we will talk about this, but I can't afford to lose this job and that might happen if you don't go."
“You don’t need this job.” Jack reminds you. You hadn’t had it when you left, so it’s not like you’ve been here for years.
"I have bills to pay," you remind him, rolling that tick in your jaw backward a little and swallowing the bitter pill that you decided to take all on your own. The undefined thing you had going with Jack had come with a big allowance, but it wasn't a sugar situation. That would have at least been a title. "Therefore, I need to keep my job. And the girl who just got hired can get sent out the door just as easily."
“You don’t need to worry about that.” He shakes his head and reaches for your hand. “Come on, sugar.”
“Why, Jack?” You have to keep your voice down as you snatch your hand back, but it’s still a hiss. “So I can be your stay-at-home friend-with-benefits again?”
Jack has many, many faults and one of them is impatience. His jaw clenches and he knows that he needs to get you alone to talk to you, others starting to warily gaze your way. Instead of answering you, Jack drops his shoulder and scoops you up like it’s nothing.
“Oh my fucking god, Jack!” The screech it earns from you is nearly instant, knowing that you have absolutely just lost your job over his stunt and not really knowing what in the hell he plans to do now. “Put me down! Right now!” He’s stronger than you and you don’t stand a chance of wriggling free in the dress you’re wearing. It will be up over your head if you even try.
“Nope.” His gait is just as determined as he passes by your manager, her jaw on the floor. “She quits.” He tells her and continues on to the door and outside.
“JACK!” Your shit is still in your locker and that’s going to be a black mark on your resume, but right now all you can do is beat your fists on his back and shoulder in protest. “What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”
By his Bronco, Jack finally relents, bending down and setting you on your feet. “Now, we can talk.”
Huffing and puffing like you’re about to summon a personal tornado, you don’t even hear him for all the blood pounding in your ears. “What the fuck was that?! Do you know how embarrassed I’m going to be when I have to go back in there and get my purse?”
“It’ll be the last time you go in there.” He predicts and he smirks at you. “And you’ll be flustered too badly to even think about what those crusted old biddies think.”
It’s a reasonable threat, considering how good he is at flustering you. The whole reason you’ve been so upset is because you do love Jack and you wanted this to work out. But standing out there on the street pressed between him and his Bronco? You feel like you’re about to be sold a familiar looking head of cattle after your own just happened to go missing.
“So what’s the play here?” You work very hard to keep your tone skeptical. “You tell me how much you need me so that I’ll come back to you and then nothing really changes? As usual?” He did say the words, but you’re so scared to believe them. To believe him. There’s a chance he doesn’t mean it and that terrifies you.
His eyes narrow, aware that he deserves that little barb but he shakes his head. “No. That’s not what’s going to happen, baby girl.” He huffs. “You are going to go get your purse and then I’m taking you home, where you belong. And I’m going to make you scream my name before you fall asleep on my chest as we plan.”
That all sounds…ridiculously good, actually. It would be a relief to go back to him. To not have to miss him anymore and feel like your heart has been split in two. But all you do is raise one eyebrow in a show of disbelief. “Plan what, exactly?”
“You’re marrying me sugar, today, tomorrow, or the next day.” He growls, smashing his lips against yours and moaning in relief when you melt against him. Pulling away to caress your cheek. “What do you say, baby girl? Should we make it official?”
“Do you…really mean it?” Months of telling him that you wanted to know where you stood with him — wanted commitment from him — only to be sidelined or waylaid or otherwise put off for just a little while longer, they all melt away in the face of the biggest offer of commitment he could possibly make.
“Gotta ring in my pocket.” He confesses, leaning in and brushing your nose with his. “Sugar, I’ve been such a damn fool.” He murmurs. “I thought I could avoid losing you if I didn’t admit I love you. And I just hurt you, something I never wanted to do.”
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense cowboy.” It makes Jack Sense, which is not much at all, but still your arms twine around his waist right there on the sidewalk. “But I’m just gonna brush past how long it took you to show up at the party and embrace the fact you’re here at all. Because I didn’t want to leave. I miss the hell out of you.”
“I’m a damaged soul, sugar.” He admits softly. “But I want to be better, I want to give you everything.” He sighs and leans in to kiss you again. “Come home?”
“Everyone is damaged somehow, cowboy.” Melting measurably more with another press of his lips to yours, you lean into the solid wall of Jack’s body completely. “We just have to talk about things from now on, so we don’t get more damage along the way. Okay?”
“Whatever it takes, baby girl.” Jack promises, wrapping his arms around you and holding tight. “I’m never letting you go.”
You’ve cried so much these last few weeks, it’s almost startling to realize that the tears in your eyes now are happy ones. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at having your Jack back in your life, and for the right reasons. If you were separated by more than a few inches it would have been a lunge to kiss him again, but as it is you wrap up in him and hold on tight. “You really have that ring? Because I’m gonna flash it everywhere when I go back into that damn place to get my purse, and then you’re gonna take me home. Our home.”
“I sure do, baby girl.” He has to take one hand out from around you and it almost kills him, but he wants to prove how serious he is. Pulling a small black velvet box from his sports coat. “Tell me what you think. If you don’t like it, we can go pick out any ring you want.”
"How could I not like it?" It's from him and that's all that matters. But the second he pops the little velvet box open, the tears in your eyes spill over and your heart is in your throat. "Baby...it's...it's...I love it. I love you." It's beautiful, and it's real, and he means it.
Leaving was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but if it was the kick in the pants that you both needed to know that the love you have is real? Then it was worth a little ache.
______
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to-the-stars8 · 4 months
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Just One More Time
Jason Todd x Reader Ao3 Summary: Jason sees you everywhere and thinks there will never be a chance for the two of you to be together again.
As Jason lit another cigarette, he found himself thinking of you again, and it made his stomach churn. Just when he thought he’d forgotten you, you snuck in through the back doors of his mind. You'd be there, whether it be someone who vaguely looked like you or the way the sun fell through the trees. It made him regret not trying harder to keep you, loving you better. Staying in the constant push and pull of love he had put you two in would have been better than dealing with the loathing reminiscing of it. 
You had been nice when you broke it down that it was over. Using the sweetest words to break his heart. Jason didn’t know what was worse, that he denied ever not loving you enough or that he had expected the end from the very beginning. 
“I’m sorry, Jason,” You said, and he couldn’t believe those were the same lips that declared that you loved him. When you left his place, you kissed him one last time and he thought of getting on his knees. He'd grovel, pray, and kill for you to come back to him now. 
Staring out into the city, he thought of how you’d sit there on his window sill watching cars and people go past. Then, his mind betrayed him suddenly as he asked himself the one thing he’d rather die than think of; did you ever miss him? Jason put up little resistance to delving deeper into the hole that would eventually bury him alive. 
He pictured you sitting on your bed looking at your phone as you decided whether or not it would be a good idea to call him. He desperately answered the question that wasn’t asked—That it would be a good idea because he would love you so well now that he knew you were more than the air he breathed. Hell, he thought, there weren’t gods he’d worship more than you. 
Jason hated himself more so than when he first returned from the dead. He’d made stupid mistakes, but letting you go was one of the dumbest. You brought kindness, sunlight, and all things good to him just when he thought that it all would have been a dream. 
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he remembered the nights when you made him yours and the moments after. They had been everything he dreamed of, and he wondered if there would be any kind of redemption for him in your eyes. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that you’d come back. He knew you were too smart to ever go through the trouble he put you through again. 
Jason was pulled away from the sweet thought of your face by a knock on his door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone and assumed it was his brother coming to comfort him again. With a sign and putting his cigarette out on the fire escape, he got up. 
He could hear the shuffling of feet on the other side of the door, and more so when opened it. Adrenaline ran through Jason and he felt like he’d seen a ghost. You were there frozen in place like you were about to step away. 
“Jason,” You said his name like it had been stuck on your tongue since the two of you parted ways. 
