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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

Hello there!! Do you have a list of long fics with a jealous/possessive/obsessive sherlock? Thank you mwahhh

Hey Nonny!!

I DO!! I actually started a new list for Possessive Sherlock awhile back waiting for someone to ask for it after I posted my other two lists, LOL.

I put my fics in word-count order, so just scroll down until you see a word count you like and go from there LOL :D

Hope you enjoy!

POSSESSIVE / OBSESSIVE SHERLOCK Pt 3

See also:

Jealous & Possessive Sherlock

Possessive Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous Sherlock Because John Dates a Man

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Possessive by Fang323 (T, 850 w., 1 Ch. || John Whump, Hospitalization, Possessive / Protective Sherlock, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – His John did not belong. Not here. Not in this blasted hospital. It simply was not logical.

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital... again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

Burn Burn by Jenn1984 (K+, 925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Angst, Worried / Panicked / Possessive Sherlock) – A week after the events of "The Great Game", Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to find it empty.

His by I'm Nova (T, 1,042 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Possessive Sherlock) – Sherlock doesn't share what he's fond of.

Mine (He Says While Still Being Smol) by beejohnlocked (E, 1,319 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Amused John, Needy Sherlock, Blowjobs) – A suspect flirts with John. Sherlock gets a bit jealous. Okay, a LOT jealous.

The Case of the Missing Blogger by nicknack22 (K, 2,147 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Friendship, Worried / Anxious Sherlock) – Alternately titled, The Case of the Oblivious Consulting Detective. In which Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to discover John missing. 221B does not fair well as a result.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Display by 221b_hound (E, 2,377 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Tattoos, Public Hand Jobs, Exhibitionism, Possessive Sex, Possessive Sherlock, Possessive John) – A new client has been flirting with Sherlock and, finding no joy there, with John. John seems annoyed to be second-best, Sherlock thinks, so Sherlock decides to give the departing woman (and maybe also John) a demonstration of who, exactly, John belongs to. But there's more than one level of sexual jealousy and more than one display of possession going on here, outlined in the window of 221b Baker Street. Part 2 of Lock and Key

Surety by hudders (G, 2,477 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Drunk John, Drunk Lestrade, Drinking, Alcohol) – Sherlock is pissed because it seems that four pints of larger, two shots of tequila and a glass of wine has resulted in Lestrade becoming a little bit too friendly with everyone. And by everyone, Sherlock really means John.

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they've been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John's pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks... Part 3 of Lock and Key

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomalies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

All That I Have by the_arc5 (M, 3,721 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Pining Sherlock, John Whump, Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Light Angst) – In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Possessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Obsession, Appassionato by shinychimera, Yeomanrand (E, 4,249 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, First Time, Jealous Sherlock, Music / Sherlock’s Violin, Present Tense, Frottage) – John is late, and he hasn’t called, and Sherlock works himself into a state. Part 1 of Love and Ysaye

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Butterfly, Pinned Under Glass by billiethepoet (E, 4,648 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, Jealousy, Barebacking, BAMF!John) – It started as a desire to keep John safe and whole, and ended up as just desire.

Applied Linguistics by what_alchemy (M, 4,837 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive / Anxious Sherlock, Introspection, Bed Sharing, Past John Whump, Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Word Play) – “He wants to shake John by the shoulders, wants to open his mouth and swallow John whole. Wants to marry him.” Sherlock searches for the right words.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Fa Subito by kim47 (E, 6,659 w., 1 Ch. || Suit Porn, Cockblocker Mycroft, Obsessed Sherlock, PWP) – John wears a suit. Sherlock finds it extremely distracting.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w., 1 Ch. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him...

My Life for His by QuinnAnderson (E, 8,816 w., 1 Ch. || Guardian/Protector, Greek Mythology || Growing Up, Sex, Religious Themes, Suicide, Minor Character Death) – It began when Sherlock was eight, and he attempted to climb all the way up to the highest branch in the old willow tree in his back garden. He'd thought he was still small enough that it could support him, but the second he'd grabbed hold of it to pull himself up, the branch snapped, and down he went, plummeting a solid twenty metres. The odd thing was, he never actually hit the ground.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w., 1 Ch. || POV First Person Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Stroppy Sherlock, Light Humour, Friendship, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Wall Kisses, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!)

A Hooligans’ Game Played By Gentlemen by scullyseviltwin (E, 15,213 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Rugby as Foreplay, Porn with Lots of Plot, John POV, Ogling, Body Appreciation, Cranky Sherlock, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Touching, Heavy Petting, Blow Job, Botttomlock) – In which John wants to get back in shape, does so, joins a rugby league and has sex with Sherlock Holmes. In that order.

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w., 4 Ch. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford? What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sick Fic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

The Wedding Garments by cwb (E, 105,390 w., 36 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate Future AU || Alternate First Meeting, Dating / Arranged Marriages, Romance, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Petting, Cuddles, POV Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Dev. Rel., Nervous/Anxious Sherlock, Jealous/Cranky Sherlock, Hiking, Vacation Homes / Honeymoon, Sherlock’s Family, Horny John/Sherlock, Patient John, Massages, Hand Jobs, Assassination Plots, Oral Sex, Case Fic, Emotional Love Making, Bath Time Fun) – This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #obsessive sherlock #jealous sherlock #possessive sherlock #long post

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

a father and daughter

I don't normally hop on the whole dad!tom thing, but this idea kinda popped up and wouldn't leave me alone. Hope everyone is having a lovely festive period and wish you all well in the new year x x x

Summary: Tom really struggles to get into the parenting thing, and finds it tricky balancing work and his relationship with baby daughter

Tom loved being a Dad. It had only been a couple of months, meaning your baby girl was still very much a baby - yet still he had no doubt, this was the best job one could ever ever do. To be honest he was quite regretting agree to the few work commitments he had started to ease back into too. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to go these months without work, which not many had the luxury of saying - but in this industry work agreements were lined up years before and he was never one to disappoint.

Of course, as soon as you both had found out you were expecting, he’d withdrawn from the big filming project across the world but that didn’t mean he avoided the odd week of press, or a couple days flying abroad for fittings and meetings. By absolutely no means would you ever class him as a slightly ‘absent’ dad, you completely understood and when he was home did way more than his fair share with Amelie.

But Tom felt guilty and he felt like he was inferior to you in parenting ability. And you knew that was for one reason and one reason only. He did not have boobs.

You were well aware that as much as you loved Amelie needing you so much and so often - sometimes being the only person able to soother her - was because all she wanted was to drain you of milk. She was clearly going to be a Daddy’s girl, and who could blame her when her Dad was Tom. But for right now, a mere 5 months old - she loved you because she loved your tit.

The first time you had noticed Tom’s growing frustration was right after his first evening work commitment since her arrivel, he’d been on a UK chat show earlier in the evening and as encouraged by you, had taken the opportunity to have a few drinks after with his brothers and friends. By no means did he return late, barely midnight, but he did return just a little tipsy. You were still up choosing to have a little movie night to yourself, whilst Amelie slept in the Moses basket next to the couch. Just before Tom got back though, she had woken up and for no reason was the smiliest little girl. So when Tom let himself into the front door, he was greeted with the sound of Amelie’s little bubbles of laughter, while you spoke in baby language - pulling ridiculous faces and laughing with her.

“Someones smiley” Tom laughed as he plopped down on the sofa next to you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and wrapping his arm round your shoulder as he smiled at Amelie.

“Aren’t you Meelie? How was the show love?” You asked, as you held Amelie in a sitting position on your thighs so she was staring at you both.

“Hmm it was nice, couldn’t make myself stay for too long though… just missed my girls.” His voice was a little rough, something that happens after talk show and then almost shouting over the obnoxiously loud music in the pub after. Amelie, laughed again at his words, almost taunting her Dad’s attachment to her, making both of you burst out laughing. She already had you both wrapped round her very little finger.

Shaking your head, you passed her over to Tom muttering needing a wee and made a quick escape. Ever since you had her, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her unattended - meaning you had almost made your kidneys explode holding in a wee waiting for Tom to get back. Yet as soon as you made it out the door, the bubbling innocent laughter turned into screams - but at that point you’d already made it out the doorframe - marking that as Tom’s issue to handle. Unfortunately the wails continued, very very loud and proud, and when you returned Tom was pacing slowly around the lounge with a grimace on his face as Amelie screamed into his shoulder.

“I’ll stay up with her if you want.” You offered, knowing Tom without sleep and having to listen to her racket all night would have an impressively worse hangover tomorrow.

“No I got it, think she needs a change.” Tom countered, even though you were pretty sure she wanted a feed, since it had been a good couple of hours from the last. He noticed your hesitance and shooed you out the room “I got it love, you’ve had her all evening.”

“You know where I’ll be” You smiled lightly, leaving them downstairs as you got ready for bed.

It was after about 10 minutes of thrashing about guiltily in your otherwise empty bed, you gave in to the still continuous screaming. Amelie clearly was just hungry, even if Tom refused to admit it and bring her to you. So with a deep sigh you gave in, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and trudged downstairs. Tom was still stood up, taking gentle bouncing steps as Amelie apparently tried to deafen him. Once he saw you, with a defeated look, Tom offered her to you. Instantly, as if you just had the ability to turn the crying switch on her off- Amelie stopped crying and blinked away the tears in her eyes, whilst waiting patiently for you to offer her your nipple. While you were busy trying to get her to latch on, you just caught Tom muttering something as he trudged up to bed without so much as a good night.

Then a couple months later a similar thing occurred. Tom had been away in New York for 5 days, a little press stint that he had under no circumstances been able to get off. At first all had been well but two days since he returned, Tom insisted you finally had an evening out with the girls - to be honest, after spending the best part of a week alone with Meelie you graciously took it. Oh, and also of importance for context, Amelie spoke her first word while he was away… Mama.

You’d left that morning, your best friend taking you on a spa day before - so by the time Tom called you at 11 in the evening, he’d spent a good portion of the day with Amelie vehemently denying to do anything at all apart from yell- yelling “NO MAMA.” So fair to say he was pissed. You answered the phone with a soft smile, honestly finding spending this much time apart from Amelie really hard and guilt-inducing.

“Hey Tom everything okay?”

“Um when do you think you’ll be back?” He spoke straight and to the point, clearly not in the mood for small talk.

“I don’t think too long, is everything alright?” His tone made you so much more concerned, now worrying that something had happened.

“No no everything’s fine. Just… just been a long day.”

“Okay well I’ll be back soon I promise. I love you.”

“Yeh yeh um you too” He didn’t mean to be short. Nor to make you worried. He didn’t hate you - far the opposite, he hated how much Amelie loved you.

If he was being honest, he just felt like a bit of a failure of a father. As a child himself, Tom had always been incredibly close to his mum and thought the typical rule was mummy’s boys and daddy’s girls stood. So why then, did his child appear to absolutely detest him with every look. Especially because, given the nature of his job, once Tom went back to actually shooting films again he’d be around much less - and that the relationship between him and Amelie would at least be geographically strained. Unrequited love is always the worst and ultimately most painful, especially when it involves your own child.

This underlying and unspoken tension fizzled away for a decent amount of months and Tom went on his first job. At this point you were no longer breastfeeding, but still you knew that purely instinctively if Amelie was ever scared, upset or unhappy she would seek you first. It was bloody obvious to you that she did love Tom, she chuckled away like no tommorrow when he played with her and spun her round the room. And yet, you could still tell Tom wasn’t completely convinced and still seemed , just a bit aware and hesitant.