He said your name in return and it felt like he could breathe for the first time in forever. 
“I,” You stopped, looking down at the space between the two of you. Jason wanted to lift your chin to look at him because it had been too long since he last saw such a pretty face. “I can’t stop thinking about you Jason.”
You stepped forward and he could smell the familiar scent of your perfume and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Looking up at him, your eyes wandered down to his lips and he prayed that you would kiss him. 
“I could say the same,” He said. “And then some.”
You cracked a smile, but it quickly faded. “I want you, Jay. I’ve never stopped wanting you—Needing you.”
Jason nearly fell to his knees in ecstasy. Leaning forward slightly, he whispered, “You're killing me.”
He could see in your eyes that you had a mission being there, and he’d be damned before he stopped you. You ignored him, continuing, “I want to give us another try, Jason. Just one more time, but it can’t be like it was before. I…I can’t handle it.”
Jason nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek. “I swear it won’t be.”
Smiling, you leaned up and kissed him. Jason swore on his own grave that the one more time you were giving him would be the last. He didn’t want to expect the end this time.
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drarrily-we-row-along · 6 months
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It had been literal years since Harry had seen him, it shouldn’t still feel like this.
Looking at Draco Malfoy while he swanned around the gala, not even noticing Harry’s existence, felt like he’d been hit with a bombarda to the chest. The grief, the rage, the fear, the brokenness, everything came back like it was yesterday. Like he was twenty one and desperately in love, like his entire life was oriented around another person. And the devastation of being left without a word; the empty, expansive void that filled his entire body.
He couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t take his eyes off his lithe form, so similar and yet different. He walked taller now, he was self assured in a way he hadn’t been. Open, smiling, like he actually knew he was worthy and it changed how he viewed other people. But he was still himself; clever and funny, still a little bashful when someone praised him.
Harry wondered what else was the same. Wondered if his mouth still tasted the same, if his hands could still make Harry’s body go pliant and his mind go blank. He wondered if he still got giggly after sex. Wondered if earl grey was still his favorite type of tea. If he still hated tequila. Wondered what Harry’d done wrong and how he could have messed up badly enough that Draco left after three years together without a word.
It was inevitable that he found himself following Draco when he went to the men's room, a moth to a flame that would incinerate it and leave its charred smoking remains in a pile of ash. Locking the door behind him, he waited, leaning against the row of sinks until Draco emerged from the stall. There was barely a hitch in his step, barely a flash of recognition in those silver eyes when he looked at Harry.
"Not even a hello?" he asked, suddenly incensed at Draco for ignoring him, at himself for setting himself up for this.
"Hello, Potter," he said evenly. "Enjoying yourself at this fine Ministry Gala?"
"Fuck you," he hissed.
Draco turned and raised an irritatingly perfect eyebrow at him, "Was a hello not what you wanted?"
And Harry saw it, the flicker in his eyes that meant he knew he'd asked the wrong question. "Not what I wanted," he repeated, throat tight and eyes stinging. "Not what I wanted?" He shook his head, "when have you ever cared about what I wanted?"
"Right," Draco said. "Terribly sorry that this Gala helps to fund my research and I had to be here tonight for my job." He said it calmly, devoid of any of the emotions that were racing under Harry's skin. "If you'll excuse me," he said, starting past Harry and moving toward the door, "I'll just get out of your way."
Harry's hands were on him before he even knew what he was doing, shoving him back against the door and pinning him there. "Seven years, Draco. Seven years and not a single word."
"Let me go," he said, voice still unerringly calm.
He shook his head, "No. Not until you-" he broke of, chest heaving as he fought for control, as he fought to get a breath.
"Until I what?" he asked.
"Not until you tell me why," Harry said, voice shaking. "Not until you give me the reason that you threw away three years together without a single. fucking. word."
He just stared at him, still not giving him a word.
"Tell me," he said, begged really, "just. Give me something. Give me some closure. Let me move on."
"Nothing is stopping you from moving on," he replied steadily.
He growled, "Fucking hell, Draco. Just tell me-"
"You're hurting me," the other man said, pressing a palm against Harry's chest.
Harry loosened his grip, "You hurt me," he whispered. "You tore out my entire heart when you fucked off and left. You left this giant, gaping sink hole of a wound in my chest that has never closed, never healed right. It always fucking hurts."
He shook his head, eyes suspiciously bright.
"Tell me," Harry demanded. "Tell me what I did. Tell me how you stopped loving me. Tell me why you left. I would have given you anything, I would have done anything, would hav-"
"I know!" Draco exploded, his voice sharp and furious, and Harry reveled in it, in his loss of composure. "I know that you would have and I didn't want you to."
"What?" he asked.
Draco shoved him off, "Let go of me." He tried to turn and get the door open but Harry grabbed him and spun him around again.
"What do you mean?"
"Let go!" he demanded, pushing roughly at him.
"No," he replied stubbornly. "You owe me this much, at least."
"I owe you nothing," Draco hissed, voice low.
Harry released his grip on the other man, body involuntarily taking a step back as he shrunk in on himself, curling away from him. "Fine," he whispered, wishing he could sink into the floor, wishing he could just disappear, wishing for anything that would take the pain away.
The other man sighed and Harry could hear him straightening his robes before he pulled open the door. "I owe you nothing because the cost of leaving was too high in the first place," he said.
And Harry's head filled with a thousand questions, he looked up but Draco had already left. Rushing out after him, Harry caught him just at the end of the hall. They were in plain sight of everyone at the Gala, if they cared to look their way, but Harry couldn't have cared less. "What?" he asked, maneuvering so that he was in front of the other man. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Everyone can see you," Draco said, voice low so no one would hear, his face impassively blank in a way that Harry detested; it made something go funny in his chest, the desire to break him from that shell, to muss him up, to kiss him until he was breathless and smiling, color high on his cheeks.
"I don't care." He shook his head, "For fuck's sake Draco. I don't care what any of them think. Please," he whispered. "Please just," he let out a rush of air that he'd been holding too tight in his lungs. "Please."
"Not here," he said, glancing around the room very clearly trying to clock who'd noticed them talking.
He nodded eagerly, "tell me where and when."
Draco looked at him, actually looked at him, his eyes moving over Harry's face like a caress. "Mac's, 9:00 pm."
He spun off and left Harry standing there, staring at the wall. He hadn't been to Mac's in seven years, not since Draco'd left.
The rest of the Gala couldn't go quickly enough and Harry found himself leaving before he really needed to but he couldn't help it; he couldn't stand and talk to one more person that he had no interest in talking to. Not to mention the torment of watching Draco swan about, wooing donors; Harry's heart couldn't take it.
Flooing home to change into a green jumper and a pair of jeans before heading to the diner seemed like the only reasonable course of action.
The neon clock behind the counter revealed he was only ten minutes early and he mentally congratulated himself on taking up as much time as he had.
"Well bless my soul," the waitress, Barb if Harry remembered right, said. "I haven't seen you in ages. Look how you've grown."
"And you look just the same, lovely as ever," Harry replied, smiling at her. It was true, she wore the same blue dress and apron, hair pulled back in a bun, still had the same blue eye shadow.
"Flatterer," she accused, but she looked pleased. "Where's your young man?" she asked, leading him back to the corner booth that they'd always preferred and for a moment Harry's heart twisted painfully in his chest.
"Coming, I hope," he said.
She nodded, eyes full of understanding, "Now, don't tell me," she said. "You're a strawberry shake and he's-" she broke off, brow furrowing in concentration.
"A chocolate malt," he said at the same time as another voice behind her.
Both he and Barb looked up to find Draco standing behind her, hands shoved into the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, top button on his black dress shirt unbuttoned. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a muggle magazine, hair just a little disheveled but devastatingly handsome. Harry could barely breathe around how fucking gorgeous he was, how badly he wanted him.
"But if I'm being honest," he said, "I haven't had that much sugar in ages. I should probably-"
"Nonsense," she said, shooing him into the booth across from Harry. "Reunions always require something of the old to mix with the new."
Before either of them could respond to that, she bustled off to the kitchen, leaving the two of them staring awkwardly at one another.
"Draco-" he started just as the other man began with "Look-"
Harry shook his head and gave a little chuckle, running his fingers through his curls and tucking them behind his ear, "Go ahead," he offered.
Squaring his shoulders, Draco began again, "Agreeing to come here with you was a moment of weakness."
"A moment of weakness?" Harry interrupted.
Draco glared at him, "Yes. I'm really not interested in having this conversation. I'm not interested in rehashing everything that happened."
He took a slow breath, "I deserved a good bye," he said eyes stinging.
"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding a bit taken aback.
Barb came over and deposited their shakes and a platter of nachos between them. "I'll just be tidying up," she said. "Over there," she added pointedly. "Don't be shy if you boys need anything."
Harry waited until she was a reasonable distance away from their table before he said, "Listen, I don't need to know why you left. You're right, you don't owe me that. So even though I'd like to know, even though it kills me not to know what happened, what I did wrong," he broke off, shaking his head. "You can have your own reasons and I don't have to know them. But I deserved a good bye."
Those grey eyes, the ones he'd spent countless hours staring into, the ones he'd dreamt of more times than he could count, stared at him like he couldn't comprehend what he was saying.
"I loved you, Draco," he said softly, the truth splitting the wounds in his heart open wide. "I loved you more than anything, I would have done anything, I would have given you anything. If you'd told me you needed to leave, I would have been heartbroken, but I would have let you." He took a deep shuddering breath, "but I deserved a good bye."
"I couldn't," Draco said simply. He started to slide toward the edge of his bench but Harry reached out.
"Damn it, Draco," he said. "Sit down. Please. If you ever loved me-"
"If I ever loved you?" he asked and finally his exterior cracked. "If I ever loved you?" he repeated incredulously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he repeated, blood pressure rising.
"Yes, you fucking idiot! What do you mean 'if I ever loved you'?" He shook his head, "How can you possibly imagine that my leaving wasn't out of love for you?"
"Because it wasn't!" he exclaimed.
"Yes it was."
He shook his head, "There's no way in hell," he said. "It wasn't for me because you leaving completely destroyed me. You leaving left me in a state of depression that made me wish I was dead. For fucking months. I went to therapy; I still go to therapy, you leaving still comes up. Regularly. There was nothing about that choice that was good for me.”
“How do you imagine that relationship would have ended?”
Harry shook his head, “I don’t know. I’ve been too preoccupied with dealing with the fall out of how it actually ended to wonder how it might have ended otherwise.”
He sighed, rubbing his forehead in a gesture that Harry had seen enough to know that he was getting a tension headache. He wondered if scratching his fingers through the hair at the back of his head still helped, wondered if rubbing his neck still eased the pain. "That relationship would have ended with you hating me."
"Right," he said. "So glad we avoided that outcome."
"Do you hate me?" he asked, looking at Harry like the answer mattered to him.
He let out a breath, "I wanted to. It would have been easier if I could have."
Draco nodded, "And I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I didn't want to stick around for that." He sighed, "Look, we couldn't have kept living in the shadows. Coming out to muggle restaurants, sharing a bed, living on the edge of the world and hoping that we didn't get caught."
"Draco, I would have come out with you. If you'd wanted to tell people, I would have. Godric. How little can you possibly think of me that-?"
He shook his head, "That's my point. You would have come out, you would have told the world, and we would have lived under the proverbial shit storm that rained down on us. Constant harassment, we'd be the front page of every newspaper. I had to leave the country to get accepted into a training program that would accept me as it was."
"And?" Harry asked, "I'm not new to the media shit-show."
Draco looked at him, eyes sad like he could see something that Harry couldn't. "You're not, that's the point. Harry," he said, and the way that he said his name felt like Harry's heart was being ripped open, "you deserved time to heal. You deserved a shot at a normal life. You deserved to be happy. You deserved so much-"
"That wasn't your choice to make!" Harry exclaimed. "What I deserved, what would make me happy; it wasn't your decision. Not without me at least. Because it didn't make me happy. You made me happy."
"But I wouldn't have," he said. "It was the only way. For both of us. I needed to get my life together. I'm brilliant," he said, and somehow it didn't sound cocky, it was just a statement of fact. "Harry, I'm so good at my job. I'm so good at developing potions and magic that is helping people in ways we couldn't have imagined even five years ago."
"I know," Harry replied. "I've followed your career. I've read your articles."
The little smile that curved Draco's mouth shouldn't have felt like that still, it shouldn't have made him feel like his heart expanded four sizes. "And you needed to find your life outside of me. It felt like you hated everything, like you wanted to burn the entire world, everything outside of our bed. And I was never going to be enough to fill that need."
"You were," he said, throat burning. "Draco, I would have supported you. I would have given you anything-"
"I know. And I couldn't let you." He shook his head, "Leaving you," Draco looked down at his hands where they were clenched on the table. "Circe, Harry, it nearly killed me. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I meant what I said about the cost of leaving being too high. I wanted to give you the life you deserved.”
“All I wanted was you,” he replied.
“I know. And don’t you see why that is a problem? Harry, if all you wanted was me, how could I ever be enough? When all of your dreams, or goals, or aspirations revolve around me,” he shook his head. “I wanted more for you.”
“I didn’t mean to put pressure on you-”
He nodded, “I know. But by the end, neither of us even knew how to be a complete person on our own.”
“Three years of shared life will do that to a person,” he replied blandly.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, and Harry couldn’t count the number of times that he’d wished to hear those words. “I am. But I would do it again.”
The dried, brittle remains of his heart crumbled in his chest. “Right.”
Draco’s hand reached across the table and covered Harry’s, and Harry stopped breathing. “You might be right,” he said. “You probably deserved a good bye. But if I’d given one to you, if I’d even tried, I never would have been able to leave you.”
He opened his mouth to reply but Draco continued.
“I’m not a brave man, I’ve never been well versed in denying myself what I wanted. But I had to give us a chance. I had to give us both the chance to grow into the men we needed to become. I had to give you the chance to be happy.”
“Is that what you think I am?” Harry asked. “Happy?”
Draco blinked, “Well, yes.” His eyebrows furrowed, “you run multiple successful charities that are doing immeasurable good. You’re always in the Prophet with some new witch or wizard gazing adoringly at you-”
“I haven’t slept with anyone since you,” he said bluntly. “Some events require a plus one, so,” he shrugged. “But I still sleep on the left side of the bed. I still unconsciously check to make sure the covers aren’t bunched under me when I roll over because my body got used to not wanting to take them from you.
“Yes, I run my charities,” he continued. “I attend ministry functions. I visit my godchildren and hang out with friends. Yes. I do the duties set before me in my life and I make time for people I love.” He shook his head, “but no one who knows me would say that I am happy.”
Draco stared at him uncertainly.
“It never made sense,” Harry continued. “I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong, how I’d fucked up so badly. I loved you so much, I wanted what was good for you, and I came to terms with that not being me. But for you to tell me it was for me,” he blew out a breath and shook his head. “Whatever you may think, that wasn’t what was good for me.”
No words came out of the other man’s mouth, and Harry decided he’d probably tortured him long enough.
He rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, dropping some money for the bill before murmuring, “good bye, Draco. I hope your life is everything that you wanted.”
Then he all but fled the diner, desperate to be anywhere that wasn’t there. His heart couldn’t take it. Maybe Draco has been right and a conversation only made things worse.
Before he could get to the alley down the street, the one he and Draco had stood in more times than Harry could count to snog until one of them got too horny and apparated them back to Harry’s bed, he heard the sound of footsteps chasing him down the sidewalk. And he would have recognized those footsteps anywhere, could have picked out Draco’s gait out of any line up. “What-” he began, turning toward him.