In there ever needed to be any proof though, it must’ve been how stroppy Amelie got once Tom left. In short, for you, it was hell. You ended up constantly wearing Tom’s t-shirts, not for you but because the mild but lingering scent of him seemed to soothe Amelie when she was fussing. She would never giggle like she did when her silly Daddy was here to be her personal comedian. She had, however, finally learnt how to say Dada - which now she was shouting impressively at every point apart from when you tried to film it. She was a little devil, its like she knew exactly what to do to make you life as hard as possible - keeping you dealing with an unhappy Tom. You tried to tell him, when you were on FaceTime each evening - but no matter how many times you promised, it seemed that Tom had a hard time believing you.

He was filming in Germany, which meant it wasn’t actually ‘that’ far from your London home and after two weeks he flew back for a weekend. You were incredibly excited- not just to seeing Tom, which of course you where; but also ,hopefully, for him to feel some sort of assurance in his ability as a parent. He needed to see her, Amelie needed her Daddy and you… you needed a rest.

That evening, you had had her balanced on your hip as you rushed to make the house look somewhat presentable (because single parenting was not easy) but Amelie had thrown a fit so with a slightly immature passive aggressive comment to your 11 month old daughter you put her on her play mat and carried on. It was a bit of a risk if you were quite honest, she was more than just a crawler - she perfected the art of bum shuffling and was starting to on occasion try to stand up. But you were in the same room so surely little harm could come to her in the ‘over-the-top-ly’ baby proofed living room - Tom’s doing of course.

So keeping one eye on Amelie and the other on the almost terrifyingly big stack of discarded toys you set about tidying up. It was all going swimmingly until your thoughts about how on earth you were going to hide all the crap were abruptly interrupted with a garbled screech of “DADA!”

You instantly whipped your head round to watch Amelie stumble and basically throw herself the couple of steps to the doorway where Tom stood. You had absolutely no clue how long he’d been standing there but that was all insignificant watching him sweep you little girl into his arms, before she could career to the floor (headfirst of course). His eyes were bugging out of his head, as she giggled and laughed in his strong grasp before astutely throwing her head into the crook of his neck, demanding to be cuddled by him.

It was almost hilarious, how utterly shocked Tom looked at the real life proof that his baby girl had missed him. Once he met your eyes he used the hand supporting Amelies back to point at her in a questioning manner, making you roll your eyes at just how oblivious and stubborn he is.

“She’s missed her Dad!” You smiled, as you walked toward him and pecked his lips. “You got this down here if I finally get some peace upstairs?”

Because yes, you’d missed your husband and wanted to spend all night wrapped in his arms. But really? There was a more important way the evening should pass, finally Tom getting his moment with Amelie. So without so much as even a ‘how was your flight’ you left the two in the living room - you making a beeline to the bath, for just a moment to yourself.

It was perhaps even a little shocking to yourself that you were so confident you could leave them alone for the evening. Because really, if Amelie started acting up suddenly again, this could be where Tom’s confidence as a dad goes from ‘ropey at best’ to ‘non-existent’. Except you were so certain in the fact that just wouldn’t happen. If she was hungry she’d take the bottle from Tom (which she never did from you without arguement ).

And so you had possible the most relaxing time in the bath - actually alone for the first time in two weeks.

It wasn’t until you quietly walked down the stairs two hours later that you got a bit suspicious of the silence downstairs. Cautiously you peered your head round the doorframe and you didn’t even try to stifle the beaming smile spread across your face. Because there was your husband, lying semi-reclined on the arm of the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively round Amelie who looked incredibly content snuggled up to her dad at last. They were both fast asleep and the sight was just so sweet it actually hurt your heart, meaning only naturally you had sneak a picture of them both. It was infuriating how you knew you had to wake him up - it is a little irresponsible to leave her lying on top of him on the couch and you kinda wanted to cuddle up to Tom this evening too.

So with a gentle touch rubbing and down his right arm it only took a moment or two till he suddenly blinked his eyes open, eyes looking quickly between your eyes and Amelie - his grasp on her had instinctively tightened a little.

“Hey” You whispered softly, watching him notice how calm Amelie looked on his chest.

“Mhmm hey.” His voice was slightly croaky, probably from the exhaustion of two weeks of hard work.

“You guys friends then?” You whispered while combing your ginger nails though Amelies little curls at the base of her neck - she was most deifnetly a Holland.

“She did really miss me?” Tom asked, still half not believing as he shuffled up on the sofa so he was sitting more upright.

“To the point she had me wrapping the pillows in your unwashed t-shirts.” You giggled as his bottom lip pouted into a visible ‘awh’.

“Come on lets get you both to bed.”

Without much complaint, but keeping her in his arms, Tom nodded and followed you up to bed. But that night instead of getting your way and having Tom cuddling you, he pouted until you let him lie Amelie down in the middle of the bed between you two .

But seeing the way he grinned at her in the dark, almost fighting to stay awake as he looked at her, the prospect seemed a lot more attractive.

And that was more than fine by you.

#tomholland #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #happynewyear

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skampi835 · 3 years

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Letters (Mitsunari x reader x Ieyasu)

This is another contribution for the Unloved Characters Month event, hosted by @the-moonlight-dreams. Because I had so much fun writing the two before. Motonari: Hell of the Living & Yoshimoto: Corolla Promise. I really wanted to do another one (like an addict).

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Language: english

Starring: Mitsunari x reader x Ieyasu (no real pairing though)

Genre: Fluff

Warning: none

Prompt: Day 22 - Letters

Word Count: 1.400

Also I have absolutely NO IDEA why the heck Mitsunari’s on this list of unloved characters!😳 I mean, come on!😭😭 Mitsunari’s like the politest, sweetest cinnamon roll on earth (besides Vincent). Hope you enjoy!

"You're smiling like sunshine, again. Is there any good report?" You’re asking, while pouring tea into cups, which sit on the desk. Mitsunari’s raising his head thoughtfully, with that warm, angelic smile of his. "Yes, Lady (y/n). There was a very lovely letter in between again."

“Oh, was there?" Jokingly replying, you’re placeing the teapot on the desk between the two of you. You just brewed it a few moments ago, even though Mitsunari insisted in offering you tea in the first place, when you arrived with his mailing. But you're quite aware, that under no circumstances you should letting him work with boiling water or tealeaves, because you knew how clumsy Mitsunari could be sometimes. Besides it doesn't bother you at all, spending some time with Mitsunari and getting a break from your chatelaine duties, for he was always the politest among the warlords, when you’d first arrived in the Sengoku period. "Is it one of those love-letters?"

You are calling them love-letters in jest, since the first one had arrived a few weeks ago. "You know it's not such a thing." Mitsunari snickers lightly and its sound is warming your heart with delight. "But it's a very comforting letter with good advices I'll have to reconsider. Whoever's sending me this letters must care deeply for me."

A soft smile blooms on your lips as you’re reaching for your cup. "That's awesome. I'm so happy for you, Mitsunari.” Honestly you are more than relieved and thankful as you’ve thought, ever since these short messages from an anonymous individual started.

Mitsunari had a rough time lately, struggling with his self-care, after an incident that happened one month ago. During a combat against some threats from the Ouchi-clan, almost a devastating mistake had slipped through Mitsunaris calculations. It was thanks to Mitsuhide, that nothing dangerously had happened, for he was the one in charge of Azuchi, while Nobunaga was fighting on the front. Prescient thinking, Mitsuhide assumed a siege towards Azuchi, whereas the war had focused with the heated battle. This had made him evacuate the civilians inside the castle walls. Thanks to the kitsunes quick thinking he averted bloodshed among the village and prevented a great loss for Azuchi and the Oda.

Sadly though, Mitsunari’s miscalculation had left him so deeply crestfallen, that he’d fallen back in his old bad habits, even more than usual. It took you an amount of effort, dragging Mitsunari out step by step, of the cloudy thoughts, he’d locked himself to. Lastly it was thanks to those words written in these letters Mitsunari had received for a while, that he’s finally able to smile again, honest and candid.

Plus Mitsunari’s doing a great job, caring about himself again, besides for a few known issues. His place looks more organized, although with a few stacks of books. He’s even almost having a proper meal daily, looking rested and at ease. You had not enough words of gratitude for this unknown individual, who had sent Mitsunari the letters, lifting his spirit in a quite peculiar way.

Mitsunari was so confused when the first letter arrived and after your request, he had lent it to you.

“Stop worrying the people and get some sleep already!

You made a mistake, so what? It happens sometimes. Nothing bad happened, so pull yourself together.

The townspeople are talking that you’re looking tired and they were annoyingly noisy, that you weren't smiling during your last visit. You know how pesky that blabber is?”

There wasn’t any hint to the sender of this letter and after you finished reading, you were puzzled and worried about those harsh words towards poor Mitsunari. You recommended to just ignoring it, but Mitsunari was strangely solemn. “Ignore it? But Lady (y/n), the writer of this letter is probably right.” He confessed mournful and guilty. “I am worrying you and the others, don’t I?”

He’d looked so sad and lost, but after a good night’s rest, like the writer has requested, Mitsunari opened up again. He allowed you to help him, eliminating the mess in his room. Together you slowly established a new routine, that’s good for his self-care. Every time when one of these few letters arrived once in a while, Mitsunari’s amazing bright smile returns on his lips.

“What does this one say?” Curiously you’re asking over the rim of your teacup, that you just had a sip of. Mitsunari’s gently folding the letter and circumspectly tucking it back into its cover, while he's gifting you with an honest and featherlight smile. “It says that I’m not alone, when there’s a tough decision.” He answers with calm in his voice, pausing for a little while, searching for his following words. “I am sorry, but I’d prefer to keep the accurate choice of words a secret this time if you don’t mind.”

“Oh... But of course not.” Compliable you nodded, smiling mindful. “It’s a message just for you, after all.”

Mitsunari’s radiant smile’s remaining ever so lightly and beautiful on his handsome face, brightening even the sunny day outside. “Thank you, for your kindness, Lady (y/n).”

_____

After your nice break, with a delicious cup of tea and some pleasurable chat with Mitsunari, you’d left Hideyoshi’s manor with a good feeling, in order to continue your duties as chatelaine. It was nice, seeing polite Mitsunari so much calmer, than a few weeks ago. His reservation had occupied and saddened you very much, to the point of aching. Seeing him now with the same charming smile and kind yet clear alertness in his amethyst eyes, that you’ve grown so familiar with, makes you almost impossibly happy.

As you returned to Azuchi castle you’re catching sight of someone familiar who was just about to leave, before he spotted you. “Just when I decided not wasting my time any longer.” He mutters in his usual snarky tone. “Ah, Ieyasu, I totally lost track of time.” And you’ve nearly forgotten! For a while now Ieyasu had finally given in to your constant whinings and secretly prosecutions - that weren’t that secret at all - to teach you medical herbalism, biweekly. But telling him that, would’ve make him reconsider this decision, so you quickly add: “I’m so sorry, Ieyasu. I visited Mitsunari before and I guess I’d got a little distracted.”