But he was interrupted by Draco cupping his face and kissing him, his body surging against Harry’s.
Harry didn’t waste this moment, he grabbed onto the other man and pulled him in, kissing him back with all of the heart ache, all of the desire and love that he hadn’t been able to give him when he’d left.
Draco pressed him back against the wall, caging Harry in and making him feel kept and held. “I’m sorry,” Draco managed into the kiss. “I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head, trying to just draw him back into the kiss, he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want anything but this moment; Draco in his arms, bodies pressed together, not a space between them.
But he pulled back and Harry felt bereft. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I really believed I was doing the right thing-”
“Draco-”
He shook his head, pressing a trembling finger to Harry’s lips, “there hasn’t been anyone else for me but you either,” he confessed. “Harry,” he broke off, a tear sliding down his cheek, “you are the love of my life. I wanted you to be happy.” He broke, tears spilling down his face. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re brilliant,” Harry echoed back to him.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “If you meant it, when you said you weren’t happy here,” he started, “come with me. Salazar, I know it sounds crazy.” He shook his head, “but I’ve hated every single moment of not being with you. I love you.” He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, “I love you so much. Come back to France with me. We can start a new life there. I know it sounds crazy-”
“Yes,” he interrupted him. “Godric, yes. Let me come with you. Let me stay with you.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Draco cried, tears still pouring down his face. “You don’t know-”
“I know you,” he replied, holding Draco’s face in his hands to kiss him. “Yes, this is fast and sudden, and I’m sure we’ll have more than one fight about it. But I love you too. I have spent the last seven years wishing you’d walk back into my life, I’m not about to waste that opportunity now.”
“Come back to my hotel with me?”
He shook his head, “come back to our flat?” he whispered. “Come sleep in our bed?”
“You stayed?”
He nodded, “it was ours. I didn’t want to leave behind all I had left of you. And if you ever decided to come back,” he broke off. “Well, I wanted to be there.”
Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, “take me home,” he whispered.
“Home is anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”
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philosophybits · 2 months
Quote
Decolonization implies the urgent need to thoroughly challenge the colonial situation. Its definition can, if we want to describe it accurately, be summed up in the well-known words "The last shall be first." Decolonization is verification of this.
Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth
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CN Rail’s entire Indigenous advisory board handed in its resignation Monday saying continuing the work would “mislead Indigenous Peoples as to CN’s sincerity and authenticity to reconcile.”
The statement, penned by the council’s co-chairs Murray Sinclair, former senator and commissioner of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and Roberta Jamieson, the first female First Nations lawyer in Canada urged the organization to make fundamental changes to the way it does business.
In an interview with Global News, Sinclair said the intent of the council was to assist them to develop their reconciliation action plan as a meaningful way forward, but after that was done, the company failed to use the council’s input.
Full article
Tagging: @politicsofcanada
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reasonsforhope · 7 months
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Note: Reasons to Be Cheerful has had weirdly huge formatting issues for the past six or so months, so if that version is a mess, this link should work better.
"Florida Power & Light Company (FPL), the Sunshine State’s largest power utility, employs all the people you might expect: electricians, lineworkers, mechanical engineers — and a few you might not. For over 40 years, the company has kept a team of wildlife biologists on staff. Their task? Monitoring the giant carnivorous reptiles that reside in one of the state’s nuclear power plants. 
Saving the American Crocodile
What sounds like a low-budget creature feature is actually a wildly successful conservation story. It goes like this: In 1975, the shy and reclusive American crocodile was facing extinction. Over-hunting and habitat decline caused by encroaching development had pushed its numbers to a record low. By 1975, when it was listed as endangered under the Endangered Species Act, there were only 200 to 300 left. 
Three years later, in 1978, workers at the Turkey Point nuclear power plant in Homestead, Florida happened upon something that must have made them gasp: a crocodile nest along one of the plant’s 5,900-acre “cooling canals.” Rather than drive the crocs away — perhaps the easiest solution — FPL hired a team of biologists and implemented a Crocodile Management Plan. Its goal was unconventional: provide a suitable habitat for the crocs within the workings of the nuclear power plant, allowing both to coexist.  
Over the course of the next 30 years, FPL’s wildlife biologists monitored nests, tagged hatchlings and generally created a hospitable environment for the reptiles. As it turned out, the plant’s cooling canals provided an ideal habitat: drained earth that never floods on which to lay eggs directly adjacent to water. Over the years, more and more crocs made the cooling canals home. By 1985, the nests at Turkey Point were responsible for 10 percent of American crocodile hatchlings in South Florida. In 2007, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service downgraded the American crocodile’s status from endangered to threatened, singling out FPL for its efforts. 
The program continues to this day. To date, biologists have tagged some 7,000 babies born at the plant. In 2021, there were a record-setting 565 crocodile hatchlings at the Turkey Point facility. 
"Reconciliation Ecology"
Turkey Point’s efforts are an example of what is known in the conservation world as “reconciliation ecology.” Rather than create separate areas where nature or animals can thrive in isolation from humans, reconciliation ecology suggests that we can blend the rich natural world with the world of human activity. Michael Rosenzweig, an emeritus professor of ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Arizona, was a leading force in establishing this concept. The author of Win-Win Ecology: How the Earth’s Species can Survive in the Midst of Human Enterprise, Rosenzweig has pointed out that although human encroachment has typically been considered a threat to biodiversity, the notion that the world must be either “holy” or “profane,” ecologically speaking, is simply not true.  
“In addition to its primary value as a conservation tool, reconciliation ecology offers a valuable social byproduct,” writes Rosenzweig in his first chapter. “It promises to reduce the endless bickering and legal wrangling that characterize environmental issues today.”
-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, May 5, 2022. Article continues below. All headings added by me for added readability.
Dr. Madhusudan Katti, an associate professor in the Department of Forestry and Environmental Resources at North Carolina State University, was inspired by Rosenzweig when he did his postdoc at Arizona State. Katti has now been in the field of reconciliation ecology for two decades and teaches classes on the subject. “To me it’s finding solutions to reconciling human development with biodiversity conservation,” Katti says.
This common ground between development and conservation can be consciously planned, like FPL managing a crocodile habitat at a nuclear power plant or the state-sponsored vertical gardens and commercial farms on high-rise buildings in Singapore. Other examples include the restoration of the coral reef around an undersea restaurant in Eilat, Israel, or recent legislation in New York City requiring patterned glass on high-rise buildings, making windows more visible to migratory birds. Other planned examples of reconciliation ecology can be more individually scaled: a rooftop garden in an urban setting, modifying your garden to earn a “backyard bird habitat” certification from the Audubon Society, or even just mowing your lawn less often...
Reconciliation Ecology: Nature's Already Doing It Without Us
But there are countless examples of “accidental” incidents of reconciliation ecology, as well. One of Katti’s favorites is the kit fox of California’s San Joaquin Valley. “The kit fox was one of the very first species listed on the Endangered Species Act,” Katti says. Its decline was caused by habitat loss through agricultural and industrial development, as well as the extermination of the gray wolf population, which led to an increase in coyotes. So kit foxes adapted and moved to new habitats. One of these was the city of Bakersfield, California.
“Bakersfield, surrounded by oil pumps, would be the last place you’d expect to find an endangered species,” Katti says. But researchers think kit foxes have migrated to Bakersfield because they actually have more protection there from predators like coyotes and bobcats. “The kit foxes have figured out that if they can tolerate the human disturbance and live with people, then they are safer from all these other predators,” he says. 
Living in the city has led to some interesting behavioral changes. In the wild, for instance, a female kit fox gives birth to her young and raises them by herself in a den. But in the city, researchers have observed multiple females raising their litters together in the same den. “It’s like a form of cooperative breeding,” Katti says. “That wouldn’t happen in the wild.” ...
The Big Picture: How We Think about Conservation
Reconciliation Ecology isn’t just we humans welcoming animals like crocodiles and foxes into our environments, though. It’s also living with nature in a way that most Western societies haven’t done since the Enlightenment. “In recent years, there’s been a recognition that the ‘fortress conservation’ model — keeping nature separated from humans and not thinking of or valuing human-inhabited landscapes — those ideas are outdated,” says Katti.
In fact, in Katti’s classes on reconciliation ecology, he embraces the notion of reconnecting people with their land if they have been unjustly separated from it. “The term reconciliation also applies to all the colonial legacies where both nature and people have been harmed,” Katti says. “For Indigenous communities, the harm done to ecosystems, it’s happened together. So you can talk about addressing both. That’s where a lot of my thinking is at the moment.” 
A hopeful version of this sort of reconciliation is happening in California where colleagues of Katti’s who are tribal members are re-introducing “tribal burns” in some areas. Controlled burns have been a part of many Indigenous cultures for millenia, both as a way to prevent devastating forest fires, but also to encourage the growth of certain plants like hazel that are used for basket-weaving and other crafts. 
“The notion that people don’t belong there and ‘let nature take care of itself’ doesn’t really work,” Katti says. “That’s the legacy of Western European Enlightenment thinking — a divide between human and nature. That is a real faulty view of nature. People have been part of the ecosystem forever.”
-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, May 5, 2022
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sadlybeans · 2 months
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No More Batman AU Part 1: Robin is Dead
(link for AO3 here)
Batburger was the last restaurant Jason would’ve chosen to give money to, but it was the closest to the apartment and also the cheapest. After all, wherever else can you get two vegetarian sandwiches plus fries and drinks for 9.99? Alas, going into the store plastered with Batman and Robin memorabilia that made him want to punch a wall.
The teenager at the register talked with a bored monotone voice as he repeated the order, completely unphased by the suspicious man towering at the other side of the counter, and Jason scoured the restaurant as he did, evaluating for any possible danger. The booths by the corner were occupied by a group of girls still in their uniform and talking loudly as they discussed an upcoming dance recital, and the only other table that was occupied consisted of a young college student having a breakdown as they typed frantically on a beaten up laptop, all in all not an apparent threat. Actually, Jason was the biggest threat in that place, towering over all the costumers with his 6’3 frame and broad shoulders that were poorly concealed by a red hoodie and a black leather jacket.
“… do you want to add anything else to your order…?”
“No” he tossed a twenty bill on the counter just as his phone pinged. I’m starving, come back this instant. He sighed. “Make it twice as fast and you can keep the change”
The cashier vanished towards the kitchen in a hurry.
Gotham hadn’t changed at all since he died, from her dirty streets to the police sirens echoing in the distance and her shadows flying overhead… the same shadows he was trying to avoid as if his life depended on it. Even if he was believed to be six feet under he took all the necessary precautions to conceal his face, even wearing a surgical mask in the short three minute hike to the shitty rental unit they called home.
“Food’s here” he announced as he took off his shoes and jacket, dropping the mask as well. From the hallway you could hear the cacophony of noise the washing machine was making.
Unpack, fold the napkins, serve. Still nobody else in the kitchen.
“Your painting is still gonna be there later” he drawled in a louder voice towards the hallway.
Nothing.
Fuck… he really cursed his decisions in life in that moment, and also found a newfound respect for all single mothers and fathers out there.
“Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, it’s time for dinner and if you don’t come here this instant I’ll drag you here myself”
Something was thrown on a desk -a sketchbook most likely- and seconds later a lanky teenage boy emerged from his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and stomping his way over to the table, where he sat down without saying a word.
Damian had grown since the first time they met— back then he was only five, a tiny ball of anger that gave nightmares to his experienced tutors. Now he was fifteen and he was, to Jason’s relief, an almost completely normal child; he watched TV, he liked animals, he liked painting and writing, and he was smack middle on his teenage rebel phase. Assassin abilities aside, he was no different from most other kids his age thanks to Jason’s influence, something Thalia often reminded them both of.
He’s a little demon brat. He would tell her.
You just miss the days in which he was glued to your shadow. She would answer affectionately.
They had not seen her in over a year now and Jason knew part of his attitude was due to being in a completely different place with a different culture, away from his grandfather’s luxurious palace and his mother’s love. But it was for his own good… he deserved to know his father too, and Thalia had always intended to have him sent to Gotham eventually, although not as late as it ended up happening.
However… one year after arriving in Gotham, they had yet to seek out the Bat. Jason didn’t like to admit it, but he wasn’t ready to part from the boy he had raised for the past decade, because once he dropped Damian at his doorstep he would not see him again for a long time, if ever. And apparently Damian wasn’t eager to leave, as he hadn’t asked about it once.
“I’m going out tonight for a job” he announced, breaking the silence “tomorrow morning we have an appointment in Gotham Academy to enroll you, so wake up early and dress in something that isn’t a hoodie and sweatpants.”
Damian frowned, squeezing the empty wrapper of his sandwich on his fist.
“I don’t need to go to a stupid school full of dumb children! I’m much smarter than that bunch of… bunch of idiots!”
Jason rolled his eyes.
“Don’t get smart with me, I taught you to tie your shoes and helped you with your essays” no matter how hard Damian tried, he was still just a baby in his eyes “your mother arranged this for you, so you are going. Coming to live with your father means mixing in and being normal”
“But I am not living with father!”
Jason sighed.
“You will soon, so it’s better to arrange some things beforehand, to help you adjust—“
“It’s not fair!”
“Life isn’t fair! Look, just— going back into routine will be good for you, and besides school doesn’t start for a few more weeks. I know this is new and all but you do need to socialise too”
“But I don’t want to go, why can’t I make my own choices if you want me to grow up so badly!?”
“Because you’re still a child! You think you know everything but you don’t, I was fifteen once too! And until you can make your own decisions it’s my job to do what’s on your best interest”
Damian threw his cup to the ground spilling ice everywhere and ran back to his room, slamming the door so hard that the downstairs neighbour knocked on the floor -their ceiling- with a broom seconds after.
Jason wasn’t too hungry anymore. Maybe they could have the leftovers later.
Walking inside a Batburger was like stepping into a personalised nightmare, with Robin’s face plastered in every wall and menu. Dick Grayson pursed his lips and avoided looking anywhere but straight at the line of people in front of him, holding his bag (“it’s not a purse, Steph, who else is gonna carry all of your stuff while you guys run around?“) tightly.
Normally going to the faire every year involved them following the long standing tradition of devouring a mountain of tacos and making a competition out of it, but that year the owner of their favourite truck had retired and nothing tasted the same. They were tired and hungry, and Batburger had the shorter line of people waiting, be it for their mediocre food or their “Five Minutes or Free” slogan.
After waiting for seven minutes, he called bullshit on that slogan and texted a photo of the sign to the groupchat, demanding Bruce send them a lawsuit.
Tim answered with a zoomed in picture of the tiny print at the bottom that basically said ‘restrictions apply’.
Dick sighed defeatedly and resigned himself to wait for a few minutes more, when one of the other patrons started raising their voice.
“-sorry sir but your order says—“
“I know what it says, I’m not illiterate” the young boy answered in a snappy tone “I explicitly told your half deaf coworker that I wanted no pickles! Make it again!”
“But the ticket says—“
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No sir, but—“
“Then make it again!”
“We’re not allowed to do that but I can offer a discount for—“
The kid seemed about to jump over the counter to strangle the employee and Dick decided he needed to step in less they caused a bigger scene, so he slipped behind the teenager.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt— I know this is a really big inconvenience for all of us here so, why don’t you just give this kid a new order? He clearly doesn’t want the pickles and your coworker might’ve simply forgotten to write it down”
The employee looked unsure.
“Company policy is very strict”
“Then is there anything else we may be able to do?” Dick asked with a smile, purposefully letting his jacket move and show a corner of his old police badge.