“You guess?” Ieyasu’s bored scrutinizing glare is drilling through you, while he crossed his arms before his chest. But after a while, he unpleasant sighs. “It can’t be helped. It’s too late for your lesson today.” You’re sighing distressful, which made Ieyasu even looking more annoyed. Exasperated he avoids your gaze. “I can spare some free time tomorrow afternoon. But don’t you dare set me off again! My time’s too valuable.”

With relief you’re smiling happily. “I would never! Thank you, Ieyasu!” -- “You don’t have to thank me for that.” He’s answering stroppy, lifting his gaze again. “How is he doing?”

“He...? Oh, you mean Mitsunari?” You’re asking amazed, before a cute, joyful smile is curving your lips. “He’s doing great, lately. I’d like to believe he’d got over his personal rock bottom.” Suddenly you’re beaming a grateful smile towards Ieyasu. “Your letters helped a lot, truly.”

Regardless of Ieyasu, narrowing his eyes doubtfully, you go on: “Mitsunari showed me the first two letters and the characters are quite similar with your scrawly handwriting in some way. So I figured, that maybe you’re the unknown writer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t care. I don’t write letters.” Ieyasu answers brusque shooting a tetchy frown in your direction like a silent warning. But it couldn’t blur your smile nor falter the knowing look in your eyes. “You always insult Mitsunari, when he’s around you. Yet the last time you spoke with Masamune you’ve said, that it irritades you, seeing Mitsunari’s letting himself being pushed around, when he’s got such an extensive knowledge. I’d like to think, that you’re secretly admiring him.”

If Ieyasu was shooting with his glare before, now he’s definitely striking you down with his killing glance. “What are you babbling?” He blurts out, snapping a painfully irritated “Idiot.” as an extra. Without any hesitation, Ieyasu’s trudging off, his scarf fiercely wafting behind him.

“See, now I have a reason! Thank you, Ieyasu! See you, tomorrow!” You shouted cheerfully after him, whereas Ieyasu just grumpily groans, while he’s hurrying to leave the castle.

#unloved-otome-2021 #ikemen series #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #fanfiction #ikesen fanfic #ikesen writing #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen fanfiction #ikesen fic #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen ieyasu #unloved otome 2021 #mitsunari ishida #ieyasu tokugawa #ikesen mitsunari fanfic #ikesen ieyasu fanfic #ikesen mitsunari fanfiction #ikesen ieyasu fanfiction

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pantoneblou · 3 years

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Why I think Fine Line has to be listened to in full: A masterpost

So, a couple of weeks ago, literally one lovely anon asked me to do some Fine Line and Walls lyric analyses, which I know is not probable cause for me to bombard all your dashes with a masterpost of incoherent rambling. However, as I began trying to analyse the songs on Fine Line individually, I realised that most of my opinions are built upon the links between the songs. So, I decided that I’m going to try and explain why I think that Fine Line is more like a journey through a long-term relationship, from Harry’s perspective, than twelve stand alone songs (i.e. You need to listen to all the songs on the album in order to understand some of the more cryptic meanings). I don’t necessarily think that there’s something major to say about all the songs (Harry can be quite literal at times) but I’m going to talk about each of the lyrical choices that stand out to me.

So, without further ado, here is my take on Fine Line:

Golden

I’m kicking this off with Golden, mainly because it’s the first on FL but also because I think my interpretation differs slightly from others I’ve seen.

Golden, for me, really starts off the album by introducing us to where Harry is at now upon his journey with the album’s subject. It’s essentially an ode to an amazing, ‘golden’ person, who has continued to persevere with Harry as he’s gone through some trying and testing stages, which will then be acknowledged and spoken about later in the album. Here’s why:

Golden, golden, golden, as I open my eyes,

Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light.

So, Harry starts us off with some hefty repetition that confirms straight away just how great this person is. However, when he says ‘as I open my eyes’, I think he’s referring to the early days of their relationship. In the following line, therefore, I believe he’s longing for the ease of their early days. The subject and their greatness hasn’t changed (hence the present tense and frequent commands in the second line) but Harry has, and whilst he knows its for the best, he can’t help but long for the simplicity of when they first met.

I know you were way too bright for me.

I'm hopeless, broken. So, you wait for me in the sky.

Browns my skin just right

Here’s where I start to get the idea that it is Harry’s issues that have perhaps separated the two of them. Through it all, the person has remained perfect (in Harry’s eyes), someone to look up to who has a wonderful patience and enough love for Harry to ‘wait’ for him. The line ‘browns my skin just right’ is so lovely, because whilst Harry is acknowledging that there were times when their relationship may not have been working, this person’s perfection has never faltered, and they’ve continued to improve Harry’s life and make him happy.

You're so golden (x2)

I'm out of my head

And I know that you're scared

Because hearts get broken

So, I feel like the final lines of each chorus are where people start to get confused with this song. I think – and here’s where I think people might start to disagree with me – that Harry isn’t saying that this Golden figure is scared of their own heart getting broken, but Harry’s. Whilst they continue to be perfect, ‘golden’ in every way possible, they’re afraid for Harry, of what Harry might face as a result of his actions but this song is Harry’s way of saying that it’s okay, I’ll be fine.

I don't wanna be alone (x2)

When it ends, don't wanna let you know

I don't wanna be alone

This part confuses me a little, because when what ends Harry? Going down the lines of the rest of my interpretation, I’m gonna guess that Harry is talking about their relationship. This, to me, is one of the many times across Fine Line where Harry admits his faults a lot more than most other artists do in their songs. He doesn’t want to be apart from this person, so much so that he’d be willing to make it work even if it should truly be over.

But I, I can feel it take a hold (x2)

I can feel you take control (x2)

Of who I am and all I've ever known

Loving you's the antidote

But, it doesn’t really matter, because he’s happy allowing this person to steer the course of the rest of his life. Loving them is the ‘antidote’ to his fears, and he wishes they could see just how wonderful they are so that they’ll stop worrying about him.

Chorus repeated

Bridge

I do find his live lyric changes very interesting here, I’m pretty sure he’s now said all of these at some point ‘I’m hoping someday you’ll open’, ‘I’m hoping someday he’ll open’ and ‘I’m hoping someday I’ll open’. Either way, they all still fit in this interpretation for me. I find it especially interesting that the last lyric change (at the jingle ball) was so recent. I think perhaps this is yet another indication that the turmoil referenced in this song is not yet over.

I know that you're scared

Because I'm so open

These are another two lines that I see talked about a LOT and they are hugely important to my interpretation of this song. I do NOT believe that Harry is saying this person is scared because they can’t be as open as Harry. I believe, again, that he’s saying they’re scared for him. They’re scared of the possible backlash that Harry might face for his openness (if we’re getting personal, perhaps his gender expression, his sexuality, etc.). For me, Harry definitely isn’t saying, I know you’re scared to be as open as me, it’s him saying: I know you’re scared about me being the way that I am, about how it might get me hurt. But I. have. you. And that’s all I could ever need, it’s the antidote to all my fears, and I hope one day you’ll be able to see that you’re the reason I’m able to be this ‘open’.

Overall, I think Golden is Harry’s promise that, for as long as he has the ‘golden’ subject, he’s safe from his heart being ‘broken’.

Watermelon Sugar

I don’t think that Watermelon Sugar has been wrongly interpreted in the past (ie, I do think it can be read as a celebration of the joy found in a sexual relationship). However, I think some lyrics are actually super wholesome, and I read WS as more of a teenage version of Golden.

For example:

Tastes like strawberries

On a summer evenin'

And it sounds just like a song

I want more berries

And that summer feelin'

It's so wonderful and warm

Everything about this first verse just screams adolescence to me? The summer evenings are those in which you played out with your friends until the sun finally went in at 9pm, and the ‘song’ is a beautiful one that you’re listening to for the first time. That’s what the love felt like for him, at first. It was passionate, yes, but also endlessly warm and safe.

Baby you’re the end of June

What do we associate with June here in the UK? Long days of (well I wish it was endless, but at least persistent) sunshine. Here’s where I get my evidence that WS is about the same person as Golden. This person is a ‘summer evening’ personified, they’re his sunshine.

I want your belly

This lyric is just??? The cute little face emoji??? In a lyric??? Like, ‘belly’ isn’t a word I hear adults use very often??? This lyric tells us that Harry longs for that feeling of initial infatuation, the time when all they could think about was being together and getting lost in one another.

Ultimately, I see WS as the Golden prequel. It’s their relationship before either of them faced any hardship, when they were able to be freely and completely ‘washed’ up in one another. The WS days are the days he yearns for when he asks to be ‘[taken] back to the light’ in Golden.

Adore You

Not a huge amount to say about this song. I think it’s worth mentioning that there are many indications that it’s definitely about the same lover as Golden and WS. Harry uses similar weather analogies, this time referring to a ‘rainbow paradise’ instead of the more literal sunshine he refers to in Golden and WS. But it’s the same theme. AY makes it clear that Harry associates this person with everything bright, warm and comfortable, they’re ‘brown skin and lemon over ice’, they’re his summer. This song, however, is more about him begging for them to just let him indulge himself in his love for them.

Lights Up

I don’t have much to say about the whole song that hasn’t already been said but have we talked about this lyric?

All the lights couldn't put out the dark

Running through my heart

Because I think it’s important that he accepts darkness in a song and an album that is otherwise so focused on the light. I will be saying this a lot, but Harry has a habit of acknowledging his humanness in his lyrics in a way that I don’t think a lot of artists manage to (think: ‘arrogant son of a bitch’, ‘what am I now?’, ‘I’m selfish so I’m hating it’). This line really does it for me. ‘Lights up’, otherwise, is a non-apology for Harry accepting who he is. But in this line, he seems to acknowledge that it doesn’t matter how much he accepts himself, it doesn’t right the wrongs he’s committed, or dull his imperfections. But Lights Up is him saying ‘I don’t care’.

So earlier, when I said that he’s asking the subject of Golden not to be scared? This is what he’s talking about. He’s asking them not to be scared about the consequences of him stepping into the light because he’s not scared any more; he doesn’t care if his ‘heart gets broken’, because he’s done not being ‘open’, and he’s joining his ‘golden’ person in the light.

Cherry

Cherry is where the album begins to truly delve into the more difficult parts of this relationship, where they perhaps took some time apart.

I was going to do a full lyric analysis of it, but the more I look at it, the more I just think it’s Harry at his absolute pettiest (and if anything that kind of makes me love it more??)

Have we ever discussed how much he sounds like a stroppy child when he says ‘Did you know I still talk to [your friends]?’ or ‘Does he take you walking round his parent’s gallery?’ I can almost picture Harry asking these questions in a high-pitched, whiny voice when he drop some stuff round at an ex’s place. The reason this makes me love him even more is he’s not just admitting to that post-break up stage that we all go through but kind of pretend that we don’t, he actually wrote a whole fucking song about it. He’s admitting that even he isn’t free from getting a bit overly bitter about watching your lover be happy without you. It’s such a lovely way to capture what is otherwise quite an unpleasant feeling, and again, it’s Harry acknowledging his humanness.

Falling

And then, after that initial feeling of utter pettiness and jealousy, comes the dejection, the realisation that you’re not the same person that you were when you were in the relationship as you are now, without them. Cherry and Falling confirm, for me, that whether it’s a break up Harry’s talking about, or just some really serious troubles, this relationship really forced him to look inside himself.

Most of its quite self-explanatory, but there are some particularly heart-breaking lyrics in this song. In the last chorus, when Harry asks ‘What if you’re someone I just want around?’ he perfectly captures that feeling of knowing that right now, your relationship may not be healthy for either party, but, as it’s basically all you know, you just want that well-known comfort. He’s almost begging them here, asking them why his love for them isn’t enough to make it work, even though he knows they need time apart.

Linking it to my interpretation of the rest of the album, I think there’s a real importance in the image of Harry ‘falling’. He told us in ‘lights up’ that he was never coming back down, yet now? He’s ‘falling again’. He hasn’t reached the ground, but he’s in danger of doing so.

Also, I feel the need to talk about the short bridge

I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again

I think the really important thing here is the verb, to need. I don’t think Harry believes there is no chance of repairing the relationship. Instead, I think that he knows there’s a possibility they’ll want one another again, but they’re grown enough to recognise that they can exist apart, they don’t need each other anymore.

Therefore, as gut-wrenching as this song is, I see it as Harry’s acceptance that he might not need this other person in his life to display the confidence he did in Lights Up, but he wants them there, oh so desperately, ultimately bringing us back round to ‘loving you’s the antidote’.

To Be So Lonely

The last of the not-so-happy tracks (well, other than Fine Line but we’ll get on to that). Their relationship is on the up again, but there is a lot of repairing to do.

Again, this song isn’t overly cryptic. But there are some important things to note.

Don’t call me baby again

In ‘Cherry’, he was pleading with them not to use that pet name with another man. Now, he’s pleading with them not to use it on him. I get the sense that he’s finally accepted that they can’t immediately act like nothing's happened, and is willing to try at friendship, but he isn’t quite ready yet himself.

I just hope you see me in a little better light

Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?

Light imagery, again. He’s hoping that now, the subject is able to see him as a better person, perhaps less petty and angry as he was in Cherry and less self-pitying than he was in Falling. Once again, he beautifully displays his flaws in the following line, making it clear that even pop star Harry Styles is guilty of being a jealous little bastard.

And this is it, so I’m sorry

When he enters the chorus after this line, he creates the impression that the chorus is his apology, confirming what he said earlier on in the song (that he’s actually just really bloody bad at apologising). But even considering the moody undertones, this is still an apology. He’s saying that he knows this person had their reasons to spend some time away from him, he knows they both needed it, he just needs a little more time to wallow. It’s the most indulgent song on the album.

I think it’s really important to note that whilst the tone of the song can appear slightly angry, he never once calls the subject out on any of their faults. It’s just as self-deprecating as the rest of the album, and he doesn’t imply that the subject is ever anything but the same person he idolised in Golden, WS or AY. Essentially, TBSL is Harry making it clear that he needs time to be dramatic, even when he knows they’re going to make it.

She

I’ve seen some absolutely wonderful analyses of She, and I share in the sentiment that it is most likely about a journey with gender identity, so I will refrain from rewriting the thoughts of others here.

I do, however, think it’s worth mentioning that back in the Golden analysis, when I referred to the thing that maybe scares the ‘Golden’ figure, and back in the Lights Up analysis, when I said that Harry has found who he is? I definitely believe there’s a link to the journey referenced in She. I think Harry’s journey to self acceptance was something that he had to go through alone, but that didn’t stop it from impacting upon his relationships.

Imo, Sunflower forms the final part of the perfect trio of celebratory songs, alongside Golden and Watermelon Sugar. Golden encompasses the journey, Watermelon Sugar is the beginning and Sunflower comes after the period of separation, as they’re rebuilding their relationship. It’s basically Watermelon Sugar 2.0, the adult version.

Sunflower, Vol. 6

And finally, we're out of the woods!

This time, however, Harry has realised his worth. My not-very-common interpretation of this song is that Harry is the sunflower, not the subject. Why do I think this? Well:

Sunflower (x2), my eyes, want you more than a melody

Like a sunflower turned towards the sun, Harry is stuck pining for this person and longing for their light, ‘more than a melody’. Again, we have multiple links to different songs. The first time they got together (referenced in WS) their love was ‘like a song’. This time, he wants them more than a melody. It’s going to be better, brighter and happier. Alike Golden, this person is as important as the sun, but now Harry, too, is something beautiful. (I know that he always was but he’s realised it now)

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflowers, sometimes, keep it sweet in your memory

Here’s the line that really makes me think Harry is the sunflower, not the subject. In order to be talking about the subject when he uses the word Sunflower, this line would be a switch from speaking directly to the subject, to speaking directly to an audience. I think it’s much simpler than that. If we read the whole song, instead, as simply him speaking only to his subject, then he’s almost asking them to ‘keep it sweet in [their] memory’. Perhaps, this is him showing them that he knows he’s always been this beautiful in their memory, but now he’s aware of it, and wants to ‘get [back] inside’.

I was just tongue-tied

I don't wanna make you feel bad, but I've been trying hard not to talk to you

This just has super innocent energy for me. It’s mega-sweet. He doesn’t want to make them feel bad, he knows he had to learn who he was, and now he’s figured it out he’s just desperate to share it with them.

I couldn't want you any more

Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor

I couldn’t want you anymore tonight.

Wondering headshake, tired eyes are the death of me.

Mouthful of toothpaste, before I got to know you.

I have nothing to say other than these lines are adorably domestic. He’s longing for the warmth and comfort of the love he knows they can share together.

I've got your face, hung up high in the gallery

I love this shade

Again, Harry’s making it clear that he still sees this person as worthy of his ultimate devotion. But this time, the tone is just way simpler than Golden. ‘I love this shade’ suggests to me that he just loves what they are now - he loves to colours that they’ve grown to be, together.

The rest of the song is quite repetitive but there are some stand outs:

Your flowers just died

Plant new seeds in the melody

Yet another lyric that makes me think that Harry is suggesting that he’s the flower and not the subject. He’s changed, been reborn, and now they can plant new seeds together and he’ll grow into something even better. What’s important, really, is that he belongs to the subject, he’s their flower.

And lastly, just,

I’m still tongue tied

Basically, confirmation that this song is about re-infatuation. He was tongue tied in the past, back in the WS days, and he still is now. He’s absolute enamoured with this person, and even now, they have the ability to make him speechless.

Ultimately, Sunflower Vol. 6 is about the feeling of falling in love a second, third, fourth, etc. time over. It’s about rediscovering everything you love about a person, and it brings us out of the rocky part of the album.

Canyon Moon

Finally, they’re back together. Everything is so good this time that whenever he’s around any other couple, he’s thinking of the subject.

There’s not much to say here, other than Harry’s repetitive bridge of multiple ‘I’m going home’ is sooooooo sweet because it’s almost like he’s just sharing with the listeners how he is so elated that he gets to call this person his home again.

Treat People with Kindness

This is probably the only song that doesn’t appear to fit smoothly into my interpretation, but I do think it’s Harry finally acknowledging the outside world, beyond him and the subject. For instance, he doesn’t only use the pronoun ‘I’, but ‘we’ and ‘us’ (If we’re here long enough, they’ll sing a song for us).

Therefore, I don’t really know how else to interpret this other than it being Harry’s request for the world to stop judging everyone and their relationships so harshly. Meaning I can’t, for the life of me, understand a reading in which the relationship that he’s on about isn’t a queer one. But I don’t think I need to get into that...

Fine Line

I’ve already written several in-depth analyses of Fine Line and some of the lyrics that stand out for me (which you can read here), so I’m not going to do it again. However, I think it’s the most beautiful way Harry could have possibly ended the album. It may seem, according to this entire masterpost, that Fine Line wouldn’t make sense as the final song because the overriding tone of the last third of the album is so positive (whilst the song itself is so utterly heart-wrenching).

However, one thing that I think I need to mention here, is that no matter what him and his subject go through and no matter how much Harry endures, this person has remained, without fault, his ‘sunshine’, and Fine Line confirms that for us. Yet, he also acknowledges that the subject is also human, so human that they both have things even they’ll ‘never know’, and his subject has layers upon layers in their being --> spreading you open, is the only way of knowing you

Ultimately, Fine Line (the song) confirms, for me, that this entire album is focused on someone that Harry has found a true soulmate in, his ‘sunshine’, but someone who he is in reachable distance of, who he can join in the ‘light’. And together, they’ll get through whatever the world throws at them. In a way, Fine Line almost completes a perfect circle, bringing us back around to Golden, ready to start the album again. The journey explored in the album is both Harry’s romance with the subject and his own journey to self acceptance, which are closely intertwined (revealed immediately in Golden). When we reach the final song, he’s accepted himself, but he knows that he and his partner are going to face more difficulties. Their fight isn’t over. But, with his overwhelming love for the person...

together, ‘[they’ll] be alright.’

#So #this took me a while lol #But it's a summary of some thoughts that have been swimming round my head for a while #I don't think I've seen some of these interpretations before?#Especially not of Golden and Sunflower #Anyway if anyone wants to discuss anything further pls pop me a message because I could talk on Harry's lyrics for days.#Walls analysis will follow shortly #Also anon #I know you wanted me to look at the parrallels in the Walls and Lights Up music videos so I will aim to include that in the next one #Anyways love to y'all and enjoy reading #Fine Line masterpost #Fine Line lyrics #Golden lyrics #watermelon sugar lyrics #lights up lyrics #adore you lyrics #cherry lyrics #falling lyrics #to be so lonely lyrics #she lyrics #sunflower vol 6 lyrics #canyon moon lyrics #treat people with kindness lyrics #harry styles #harry styles lyrics #hs #larry stylinson #lourry #lyrics analysis #harry styles lyrics analysis

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blu-joons · 5 years

Text

He Says Something Hurtful In An Argument ~ Jeon Jungkook

As soon as you heard the front door shut you looked back and saw Jungkook walk in, throwing his bag to the floor, kicking his shoes off as they hit the wall, before chucking his coat over one of the hooks on the wall behind the front of the door.

You smiled softly as your eyes met his, easily able to tell he’d had a bad day. Your smile wasn’t reciprocated, as he slumped onto the sofa, stretching his long legs out so there was no longer room for you to sit.

Bad days were common with how busy life was currently at the studio, there were days when things just didn’t go his way, but it was you who unfortunately had to deal with his moods afterwards.

You didn’t say a word, walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge for him, placing it in his lap when you walked in, hearing a disgruntled sigh from him. “I don’t need your water,” he spoke, placing it on the coffee table.

Picking the bottle back up, you tried to hand it to him once more, but he ignored.

His breathing picked up, turning inwards against the sofa. “Jungkook, you’ve had a long day. You need to take a bit more care of yourself.”

He turned to look at you, shaking his head. He was fine, he didn’t need or expect you to look after him, he was big enough to look after himself. At no point had he asked for water from you nor expected you to bring it to him.

“Can you at least tell me how your day went or something,” you asked, perching on the arm of the sofa, the only space available. “Did you have any good points of the day?”

“It was fine,” he muttered.

You hated when he was in one of his moods, at times it still felt like you were dating a stroppy teenager. You looked down at him, frowning helplessly at what to do.

“At least meet me halfway. Is it so wrong to want to have a conversation with my boyfriend,” you cried out, placing your hand delicately over his feet, just for a small bit of contact and security from him.

He shrugged you aside, not even acknowledging your touch, which was very unlike him, usually he’d grab you against his chest.

“I’ve had a really long day, when are you going to learn I want to be alone,” he asked you outrightly. Your eyes widened, struggling to believe his outburst.