The employee smiled nervously.
“I’ll bring out a new one—“
He disappeared to tell the cooks and Dick sighed, shaking his head. The kid huffed and crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed, and a minute later the guy came back with the new sandwich and Dick’s full order. He smiled and took his order, but the kid didn’t bother to hide his distate as he snatched the paper bags from the counter.
For some reason, he decided to follow quickly.
“Hey, did nobody teach you to say thank you?”
The kid stopped to turn to him, and he finally got a good look to his face; he had brown skin darker than his own and black hair that tried to be arranged as rebel but was too soft and straight to stick to said style. His eyes were hidden behind round sunglasses and he wore a black hoodie that was a few sizes too big.
“Did nobody teach you how to mind your own business?” he replied sarcastically.
Dick nearly gasped like a suburban white lady, as Duke usually called said expression.
“That’s not—“
“Whatever”
The kid turned around and walked off, leaving Dick with his mouth gaping as he watched him go to a tall intimidating mountain of a man waiting by a lamppost. He too wore a pair of fashionable round sunglasses and a red mask, with only a tuft of wild white hair visible from beneath his red hood. The kid’s father or uncle maybe?
Dick’s phone pinged insistently and he groaned, turning away and forgetting about it as he walked away to go find the others less Steph started bombarding him with more texts about starving to death.
By some miracle nobody had been murdered when he sat down at their table, although Tim had left them to hang out with his friends instead. Dick thought it was so great he was socialising, and it was so nice to see Cassie and Bart all grown up. Conner looked so happy too, which was a relief after all he had gone through— Dick made a mental note to call uncle Kal and ask how Lois and Jonathan were doing. Ever since Bruce retired from the hero business Nightwing had picked up his place and he was the main line of communication between his father and the League; they never knew of his secret identity but they still considered him a close friend so they kept in touch, which Dick was grateful for since god knows Bruce needed it.
“Finally!” Steph snatched a bag from his hands and started passing on each person’s order “Why didn’t you hurry? You’ve gotta leave before six if you want to avoid rush hour”
“I’m sure they’ll make it just fine” Duke appeased her, pushing the biggest bag of chips towards Cass, who thanked him with a smile. “It doesn’t close anyways”
“That’s not the point and you know it—“
Dick offered a small smile and started eating in silence while soon their conversation drifted off into other topics. They didn’t try to include him or Bruce into it, they knew that it was already inconvenient enough that their annual faire trip had unfortunately coincided with this specific date—
Normally, this one day a year was reserved for peace and quiet; Alfred would be off from early in the morning and they’d spend their time doing their own things in relative silence, and Cass, Tim and Duke would pretend they did not notice that a certain locked door was ajar at the end of the hallway. Then at around lunch Dick would come into the manor, leave them takeout, and he would leave with Bruce, both of them dressed semi formally, not always in black. Cass, Tim and Duke would pretend there wasn’t any tears in Bruce’s eyes when they said goodbye.
Tim had gone once, when he was a kid, just to pay his respects. He says they stop by a small quaint flower shop to pick up the same arrangement as every year, and then they sit with Jason for a while in the empty cemetery. Forget-me-nots, camellias, white chrysanthemums. They would be back an hour or so later, and Bruce would hug each of his boys and his princess, and the next day they would slowly build back up to normalcy.
Duke had suggested they cancel that year, that the faire would come back the next one anyways, but it hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all… it was nice. They shared time as a family and they had fun, and most importantly neither Bruce nor Dick had been particularly down the whole day. Not that— not that they shouldn’t be sad… none of them knew what it was like to lose a brother or a son.
“— don’t forget to use your lights” Dick came back to himself just as Bruce was lecturing Tim, car keys in hand.
“I know B, I’ve been driving for months” the boy sighed, holding out his palm.
“Don’t worry mr. Wayne, we’ll keep Tim out of trouble!” Bart chirped from behind Dick’s little brother.
Bruce looked far from convinced.
“Are you sure you don’t want Cass and Steph to drop you off?”
Tim groaned and Dick chuckled, finally stepping in.
“I’m sure they’ll be just fine, Tim’s a big boy now”
Tim gave him the middle finger but Bruce finally relented and gave him the keys, letting them go after a hasty goodbye. They watched them retreat and Dick smiled softly at his brother’s hand holding Conner’s.
“We’ll be going too, I think. Tell us when you arrive, yes?”
“Be safe on your way” Duke told him after giving him a pat on the back.
“Bye!” Steph waved from the other side of the table.
Cass hugged their father and then Dick, patting his back gently and whispering a goodbye. Dick had to keep reminding himself he’d see them later that night as they walked to the parking lot.
“—that’s why the Jason Todd Fund—“
The car breaked hard and Damian yelped as he was propelled forwards and nearly slammed his face on the windshield if not for the safety belt across his chest.
“What the fuck was that!?” he coughed as he sat back up “What’s wrong with you!?”
Jason wasn’t listening, his knuckles turning white where they held the steering wheel and his shoulders tense. He must have heard wrong, he surely had… he turned the volume on the radio nearly all the way up and the locutor’s voice filled the car.
“— today marks the tenth year since the tragic death of Jason Todd-Wayne and thirty five other victims of Park Row during a building explosion orchestrated by the Joker before his disappearance. This year’s vigil is attended by Bruce Wayne’s daughter Cassandra and his foster son, Duke Thomas. Bruce Wayne himself and his eldest son Richard Grayson have refused their appearance and expressed their wishes to mourn in private as many other families have chosen to do, but it is only thanks to Wayne Enterprises’ generous donation that the vigil is possible—“
Jason had almost stopped breathing entirely, frozen in his seat, and even Damian was shocked into silence, staring wide eyed at the radio as if that could provide any answers or context into what they were hearing.
“—tham Gazette was able to interview Richard Grayson on the matter and his words have moved the hearts of many today;” and it was him, it was his voice in his car: “There’s no words to express our gratitude at the kindness shown by all of Gotham. All of us have sadly lost a loved one to criminals like him, all of us have felt the desire to give up sometimes, but it is a testament to our strength that we continue to fight despite our pain. It reminds us that we are all equals in this world. For us… we never had a body to bury, never had closure as to what happened to my little brother, and we are not the only family with a member that will forever be missing—“
Jason turned off the radio and the silence was deafening for all of two seconds before it registered in his brain that the cars lined up behind them were honking like crazy. Slowly the car moved forwards and he turned right on the corner, parking right in front of a half deserted pizza place.
He just stared at the road outside and the people walking by going about their normal day, to the dirty sidewalk and the lights reflecting off the damp concrete. For a year he had been living in the same city, breathing the same air, and he had never once heard a single word about his ‘old family’ beyond a few commercials on the TV about Wayne Enterprises. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to go out at night to observe Gotham’s vigilantes— and now, the first time he had to confront the fact that his past was still alive right there in Gotham, it happened to be on the damn tenth anniversary of his death.
Fuck, it wasn’t even the right date, he died nearly an entire week earlier in Ethiopia.
He had— He had to leave. He couldn’t… this was too much, he should’ve never come back to this cursed city no matter how much Thalia begged him to, he should’ve never played house with Damian for so long knowing he would have to say goodbye anyways. So he had to leave now that he wasn’t entangled in anything with them just yet. Damian’s school enrolment was all handled, he knew how to move around the city both by simple directions and public transport, he knew the basics of human interaction— he was ready. He had been ready so long ago and Jason should’ve let him go then.
He merged back onto traffic and started drafting travel plans just as a light rain started falling.
“Hey bud, your books are still all over the living room, we need to leave this place spotless by the end of the day!”
The kitchen appliances had come with the apartment and neither of them would need any of the other things he’d bought when they moved in so he left them all where they were, the landlord could probably make some use of them or donate them. The fridge was already empty and their trash had been taken out so they would just stop at a nice place to eat later.