“Where has all of this come from?”

He sighed, brushing his hands through his dark hair. “You’re being really annoying Y/N, can you just give me some space, or go and find something better to do with your time.”

“I see.”

Quickly, you stood up from the sofa and ran up the stairs. His comments were harmless, supposedly, he was in a mood, it was one of those things. But he’d called you annoying, and that hurt you badly, as tears brimmed.

Work was hard, and sometimes you did care too much, but you never meant to annoy him, you thought the things you did came from a place of love and affection, but instead all along you’d just been irritating the poor boy and making him feel worse.

It took him a moment to realise you’d left the room, having not meant for you to leave. The hold you had on him was the only thing that kept him going.

As he thought back to what he could have said to make you get up and leave, he felt a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realised exactly what he said. You were annoying. But you were anything but.

You were kind hearted, supportive, loving, trusting, everything he could have ever possibly wanted, and yet instead, he treated you as if you were nothing, just a problem in his way rather than the considerate girlfriend you were, who only ever wanted to help him.

After giving you a bit of time, he crept up the stairs finding you sat up on the bed, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself from the repeating words in your head. You felt the bed dip beside you, as he cleared his throat, tugging at the long sleeves of his black tee. Just like he’d been, you were cold, ignorant to his presence beside you, careful not to annoy him anymore, you stayed silent, and brushed him aside.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he sighed, “it’s no excuse, but I’m really struggling to cope right now. You’re not annoying, you’re the best person in the world. I was being rational and rude, when there was no need to be, all you did was care, just like you always do.” “If you didn’t mean to say it, you wouldn’t have. You must have meant it.”

You turned the volume up on your phone as you watched a random video in an attempt to drown him out, which only upset him more. In your eyes, he could see that you truly believed he meant it, you thought he meant to call you annoying.

“I thought I wanted some time to myself, but I was wrong, calling you annoying was just my way of perhaps getting you to see that. But as soon as you left, I missed you, and I wanted you to come back. I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless jagi, it was wrong of me.”

“If you think I’ve ever been annoying, just tell me,” you requested.

Without second thought, he shook his head, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I have never thought of you as annoying, just caring, and loving. It’s having you around that stops me crumbling most days, it’s never annoying, it’s adorable, and exactly what I need. I promise you sweetheart.”

You sighed, turning around to face him, meeting his eyes. You could see the sincerity in the way he looked at you, desperately hoping for you to realise what a genuine mistake he’d made in being such an idiot towards you.

“If things are hard you know you can talk to me rather than insult me. All I wanted to do was be nice and try and help you after your long day.”

“I know that, which is why I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I didn’t even realise I said it, because I never meant it. It was not thought through, and if it had been, I definitely would never have said the things I said.”

He shuffled closer towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist, allowing your frame to rest back against his. A soft kiss was pressed to the top of your head, as he began to forget about his problematic day, your hold working its usual wonders.

“Do you want me to get you anything? Have you been looking after yourself today?” You asked him.

He nodded, resting his head on top of yours. “I’m good for now, the only thing that can look after me right now is a massive cuddle from you.”

“I can do that,” you giggled, pulling him down so you both laid out across the bed. “Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day for you Kookie.”

“I hope so.”

---

Masterlist

#bts #bts imagine #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts fluff #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts reaction #bts scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #bangtan #bangtan sonyeodan #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop fluff

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ballumsecretvalentine · 4 years

Text

Naked

Ben Mitchell and Callum Highway Valentine’s Day fic for @mitchell-highways. Title taken from James Arthur - Naked (Ballum indeed)

It’s almost Valentines Day for Ben and Callum. The first one that they will share together and Ben is adamant that he wants to make it special. Sometimes special isn’t a million different plans or luxurious gifts, sometimes it’s just family.

Ben hates Valentine’s day. That’s what he tells anyone that will listen. Its overpriced and commercialised and if he wanted to tell Callum he loved him, he would do it with words, not a teddy bear holding a heart that speaks when you press its paw.

The thing is, he hasn’t actually told Callum he loves him yet and as much as he wishes he could, he is finding it almost impossible to get the words out. It doesn’t feel like anything will be enough. And even though Callum knows, he knows that he needs to tell him. The longer he leaves it the bigger it feels and the harder it gets.

“Don’t make plans for tomorrow night by the way,” He shouts to Callum as he is just about to sneak off out.

“You don’t want me to make plans on February 14th?” He asks with a smirk “Ben Mitchell are you asking me to be your Valentines?”

“No, I’m not!” he scoffs, which is code for yes, I am, please don’t make fun of me.

“Fine, if you don’t ask me properly then maybe I’ll just have to make plans with someone who actually wants me to be their Valentine!” He tells Ben, quickly nipping back over to the bed to give him a kiss on the forehead and winking at him before he hurries back off.

He loves him. Like, he really loves him. He knows there aren’t enough words in the world to express that.

Callum changed his life. He has made him want to be better. He has made him think about his future and how badly he wants things to work out for Lexi. He has made every bad thing he has ever done seem redeemable somehow.

Ben is scared. Scared that when he tells him he loves him, Callum is, for some reason, going to decide that’s the point he wants to run away and he doesn’t think he can handle it.

He knows how he feels when Callum tells him he loves him though, that weird fluttery feeling he gets. The one that takes over his whole body. If it’s the same for Callum, he knows he has nothing to worry about. But what if he changes his mind? Decides that Ben, after all, isn’t worth all the fussing and fighting. He isn’t worth all the stress that being with Ben Mitchell brings with him.

He has to bite the bullet though, get it out there, say the words and deal with anything else that comes with it because its Callum. His Callum.

He had plans, loads of them. So many that Lola told him he was going a bit too over the top and to tone it done a little. He didn’t, of course he didn’t. He wanted Callum to have the sickliest, cheesiest, over the top Valentine’s Day ever. He wanted him to remember it for the rest of his life… or at least until Ben can think of something to top it.

Callum is the sort of guy that loves the cheesy romance. The softness of the day and everything that it is supposed to be. It’s just his thing, it might not be Ben’s but that isn’t the point of it all right now.

So he had booked a hotel room, because no matter how many times his mum tells him she will make herself scarce, he didn’t quite believe that she would be able to stop herself from sticking her head into the kitchen a million times to ask how it’s going and if they needed anything.

So they will check in, freshen up – which is code for get filthy in the shower, of course. And then head out for dinner and some overpriced awful restaurant. They will eat by candlelight and hold hands over the table. All that shit that you see in films that Ben didn’t believe was actually real until he met Callum.

“Daddy!!” He hears in a voice way too loud for this time of the morning as he walks into the kitchen

“Lex, babe, remember when we spoke about inside voices?” He asks with a laugh as he crouches down to her level so she can throw her arms around him, the same way she does every morning

“Sorry,” She mumbles “I’m just really excited, mum bought me a new dress and grandad sent me some money to buy those pink glittery shoes that we saw last week,” her level of excitement is something Ben can never get over.

She has the snarkiness of both Ben and Lola combined, she is grumpy and stroppy on top of that. But she is strong willed and excitable and she just loves life. Ben sometimes finds himself being a little jealous of how care free she is, wishing he was that age again himself.

Then again, he isn’t sure he has ever been anywhere near as happy as Lexi is and he only hopes that it stays that way. The one thing he wants more than Callum, is to make sure she has everything she has ever wanted or needed in life.

“What are you excited for then?” He asks

“For tomorrow!” She says with a sigh, like he already should have known

“Lexi Pearce, do you have yourself a date?” He asks acting shocked with a slight mocking tone

“No!” She rolls her eyes “Boys are awful!”

“That’s right!” He tells her “Let’s keep it that way until you’re at least 40 ok?”

“Does that mean you’re 40 then?” She asks in a way that tells Ben she knows exactly what she is saying. Clever.

“No, but I’m different!” He points out “So come on, why you so excited?”

“Because you are taking me to that show, remember?” He feels his heart sink.

Yes. Yes, now he remembers.

He and Callum hadn’t been talking and at that point he honestly didn’t see it getting better any time soon. He had hired someone to kill and actual man and he didn’t think Callum was just going to forgive him. The last thing he wanted was to spend Valentine’s Day say at home alone, wondering why his life was just a series of fuck ups one after the other. He had seen a community centre across town showing a local production of Sleeping Beauty.

“Ah,” He says slowly, sitting up in the chair “Small problem with that,” she comes and sits down at the table and his heart breaks. She looks at him like he hung the moon and the stars, her little face genuinely looks happy. She actually likes spending time with him. She is the one person that doesn’t know what sort of monster he is, the one person that loves him in the most in the world and there is no way he can let her down. Not after he has spent so much of his life doing that already.

So instead he is going to have to have this exact conversation with Callum. Which is going to be like kicking a fucking puppy.

“I think that maybe your mum wanted to go with you!” He tries

“She doesn’t, she said that she is going out because she never gets to anymore,” and that sounds like Lola knew that Ben was going to try and back out – planting words in their daughters head.

“Ok, ok,” He says slowly “Would you mind if it wasn’t just the two of us then?”

“But I wanted to us to go and eat a load of chicken nuggets afterwards, you’re the only person who ever lets me,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. Wow. He isn’t coming off as the parent of the year right now.

“Well Callum can eat more chicken nuggets than me so he can help you!” He tells her

“It’s Callum that you want to come?” She uncrosses her arms

“Yeah, is that ok? He likes a good princess story does Callum.”

“I like Callum,” Is all she says, jumping off the chair and he doesn’t know why but it does something to him. He hasn’t exactly hid Callum from her, he just isn’t sure exactly how much she understands. He knows she isn’t stupid. She is way older than her years, he just didn’t know if she knew. “I can save the money grandad sent me and we can get some ice cream too.” She tells him.

His heart grows a million sizes. He must be doing something right.

“It’s ok princess, I will buy the ice cream, you go with your mum and get the shoes,” She throws her arms around him once more and he swears he almost cries.

Now he just has to convince Callum to spend the most romantic night of the year with him and Lexi while they watch what will probably be an awful production of Sleeping Beauty, rather than everything else he had planned. Brilliant.

He takes his time getting ready, literally dragging his feet as he grabs his keys. Of course it’s the one time he has made an actual effort that’s blown up on his face. Of course it is.

He sighs for what seems like the millionth time on the short journey to Cokers. He just stares at the door not really sure what it is he is going to say, he’s already had Lexi’s disappointed face today, he isn’t sure how he’s going to deal with Callum’s too.

He smooths his hands down the front of his jacket before he steps inside, he doesn’t even know why he is so nervous. Callum gets that Lexi is his priority. He’s never questioned that.

“Did I forget something?” Callum asks him when he spots him at the door, his brow furrowed and well, that’s not like a normal welcome that Ben is used to.

“Hello to you too,” Ben says with a smirk

“Sorry, I’m really busy, did you need something?” He asks, barley looking Ben in the eye and he can’t be having that.

“Can you stop for one second I just wan-“

“What, Ben? What do you want?” He snaps, appearing to realise exactly what he was done once he has done it. He sighs, throwing the papers in his hands down onto the desk. “I’m sorry, I’m just really snowed under and I promised Jay I would have this lot done!”

“And where is Jay exactly?”

“He’s at the car lot but he was supposed to be here helping me, apparently something come up and I said I could handle it,” he tells Ben who steps a little closer, leaning against his desk “and I can’t.”

“You can. I know you. You’re Callum fucking Highway and you can handle anything.. and I’m not just saying that so you do that thing with your tongue again,” he waggles his eyebrows “I genuinely mean it!”

“Yeah but you say that about everything. You’d tell me I could fly a plane if I said I wanted to,” Callum laughs, ignoring the rest of Ben’s comment, the light shade of pink that is currently on his cheeks though tells Ben it didn’t go amiss

“Because I believe you could fly a plane if you wanted to… granted you’d need all that training and stuff first but you would look hot in the uniform!”

“Did you just come here to flirt with me?” He asks, the small smile creeping a little further onto his face

“Well, if I can’t flirt with my Valentine, then who can?”

“You haven’t asked me yet!” Callum points out

“Callum Highway, will you be my Valentine?” Ben asks, a little flare of drama added by the jazz hands his throws out at the same time, making sure the smile that was slowly getting bigger creeps to full capacity.

“I don’t know ya know, I’ve had a few other offers! What are your plans for me?” Ben’s face drops and it must be noticeable because Callum stands a little straighter “I thought you said you wanted me to be free tomorrow night?” He scratches the back of his neck and he looks embarrassed and a little nervous

“I did! I had all these plans and I swear that I will shift them all and we will go on Saturday, I promise!”

“Sooo, you don’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me?”

“I do! Cal, I really, really do! I just might have double booked myself,” he says and the words just don’t sit right in the air and it’s only once he sees Callum’s face does he realise the way it sounds.

Callum doesn’t say anything and Ben can’t get his words out. He is fumbling around in his pockets for the tickets, Lexi had drawn Callum his own ticket while he was getting ready so he would have one to bring before Ben could pick up the other.

He hands him the ticket, still unable to get any words out, for fuck sake, he is Ben Mitchell!! Talking peoples ears off is what he does!

“I don’t know what this is,” Callum tells him as he looks down at the picture

“I mean she wants very clear with me either if I’m honest, but I’m her dad and I’m supposed to understand her drawings! I know that’s you,” he says pointing down to one of the drawings “I think that’s me, that’s definitely a princess, which would make that Lexi!”

“Ok?”

“It’s a ticket,” Ben tells him “I had forgotten that I promised to take her to see Sleeping Beauty and it’s tomorrow night! If you would like to come with us, then Lexi has made you your own ticket, if you don’t it’s fine and I complete understand if you don’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with me and Lex- umph!” He is cut off by Callum’s lips on his own.

His hands move to the side of his face. It’s a kiss with his full force, it’s not exactly passionate or romantic but it feels a little more. It feel distinctively like love and Ben can’t help but feel it in every part of him.

It’s at that moment that he realises that it’s never really mattered when he has told Callum he loves him because it’s never going to be big enough. He is never going to be able to find a way to tell him he loves him that encompasses everything he feels. He spent a long time running away from feeling anything only to find Callum and feel everything.

“I would love to spend my Valentine’s Day with the two of you. Thank you for including me.” He tells Ben. Like he would even want to arrange a single thing that didn’t include him. Their lips are barely parted and he can feel every word that Callum says.

“I love you.” The words feel deafening in the silence of the small room.

He can feel Callum smile against his own lips, both of his hands now cupping Ben’s face.

“Say it again, please.”

“I love you, Callum.”

Callum sighs into his mouth just as he kisses him but it’s a different sigh this time. It’s more a sigh of being content than anything else and Ben feels weird.

It’s a good weird though, it’s like a million feelings mixing with a million realisations. He feels good here with Callum. It feels right. It feels like home.

Callum is the home he’s wanted for so long. The one he has craved and fought for. The one he has pretended not to need when he was on the edge and barely holding on. Callum and Lexi. They are his family and that is all he will ever need.

“I should just point out,” Ben says, unable to stop himself from spoiling the moment “you’re going to have to eat a shit load of chicken nuggets!” The laugh that comes from Callum sits in his chest for a long time.

#bvd20 #ballum secret valentine #ben x callum #eastenders #ballum #fanfic

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suzie-guru · 6 years

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Strange Magic FanFic - “Between the Shadow and the Soul”: Chapter Ten

Chapter 9

Two years. It’s been two years since I updated this story. I can’t believe it.

Well, I can believe it, but good God, I wish it hadn’t been so long - you can blame it on starting then pulling out of Grad School, grandparents on both sides of my family falling seriously ill, losing not one but two jobs, dealing with/caring for the mental illnesses of both family and friends, and then as a grand finale, my own dealings with the ever delightful demon known as depression. It’s been a hell of a ride, with emphasis on “hell”. There were times where I was positive I would never be able to write again, let alone return to this story...

...but, slow as it has been, slow as it is doubtlessly going to be in the future, I wrote it. Word after word became sentence after sentence, then page after page...and now here we are.

I just want to say I would have never been able to do it without the support and love and care and wisdom that you have provided. And I mean ALL of you. I know that in the grand scheme of things, updating a fanfic doesn’t mean that much, but...this story is incredibly dear to me. The thought of finishing it is what keeps me going though some very dark times. So please know that I am so desperately thankful to those of you who bore the waiting with patience and offered me support and kindness and love during the hellish periods I’ve gone through these last two years. As I have always and will always say, the Strange Magic fandom is the BEST fandom. I love you deeply and dearly, darlings.

I want to dedicate this chapter to my dearest friend @dainesanddaffodils , whose birthday it is today (and which she shares with a certain Goblin King according to my own personal head canons for Strange Magic). Tangy, my darling, my bestie...you are one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I am so much the better having you in my world. You’ve been a never ending source of kindness and compassion, sweetness and support, and this Chapter couldn’t have happened without you. Happy Birthday, sweetheart - you make my heart sing <3

And now...on to Bog and Marianne’s reunion. As always, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Ten

The sky curving above the Border was a blue so soft and sweet the desire to reach out for it was not a mere, fleeting fancy but a need.

The thought of fingers curling up through the air with cautious craving was one every heart harbored, the soft, sifting warmth of the soil churning up beneath feet banishing the memories of frost flashes and sudden snows. All the while, the sky stayed true and blue, only a few curls of clouds crossing it as the sun stayed steady in its warmth. The bud of Spring was starting to blossom, and the fingers that curled to the sky were brushed by a wind that had no bite of Winter but a teasing and tender warmth, twining around them, purring and perfumed. The scent was one of damp, dark soil freed from the iron freeze of Winter, grass growing victoriously verdant after suffocating under snow, and the sweet scent of blooms opening onto a new world, their perfume as delicate as the very petals they unfolded. With a patience and readiness each had carried since a seed, flowers turned their faces to the sun, welcoming the returning warmth of the sunlight as it spread over them.

And as always, none welcomed the dearly missed sun more so than the primroses.

They bloomed tall and proud and beautiful as ever, light and shadow playing over tender, newly opened petals delicately fanning out and fluttering in the warm wind. The sunlight fell upon the blooms with a gentle generosity, a radiance reserved for their best beloved. One little primrose seemed to nod its head in gratitude, the silken blush of its pink petals bobbing gently before tipping up once more to the bright beams and the soft sweet blue stretching high above it.

The heavy blade sliced through the stem with a satisfying thwack, and the silken petals fluttered once more as the flower fell to the earth like a star, splaying upon the dirt, softness spread over the soil with innocent beauty.

Bog took a particularly vicious satisfaction in spearing it with his scepter, ripping and rending the pliant lushness of the petals – and all magic they contained–beyond repair. Once done, he looked down upon it with triumphant contempt, his sneer of victory close to a snarl. Ensorcell the soil with your miserable magic, ye damn thing.

Done with the act – which felt cathartically close to retribution – he shook the mangled mess free from his scepter with a contemptuous growl and seized a handful of plush moss, wrenching it free with such violence that clods of earth tumbled between of his clenched claws. With rough strokes, he wiped any sticky residue that lingered, scowling all the while. Like hells he was going to have the symbol of his rule carry the scent of the damned things. Probably could rub it down with some mud as well…

Although what with how said mud had only come to be from the earth thawing, it would still make his mind move back to Spring…

Bog sighed and let the moss fall to the floor of the Forest, looking around him with fatigued vexation. Like he had to think of any damn thing to be troubled. Hells, he was bloody surrounded by every single sight of the season—

There was a sudden cry above him. “Sire, watch out!”

Bog looked up just in time to get a face full of primroses, a multitude of toppled stalks showering down from above, the petals pattering upon him like pink, perfumed rain.

With a snarl of incandescent irritation, Bog tore them off him with such savagery he felt the swipe and scrape of his own claws across his scales. This time he didn’t bother with his scepter, grinding the blasted things beneath his heel, mangling any magic before kicking them away so hard several pebbles and a spray of soil accompanied them. He then turned his face to the top of the Border, the blue of his eyes venomously bright as they slit in a glare.

The goblins perched atop of the primroses watched him with wide eyes and frozen features, their breath bated by the prospect of the brutal bout of ferocious fury that their King was no doubt only moments away. A few traitorous glances revealed the doomed perpetrator, and Bog turned his glower upon them.

Thang swallowed at the sight of his King, before licking his lips. When he spoke, his lisp even more pathetic than usual. “…Sorry?”

Bog could feel the roar of rage forming in his throat, a hard and bitter and ugly thing, the beginnings of his growl scraping up his gullet like a hard and harsh stone. Beneath his cloak, his wings began their tell-tale twitch of temper, gnarled knuckles taut as he gripped his scepter, his claws scrapping along it, several new nicks resulting. Staring up from beneath a murderously furrowed brow, Bog gave Thang the full force of his glare as he bared his fangs, ready to unleash all the hells he could summon—

—and then suddenly the fire of his fury was snuffed out in a strange swirl of smoke, and with a sudden and aching intensity, Bog felt enormously empty. What does it bloody matter?

He sighed, his wings falling limply down his back, and passed a scarred palm over his face and the scales of his scalp. When he spoke, his mutter was low and rough and tired. “Bloody be more careful, Thang.”

He turned his back on their stunned faces and strode off down the Border, trying to ignore both the whispers he had left in his wake and how the Forest was beginning to thrum with energy, the glow of growth and greenery gradually coming back overhead and underfoot. Instead, he focused upon the crunch of his feet over leaves long dead and the slide of his cloak over grass now gray. But even the garment was a reminder, simply bat wings now, no need for insulating moss what with the warmth slowly but certainly coming back to the air. And though leaves long dead and gray grass was on the ground, tender new growth far outnumbered them, buds hanging heavy on branches in soft clusters.

There was no use denying it – soft and slow as it was, the season was a seed now flourishing fast. Spring had come back.

But she hasn’t…

Bog scowled and swatted down another primrose bobbing boldly in the breeze, the twist of his heart robbing him of any satisfaction in watching it fall. To steal a phrase from his mother, that was the bloody bitter seed in the midst of all the flowering fruit, wasn’t it?

He had never welcomed Spring. Well, perhaps when he was younger, before the bloody Potion had come into his life. But Bog was a creature of hardness and habit, favoring control and certainty in a world of chaos. And foolishly – so foolishly – he had let himself slip away from the comfortable contempt of this season, all because it had carried the promise of seeing her again…

And now it was bloody Spring and everything was turning bloody green and bloody blooming, especially those bloody, blasted primroses, and she still wasn’t bloody here, and he was about bloody ready to bloody molt—

“Impetuous.”