Clothes had all been handled, documents were already on the organised folder, trinkets packed up for donation or in the car, passport ready and plane ticket right besides it—
“Damian have you seen my phone?” he lifted up the cushions and looked around, he could’ve sword he had it in hand seconds earlier! “I was thinking we could go to that lebanese place down on 38th? It’s not too fancy but the food was good and I know you liked it even if you won’t say you did.“ as he spoke he made a couple laps around the living room and then figured it might just be in his bed “Or if you want we can try something new, we can splurge as much as you want— Damian?”
He had to do a double take as he nearly walked by the open bedroom door; the last suitcase was open on the bed, neatly organised clothing and books put on it, with only a last few things on the desk. The teen boy say besides it completely still, staring at the dull grey carpet and his spotless white socks.
“You ok?”
Damian didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge his presence despite the fact that for the past two years he had gone off every time Jason set half a foot into his bedroom like he was doing now.
“… I know this is probably very sudden and that’s making you nervous but I’m sure everything is going to turn out fine, if it doesn’t then Thalia will surely come pick you up right away and—“
“Why do you want to get rid of me?”
Jason’s words died in his mouth.
“W-What?” he let out in a whisper.
“I’m never going to see you again” he repeated, twisting the sleeve of Jason’s hoodie between his fingers “Is that why you’re trying to get rid of me so badly?”
For a moment, Jason stared at him, at the way his fingers moved, and then he looked around the room and all the books that once had been his but had slowly been stolen away after he was done with them, and to the suitcase full of clothes of which half had once been part of his own closet.
“Of course I’m not” he said weakly, not knowing what to say “I know this isn’t great and I… I can’t keep you here forever, kiddo. It doesn’t mean that I like it but your dad—“
“He’s not my father”
“Damian—“
“Forget it, I never said anything” he grunted as he stood up and walked out of the room, bumping their shoulders roughly as he passed by.
“I didn’t mean to—“
“I said forget it!”
Jason stood there lost on what to say or do as he heard the door of the bathroom closing and locking, and it wasn’t until minutes too long of standing there that he realised Damian wasn’t coming back. Moving in automatic like a robot, he organised the last things left in the bedroom inside the suitcase and zipped it up.
His heart felt like an endless void when they carried their things down the stairs to the car, Damian’s face obscured by his sunglasses and the hood of his sweater. It only grew larger and larger as the motor ignited and as they drove away from the building. It was just a shitty rundown unit that cost way too much for what it was actually worth, everything had broken down at least ten times over the year, the walls were paper thin and the neighbours all sucked, and yet it still felt like losing the only home he had had in the past ten years.
It didn’t brought him any relief when Damian passively aggreed to eat chinese, nor when they finally had an entire meal without bickering or full on fighting. He didn’t even scold him for wearing sunglasses indoors, or for refusing to touch the green peppers on his meal.
The food tasted like nothing as his head kept spiralling into a million thoughts and possibilities and what the repercussions could possibly be if he just refused to give up Damian, and then he felt so stupid for even thinking he was cut to take care of the boy when the past year had left clear he was a shitshow of a caretaker and that the only reason he had had success during the boy’s childhood was because Thalia was there along with a small army of tutors and caretakers. He would be so much better off, so much happier, once he arrived at the manor regardless of how Jason felt about it because like it or not, Bruce Wayne was his father and there was nothing to do about that.
As they drove away from the restaurant he kept trying to convince himself that he was just overthinking things, that he was going to be just fine once they split up, that he wasn’t going to be worried all day every day, that he wouldn’t regret walking away forever.
The taxi driver was punctual as she had promised and she helped them load the car with Damian’s suitcases and boxes, leaving only just Jason’s luggage in the backseat. Then she gave him a sympathetic pat on the back and got on the car to give them some privacy.
“I already paid for the ride, she’ll drop you off at the doors and then you give this to either your father or Alfred” Jason put the folder in Damian’s hands, repeating the instructions he had drafted and memorised days ago “your phone and electronics will likely be inspected but I already wiped any identifying or sensible information regarding me, so you text your mom when you get there and she’ll let me know, it should be right before my flight. Remember that you were here with just another random assassin, nobody of relevance, got it?”
Damian pursed his lips at the folder and nodded stiffly. Jason took a deep shaky breath.
“… I’m sorry. I’m gonna miss you, even if you don’t think I will. If I can— If I ever have the opportunity, I’ll write or- or something”
“….”
In a last impulsive decision he pulled Damian to his chest and just— hugged him. For one, two, three seconds and then just maybe an entire minute or more. He never wanted to let go. Damian didn’t hug back.
When he pulled away he cleared his throat and smoothed over the rumpled hoodie, escorting him back to the taxi and closing the door behind him. Damian didn’t look at him once as they drove off.
Jason would like to say he didn’t stand there on the empty street for long minutes after the taxi disappeared in the distance, that he didn’t feel like his entire world was ending as he drove to the airport, and that there wasn’t any tears clouding his vision the entire trip.
And if he could only just have thought of staying a minute or a few seconds longer, then maybe he would know that in the backseat of that taxi, a fifteen year old boy was sobbing quietly as he hugged a folder against his chest.
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unicornbeck · 3 months
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Minor prediction/Wish list item for Season 3:
I want our boys to end up hiding in a closet together. A small closet. Very dark, warm, and cozy. Face to face.
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ayyy-pee · 9 months
Note
Hi lexi! I just finished Strangers in Love and it’s so beautiful that I just don’t want to let it go yet! Would you be open to maybe writing a drabble for Reader x Nanami in this story? Like when they first started dating in high school? I’d love to learn their history
Thank you for all your great works! ❤️
omg anon i'm sooooo sorry it took me so long to get back to you! i'm barely crawling out of my slump lol but i hope you like this. it got a little more angsty than i intended but it felt a little fitting for them idk T_T. hope you enjoy!
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𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲
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Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist
Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader
Summary: You and Nanami take a trip down memory lane.
Genre: Divorced to Lovers AU
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The tension is thick in the apartment as you and Nanami set down the final pair of small boxes you'd retrieved from your storage space on the coffee table. Satoru is over for some reason, lounging lazily on the floor. Without a word, you and Nanami take a seat on the sofa, a good amount of space between you two. The boxes sit there, untouched in the silence. Satoru's eyes dart between the two of you before he leans forward and peels the tape off of one.
"I take it therapy didn't go well..." Satoru sighs, pulling out the contents of the box.
An understatement. It's been quiet like this since you and Nanami had returned home from one of your couples therapy sessions. After a very intense session going over the reasons for your initial divorce, you both left feeling...honestly? frustrated with each other. 
Where you felt justified in how you handled the divorce situation, Nanami disagreed. He'd of course apologized for what you felt contributed to your first marriage’s demise, but felt he would have been willing to work through things had you come to him, had you waited for him to be in a better headspace.
Where Nanami voiced how he felt things could have worked out differently, you disagreed. You didn't feel there was a way to work past your issues at the time, Nanami being too stubborn and "too tired" to ever listen.
There didn't seem to be a way for you two to agree. And so, your therapist gave you homework. Your assignment? Go on a walk down memory lane together. Apparently you and Nanami had a habit of dwelling on the negatives when it came to discussing your divorce. It was a sore spot for you both.
You'd left therapy, annoyed and in a sour mood, muttering to Nanami to take you to your storage space where all the pictures, gifts and memories…your entire relationship with Nanami stood frozen in time. And Nanami, in as sour a mood as you, agreed. You'd arrived home to find Gojo sprawled out on your floor. Who even knew how he'd gotten in there? At this point, you just assumed he could move through walls.
"Ewwww, you kept this?" Satoru whines, pulling a picture of him, Nanami and you in high school from the box. It's a selfie of the three of you, though Satoru should’ve never been in it. You reach forward, taking the tiny photo from your friend and Nanami closes the distance on the sofa, scooting closer to have a good look.
You remember it well, the first picture you'd ever taken together.
High School Years
It had been a little under a year since you'd transferred to Jujutsu Technical High School for your Junior year and you were still adjusting to how insanely difficult the curriculum was. You were lounging beneath the shade of a tree during lunch period with Nanami, quietly chatting about how damn hard your physics lab was. Nanami listened patiently, humming to indicate he was paying attention to you as he flipped through your physics work.
You're waiting for your friend, Haibara, to get out of class, the one who'd introduced you to Nanami in the first place. You all made plans to meet, but he was running behind and this was honestly your first time being alone with Nanami. You'd worried you wouldn't have anything to talk to him about. Mostly because Nanami was always so quiet, hardly spoke a word to you even with Haibara around. Also because despite his silence, you had the biggest crush on your blonde, sidebanged friend of a friend. Though you could never bring up the courage to say anything about it.
Mainly because Nanami felt wholly unapproachable. Even so, you were surprised at how easy it was to simply...exist together without Haibara as a buffer.
Nanami's eyes scan over your classwork and after a moment of silence, he closes the book, placing it gently into your lap which makes your heart feel like it's trying to crawl out of your chest.
"If you'd like..." he begins quietly. "I can help you study the material. I'm pretty good at physics." He stares down at his legs laid out before him, a faint hint of pink dusting his cheeks. "I could come by your dorm tonight? We can study in the common room...if that's ok."
"Really?" You tried not to sound too excited at the prospect of spending more alone time with Nanami.
"I'd be happy to."
And for the first time since you'd met Nanami, you saw the tiniest bit of a smile appear on his lips. Your eyes widened, heart pounded, cheeks heated when you saw how beautiful the boy before you truly was. Now you wore a goofy smile of your own.
"I'd like that, Nanami."
He squirms briefly in his spot before he clears his throat. "You can call me Kento."
"Kento..." You test his name on your tongue, smiling when you see Nanami now staring at you, eyes wide, noticing the now red tips of his ears. So cute. "Thank you, Ken-"
"Awww, look at the lovebirds," an annoying voice you'd grown accustomed to teased. You sighed, looking up to find none other than your school nuisance looming over you, Satoru Gojo grinning down at you. "Should I take a pic so you losers can remember your first date?"
And before you could reply, he snapped a selfie of you three; you and Nanami still sitting on the ground and Gojo front and center, two fingers up to make a peace sign. He spun around, laughing when he saw the pic before he turned his phone to show it to you both. "Man, I'm sending this to Haibara. He'll love it."
Next to you, Nanami stands. "Speaking of, I need to get to class. I know Yu has your cell number. Is it okay for him to give it to me?"
"Oh, I can just give it to you now?" You offer, an attempt to delay his departure.
Gojo interrupted. "Oh, yeah! Gimme your number, too since we're all sharing." His thick, round sunglasses slipped down the slope of his nose, one of his freakishly blue eyes winking at you.
Nanami scowled at the upperclassman. "It's fine. I'll get it from Yu and will text you to meet up later. I have to get to class." He sneered at Gojo one last time as the snowy haired man settled down in Nanami's spot under the tree. "Try not to be more unbearable than usual, Gojo," he gritted out, making Gojo chuckle next to you.
You did get a text from Nanami that night. You'd met up to study, which was mostly you sneaking peeks at Nanami's beautiful side profile as he sat as close as he could to you, dragging his finger along your physics workbook.
Beneath the table, where you both gripped the edges of your seats, Nanami's fingers brushed against yours. The sudden contact made you jump. But Nanami didn't react, still explaining something about 7s and 3s. You weren’t listening. You brushed off the touch as an accident, until you felt Nanami’s finger on yours again. Just his pinky, gently running over your knuckles before he stopped when you didn't move. Nanami continued going over the study materials as if nothing happened, the red hue on his ears returning and you suddenly realized this was his tell. He was nervous, embarrassed. Just like you. 
Heart in your throat, you reached your pinky over and brushed it along his knuckles, his reaction immediate as he linked his pinky with yours.
Above the table, your eyes met, words lodged in your throat as you held hands with no one in the world aware except you two. Nanami's phone buzzes and it takes him a few seconds to tear his gaze away from yours before he picks it up. He tells you it's a text message from Haibara, so you lean over to see. There's a photo attached.
Yu Haibara: How's the study date going?
The tips of Nanami's ears redden even more if possible, and he quickly brushes his long golden strands over them. This makes you giggle beside him.
Yu Haibara: Gojo sent me this earlier and I meant to text it to you.
1 Image Attached
Nanami opens the photo, the selfie of you, him and Gojo taking over his screen.
"Cute," you whisper, the grip of your pinky tightening around Nanami's under the table. He doesn't say anything. He taps the screen, probably sending a reply back before he gets back to studying.
At the end of the night, as Nanami packs his belongings back into his bag, his phone buzzes again with a message. You spare a quick glance at his screen, doing a double take when you see his phone background. It's pixelized from the zoom, a little blurry, but it's definitely you beneath the tree that afternoon, rolling your eyes as Gojo took the picture.
That night changed everything for you and Nanami. Group outings soon turned into date nights, study sessions to makeout sessions, awkward smiles to shy kisses. All of it with Nanami, your first boyfriend, your first husband, your first love.
Present Day
Satoru has now dumped most of the box’s contents out. You and Nanami have joined him on the floor, you sitting between Nanami's legs with your back pressed against his front.
"Oh my god, Ken, do you remember this one?" You hold up a photo of you both at prom, awkwardly holding each other in front of a tacky background. Nanami is wearing a smile that looks almost painful, and you with your obnoxious blue eyeshadow are beaming. 
Nanami chuckles behind you. "Yes, I do. I remember Satoru spiking the lemonade and Yu vomiting everywhere."
You throw your head back with a laugh. "Yeah, right after he found us making out on the side of the building. Threw up the second he saw us..." You recall between giggles. "So rude."
Across the table, Satoru shifts the contents of the last box around. "He would've loved to see you guys workin' it out." He mutters. "Miss that kid sometimes."
"Me too," you and Nanami say in unison.
"He knew I loved you before I did," Nanami says solemnly, thinking of Yu. "He would've never let us get to the point we did."
You nod, remembering the wide, contagious smile of your first friend at your new school. And it brings you back to the beginning of you and Nanami, who you would've never known without Yu.
Haibara, who helped you navigate your relationship early on and hilariously guided you through your awkward stages with Nanami.
The picture reminds you of the first time you'd held hands in public. It takes you back to your first kiss outside of your dorm room after seeing a movie with Nanami, the first time you'd made love. It pulls back all of your first memories of your early stages with Nanami. The picture reminds you of when you'd moved in with Nanami. Makes you think about all of your ups and downs and what inevitably brought you back to each other.
It reminds you of Yu, who listened whenever you argued with Nanami and pushed for you both to make up. He knew you belonged together, even if you didn’t know it yet. It was Yu who brought you together, and Yu who was ultimately reminding you all these years later to remember where you began.
You lean back into Nanami's embrace when he holds up another photo; this one is of you two at your first wedding, both wearing big smiles. By that time, Yu had been long gone. But you made the most the day just the way Yu would’ve wanted you to. You couldn't wait to start your lives together, to be together forever.
You didn't know what the future held back then. But you know what the future holds now - a love withstanding time. A love that survives. A love that you know you both would fight for no matter what this time.
This force of nature, this strong, pure, burning love that never left either of you, even when you were miles and prefectures apart. It was what brought you together again, the reason you both were willing to try again.
Nanami kisses your head, breathing into your hair. "I want to keep looking through these, but I want to talk about therapy later. Really sit down and talk, okay?"
You nod, eyes still glued to your wedding picture and your heart swells knowing that one day soon, you'll be doing this all over again with the man you've loved for as long as you can remember.
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