The hiss of the word, a dagger drawn from the sheaf of memory, pierced him clean through, the echo of that infernal creature’s voice stopping him with a sudden and sickening halt, before Bog groaned in self-disgust. Bloody proving her right, aren’t you?

Hells, but he was pathetic. A few days – or weeks, not that he was so callow as to be counting – denied of the return of the fairies from their Migration, and he was back to the surly, stroppy youth of yore, green to governing and impatient to the point of irritation. You’re starting your bloody sixteenth year of ruling, git. Try and bloody act like it.

Never mind that in all those years he had never had to be separated from someone like Marianne. God, even after falling in love, he hadn’t had the pain of being parted from Fen—

Bog bit his lower lip till the rust of blood welled up under his fangs and passed his tongue over the wound. Logically, he knew he was being a fool. Logically, Bog knew that such a journey would take time, the path back home just as consuming and demanding the same caution and care.

But hearts and logic never kept company, and his was apparently fixed to sulk over any and all delays. Bog scowled, feeling the burn of shame. Fine thing for a King to do.

Especially when there was the all-too-likely fact that unlike her first journey, Marianne had to keep the company of the golden dolt for this one. Any pains he suffered paled in comparison to that, and Bog found himself not only gripped by impatience but by wretched worry for her. Let her be alright…

Had those been the sole factors in his frustration, Bog would have content to claim them, beat them back, and leave it at that. But—

Concern a King can claim, and impatience was always in your blood. But there’s another beastie in your breast that clawing at you, fool—

Bog twitched his head, cracked his neck so that the noise of it echoed off the trees, and began to walk once more, his scepter swinging by his side, his strides long. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t walk away from that poisonous voice of old, tunneling into his thoughts like rot through a tree.

Fear is something no Goblin should carry, least of all the King of them. And for all your pining and whining—

Bog bared his teeth, a snarl tucked behind them, but the voice kept on.

—you’re afraid to see her once again.

This time Bog did snarl, the sound of it so harsh it was a wonder the tender new leaves around him didn’t shred under the sound of it. Him, afraid? Load of rot. Fear was another instrument of chaos, and he had bloody well beat that back, hadn’t he?

Bog scoffed, his certainty making it stronger. Besides, even though it was bloody impossible and wasn’t the case, it wasn’t because he had a strange sort of…fear over seeing Marianne again.

Because he didn’t.

At all.

Bog scowled and gave his scepter another savage swipe, another stalk sent toppling and another primrose felled. He paid it no mind even as he ground it beneath his thorny heel. Gods be good, he was the thrice damned King of the Dark Forest, he could bloody well do what was expected of his position, that of reaffirming the connection and communication that existed between his Kingdom and the Fairy Kingdom included.

Bog stopped his stalking to mutter a curse and scrub a harsh hand over features that felt harsher still. It seemed so bloody simple when put like that: ruler meeting with ruler to reaffirm diplomatic goals and gains, the King of the Dark Forest meeting once again with the Queen of the Fairy Kingdom. Hells, it wasn’t like it wasn’t the bloody truth.

But…

Bog sighed, low and long, before planting his scepter into the ground. No one else in sight, he turned away from the Border to let himself lean against a tree, his claws scrapping over the knotted bark mindlessly. The few clouds in the sky curled around the sun, causing it to disappear and coldness to creep back a bit as Bog let his eyes stare out beyond the Border, the blue of them unseeing, the depth of them deep with thought.

It was…part of the truth. A seed split in two but giving the same bloom all the same. He was a King and she was a Queen, both throwing their lots in with the other, and he had no true dread contemplating the likelihood of continuing such a path once they had reunited.

Reunited…

Bog closed his eyes and passed a hand over the scales of his scalp, the gesture no longer harsh, but weary.

He was King, aye. But…

It was not it was not the thought of a Queen whose return sent his heart racing.

It was Marianne.

The fact was even after everything, after all he had devoted to the diplomacy, all he could give a damn about was having her back.

And gods, how that made him burn with shame. His guts twisted at the dismay and disgust he could so easily see on her face if she found out he felt so, what with how dear the diplomacy was to her…

Bog gave another curse, this one far more heart-sore. If they had kept it to only being King and Queen, to only being connected by diplomatic communication, perhaps he wouldn’t be acting so—

Awash with such—

Bog’s sigh was a shredded thing as it passed through his fangs, any curse befitting his state beyond his ken, and he sagged against the tree trunk, the bat wings of his cape barely protecting his back from the bite of the bark. Gods.

What was the worst, what was the absolute bloody worst, was that his damned heart, that was supposed to be too sore and scarred for fluttering, couldn’t seem to decide if it was avaricious in anticipation or aching with anxiety. Bog would have clawed it out from beneath his carapace if he hadn’t needed the stupid thing, so riddled by nerves was it.

But…gods help him, how could he not be? When there were so many things that could go wrong…

He had spent so much time thinking of her, dreaming of seeing her, his thoughts had become nothing so much more than a cyclone of concern, the whirl of them sharpened with cynicism, cutting his soul to the quick.

What if it isn’t everything you want? Do you even know what you bloody want, you fool? You could come off as too eager to see her—

But then if you come off as too cold—

Bog pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. Then there was Marianne to think about, good gods—

What will her reaction be? What if she has no reaction? The letter showed she missed m—our talks, but what if she misses the memory of them more?

…Gods, what if I disappoint her?

Bog closed his eyes as pain lanced through him at that. It was ridiculous, not to mention the worst kind of traitorous to even harbor such thoughts. But the thought that truly shamed him, made him yearn to rip his heart out over the sheer offense of what it betrayed was that…

Bog sighed as he dropped his head, the aching weight of shame making his heart so very heavy.

…was that the possibility of everything going right only served to make him far more terrified than the thought of everything going wrong.

He...he was not one for whom things turned out right. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him.

They never do for hideous beasts. Why would you be the exception, ye old fool—?

Bog closed his eyes against the voice, but could not keep back his sigh. Old. Gods, but he felt it now. He couldn’t remember a Winter weighing on him more, making him feel every ache in his bones. And now with the passing of his thirty-fourth Spring so soon to come, he could only wearily resign himself to more.

He had felt so young with her…

And now such a feeling felt impossibly beyond his reach now, as far away as she was right now…

Even with the sky so blue, the wind so warm, Bog grew cold. Hells…even with the warmth of this wretched season keeping the cold at bay, who was to say that Winter could not come again? He had awoken many mornings to snow falling on the day of his birth, a shock to the tender shoots and roots. He had taken bitter satisfaction at Spring being staved off so savagely, but now…

Another fall of frost, another casting of coldness…it all just keeps her away.

Bog sighed once more, the sound of it gusty and deep as it rolled from him, like the wind that had so howled over the Fields this Winter, bitter-strong in its song as it cut to the very bone.

Then…

Ever so faintly from the Fields came a sound, one that was lilting, lifting with the light of the sun, the soft strumming of strings almost like sunlight in that it was felt before it was heard.

Bog lifted his head, bewildered. Music…?

With a wariness he knew to be ridiculous, Bog cautiously stepped away from his tree to come closer to the Border, the tangle of vines thickened with ones long dead and new growth. With the dexterity of his youthful adventures he hadn’t quite managed to lose, Bog climbed the thicket, relishing the burn such activity put in his chest, the roughness of the vines beneath his hands, thankful he hadn’t simply flown.

When he finally made it to the top, the Fields stretched before him, no longer barren of life but still nowhere near the state of bloom that came with the height of Spring and stretched into the sultry days of Summer. The green growth carpeting the land was tender and soft, some parts still hidden by stubborn snow. The looming gray shape of the Fairy Palace was no longer stark against a stretch of snow, patches of velvety green lichen spattering it as if some of the Forest had come over with all the diplomacy work…

Still, the sight of it sent a stinging sort of longing through him, and Bog averted his eyes, allowing them to wander, searching for the source of the song. They came to rest upon the Elf Village, and his heart gave a queer ache at the song drifting up from the huts and houses, the melody softly building in its strength, carrying all the closer to him.

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

The tune was simple and sweet, the voices carried the slow certainty of a blossoming bulb. Though Bog could not see from such a distance, he could easily imagine the look of happiness upon each face of those who had been so beset by snows and sleet, their faces beaming as surely as the source of light they sang for.

And strangely enough, the sun did seem to be getting stronger, clouds fleeing from it, no longer able to keep back its the warmth…

“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold lonely winter… Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here…”

Bog found himself leaning against one of the trees of the Border quite without realizing it. He would have wondered at falling into such a state of entrancement, but those lyrics...

The longest, loneliest Winter in his memory, but now…

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

Goblins had no such songs. Frankly, no goblins had ever welcomed the return of the sun. The return of warmth, yes. The return of freedom from freezing frost and stupor from snows, undoubtedly. But to welcome the light that pierced the foliage and fortress of their Forest? Darkness was theirs, and while sunlight did not blister or burn them as legends of the Light Fields said, it was not something they sought, let alone sing about. Sunlight was not a cause for disdain or distaste, but it was one for distrust.

Likewise, Bog could confess that he held no reason to begrudge sunlight, excepting for the fact that it revealed him in all his hideousness, hard features made harsher still under its strong rays. Darkness was kinder to him, always had been, but the sun was not his enemy – it only aided its blossoming.

But now…

“Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces… Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here… Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… And I say it’s all right…”

Now…Bog was tempted to see it as a herald. Or, at the very least, the song it inspired was. One that served as a reminder, a beam of warmth that fell across the darkness of his mood, the coldness of his loneliness, bringing him out of both:

Cold as it had been, long as it had stretched…Winter would retreat. Had retreated.

And aye, the primroses rose tall and triumphant, yet so did the sun, beaming and bright and beckoning other blooms into blossom, other growth into gloriousness, covering them away.

And the higher it rose, the sooner she would be back.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…”

While impatience was a weed in the soil of his soul, and anxiety and nerves would cause his claws to curl across any and all surfaces…no matter how long a day stretched, each one would end.

And with each falling of the night and rising of the sun…slowly but surely, his wait would lessen.

And her welcoming would come closer…

“Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear…”

Bog felt an odd sort of tugging at his mouth, a strange sort of squeezing in his heart, and gave an exhale that felt curiously close to a laugh. Gods, but what wonders a single song could wrought. To be fair, he had been a long time without such music. Almost as long as he had been without such light…

“Here comes the sun doo do doo do… Here comes the sun… It’s all right…”

The song faded to a soft and sweet close, and for the first time in gods knew when, Bog looked to the sun with welcome. After so long away, it had returned, bringing warmth and wonder in its wake, slowly burgeoning seeds and song.

And soon…she would be back as well.

Bog smiled, the sun falling on his face, and closed his eyes as he imagined how it would fall across wings, iridescently purple and indescribably welcome.

“It’s all right…”

The sun continued to shine, the greenery grow lush, the sky beam bright and blue, and Bog wreaked the primroses, all the while keeping his eyes on how other stalks in the Forest and the Fields grew stronger, stretching up to the skies with each passing day.

Any time he could claim as his own he spent it along the Border, eyes watchful and ears open for any more songs. After that first day with the primroses, he had had the idea of sending a group of goblins to the Elf Village to see if any further assistance was needed. Purely pragmatic, really – not only did it establish that his people wouldn’t cease in their attentions to those the fairies had left behind even with Spring returned, but it also might provide him with news on when to expect Ma–the Migration party to return.

If the reports were to be believed, the Village’s inhabitants had been truly touched by such dedication, obviously unused to a concern that continued even when a duty was done. Unfortunately, they had no news to give aside from assuring his company that the return of the fairies was not be off at all. “As soon as the flowers fully flourish, that’s when fairies fly back to the Fields, sire!”

Bog was dearly tempted to send a swat his lackey’s way when told such flowery tripe instead of an actual sodding day, but seeing as Thang was merely reporting, the blame didn’t truly lay at his webbed feet. But of bloody course this is the time he doesn’t bungle a message—

Still, a message was a message. Bog managed to temper his first instinct into a glower that had sent the smaller Goblin stumbling backwards in his hasty retreat, before concentrating on just what such words meant. When the flowers fully flourish…

Gods, it was as good as a riddle, and he hated riddles. His care towards the primroses that day had been particularly rewarding.

Now Bog fell back into his throne, closing his eyes and drawing his claws across the arms of it, the drag of them falling into the telltale grooves he had put there before. Day after day after day…

It was a new day, yes, and a new day meant a new nightfall and one day closer, but his temper was like an old root now – tough but twisting with each turn of time, bearing the burden of each passing slowly but surely. Gods, how much longer could he truly take—?

The throne room was full of his subjects, all of them bringing him reports from across the Kingdom, each one talking over the other in a tangle of tales, a meaningless mess of noise that Bog had no desire to sort out. No desire, aye, but damn well a duty.

With that in mind, Bog drew himself up, head already aching. His office didn’t carry a crown like that of the Fairy Kingdom, but heavy was the head indeed. Right.

His voice cut through the throng of voices like a blade through a tangle of roots, the slam of his scepter on the floor punctuating it. “Enough.”

The goblins immediately fell to silence, and Bog made his glower a mighty thing, sweeping it over the throng of their faces. “If ye want waste mah time with arguments, Ah’ll show ye an argument of mah own.” His claws scratched meaningfully along the length of his scepter, and he noted their collective gulp with a grim satisfaction before planting it back by his side with a heavy thunk. “If some o’ ye are inclined to make some sodding reports, step forward.” He marked each of his words with a thud of his scepter, eyes narrowed. “An’. Do. So. One. At. A. Bloody. Time.” He leaned back. “Boil, yer first.”

There was a grumble across the crowd, a few goblins groaning audibly as Boil stepped forward with an officious air, small eyes squinting in pleasure at holding power and positon, no matter how small. Bog tried not to sigh. Gods, but how he wished this windbag’s uncle didn’t hold such sway with the Elders.

Boil rolled back fat shoulders with complacent importance. “Ahem. My dark and dreaded Sire, I bring news—

“—FROM THE BORDER!”

Brutus thundered into the room, his weighty gallop sending down dust from the ceiling what with how the walls quaked, the throng of goblins likewise sent to the floor from the tremors. While Brutus tried to come to a halt, he only achieved it in form of running headlong into Boil, who flew across the room before a tree root caught him in the gut, the blow knocking him bug-eyed and windless.

Bog quickly covered his mouth with his claws, desperately trying to smother a snicker. Hells, that’s one way to deal with a windbag—

Hoping that his voice came off as rough with irritation instead of restrained laughter, he issued the necessary commands. “Moldia and Fleasley, take him to a healer. Bit of a lie down for ye, Boil.”

Boil groaned in response as he was led away, and Bog turned his attention to Brutus, his tone dropping into a scold. “Brutus, how many times have I had to tell ye not to run in the Castle?”

Brutus licked his lips and looked properly abashed. “Lost count, Sire.”

Bog sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, noting how the walls of the throne room now had several new cracks in them. Hells, now Hedgwort would be badgering him again. “Ah’d think it’d be enough to bloody stick.”

Brutus nodded, his great head bobbing up and down. “Stick this time, promise. But news! News from the Border! Flowers flourish fully!”

The crowd muttered and murmured in confusion, but Bog stilled. “…What?”

“Told to tell you! Flowers flourish fully, petals spread under sun! Elves gathering for ceremony!”

“Ceremony?” Muggon questioned, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he exchanged baffled looks with Stuff, even as Bog sat frozen on his throne, eyes wide and fixed on Brutus, his heart—

“For fairies!” The large Goblin looked around the room before shaking his great head, clearly disgusted at such slow understanding. “Flowers flourish—”

“Cheese and rye!” Thang finished wonderingly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Stuff swatted at his head. “It’s fairies fly, mud-for-brains.”

Bog stood suddenly, his heart hammering and his voice a rasp. “They’ve come back.”

“Fairies approaching!” Brutus nodded, cheeks plump with his pleased grin. “Ceremony to happen! Elves told to tell you—!”

He was cut off by the babble of the crowd, the Throne Room becoming a cavern of chaos, voices tangling once more into a tempest of noise.

For once in his rule, Bog paid such chaos no mind. It was understandable, given how his whole head and heart had flooded with need, the force of it sending his heart into a beat that was making it very hard to inhale.

Now, she’s coming now, if you go now you can finally finally finally see her—

Lost in the thrill of such thoughts, Bog was only dimly aware that his scales had begun to flair, his wings thrum, limbs tensing for takeoff—

“Impetuous.”

The clarity of that achingly familiar and always dratted voice cleaved through his heedless excitement like a sword through mist, and Bog reluctantly forced himself to settle. It wouldn’t do to fly off without a company. Besides, Brutus was still speaking, his gravely tones at odds with the childlike beam he sported.

“—said that Forest folk can come, but not all. Just few. Just how Bog King usually does it.” Brutus looked at Bog pleadingly. “Know too big for dragonflies, but can come to party, right? Since I brought message, yes?”

“A party, huh?” Moldia, back from tending to Boil, leaned at the doorway and scratched at her fronds, looking both intrigued and wary. “I wonder if they expect us to bring something. Fairies like that kind of stuff, baubles and glittery things—”

Fletcher snickered. “They would be a fan of anything that showed them their reflection.”

Farrow snorted. “Nah, that’s just that King of theirs.”

A ripple of amusement ran through the crowd, but Muggon shook his head, annoyed. “Surely there’s not enough time for that, we only just got the news that they’re coming back—”

Vexspur groaned, her trunk wilting with the exhale. “If we had spent even the smallest bit of time gathering our reports into a more organized state instead of leaving it off, we could’ve presented them—”

“The primroses had to be taken care of!”

“So what, we should slack off on presenting a good image to the Fairy Kingdom?”

“Careful, Nettles, you might get mistaken for a Fairy if you’re that image obsessed—”

“Watch your mouth!”

“Watch your ego!”

“Stop using Fairy for an insult, we’re supposed to be beyond that—!”

Bog took to the air in a thrum of wings before landing on his thrown forcefully, causing the structure to rock back and forth with a bang, the bone clacking with each movement, slamming his scepter into the arm of it to steady himself.

The goblins immediately silenced themselves, looking up to their ruler with eyes wide with both wariness and wonder over the impressively fierce figure he cut, standing so upon his throne.

“Who,” Bog announced in an effectively low growl, “does nae want their head on a stick?”

Thang was the only one to raise his hand with cheerful obliviousness. The rest of the goblins side-eyed each other nervously before raising their own hands in a cautiously rippling wave.

Bog cut his scepter to Muggon, who immediately snapped to attention. “Muggon, get the dragonflies harnessed and saddled, then take a count of how many wish to go, ye can only take so many. Brutus, ye leave to meet us there, let them know we’re comin’—”

Brutus beamed before rushing from the room in a rumbling run, and there was an immediate turmoil of voices, fierce denials of wanting to go and frantic desires to, all rising to the roof in a clamoring clash.

Bog banged his scepter down, his voice a bark. “Silence, or Ah’ll scupper yer skulls.” The harshness of his glare was as fierce as it was false, so very false when he felt so – when his heart was so—

She’s come back—

Fighting for control over the burn in his breast, the ache of anticipation in every bit of his body, Bog snapped his fingers, claws clicking. “Stuff an’ Thang, ye’ll come with me.” If ye dawdle, Ah’ll kill ye was kept behind his teeth, but just barely. Each second that passed demanded another poisonous pinch of patience that he simply did not have, not when he knew she would be there and soon, so very soon, so would he—

Only if ye make it on time, ye dolt.

Bog forcefully brought himself back and took to the air, the thrum of his wings nothing to the excited beat his heart. “Moldia, to my mother. Let her know Ah could nae wait.”

Never mind that there would be all kind of hells to pay when his mother got ahold of him for leaving her, especially when a party was involved—

Then best be off now, hmm?

Bog dove over his company and seized Stuff and Thang by the scruff of their necks, Stuff giving an indignant howl and Thang plaintively wailing that he hadn’t done anything. The crowd beneath commenced once more in their clamoring, called for more instructions.

Bog merely shot over them, grinning with fierce anticipation and something suspiciously akin to joy. “WHO WANTS TO GO TO A PARTY?”

The day blazed forth beauty, the slowness of Spring’s bloom finally rewarded through a bounty of blossoms that spread over the land in riots of color, the green grass of the Fields lush and long, swaying in rippling waves in the warm wind. The sun and sky were so bright Bog would have cursed them any other time, but now he only spared a thought for the warmth of the wind on his wings as he sped over the Fields, Stuff and Thang keeping close behind on their dragonflies. It felt just like the trips he had made before, although the past rush of anticipation was nothing compared to what he was seized with now, his scales threatening to flare from the sheer excitement, almost distracting him from his flight. Gods, but he had to get a grip on himself—

If he could see him now, soaring over the Light Fields with such frank fervor, his father would have most likely been aghast, or the very least stupefied if he was inclined to be kinder. Bog nearly snorted at the image of his so easily imagined expression, the grave growl of his voice. “Yer one song short from bein’ a bludy Fairy, boy.”

Any other time, the memory of those words would have stung, but now Bog could only laugh, the brief exhale of it still sweet. Only fer today, Da.

Though gods knew how long he would stay in such a state, now that she had come back to him—

Bog rolled his eyes impatiently, dodging a particularly tall poppy. Hells, not to him. She had come back, aye, but to her Kingdom, that was all. He wasn’t about to be so trite as to think himself special—

Bog’s frantic fervor dimmed a bit at that. Gods, let her be pleased to see him—

Let her be as happy as I am—

Bog grimaced, biting back a worried glower, gripping his scepter determinedly as he flew past another poppy, his speed causing it to snap back after he passed. There was a faint thwack, and Thang cried out, but Bog easily ignored him. It would be enough to see her, he told himself sternly. Just to know she was there, that she was back, that was enough.

Aye, but it wouldn’t hurt if there was a bit more than just that—

Bog bit the inside of his cheek, the salty gush of iron and sting of pain a sharp reminder. Dearly held dreams did not come to be for him. He wasn’t about to forget that. He wasn’t about to be a bloody boy and build his hopes up only to be disappointed if they didn’t come to be. Hells, but that wasn’t any kind of fair to Marianne.

Yes, the Winter had been a long one and the wait, gods, the sheer bloody wait had been utterly intolerable, but he wasn’t about to place that at her feet, what with everything else she had to manage—

“Sire!”

Stuff’s cry brought Bog back to his flight, and he quickly looked around to see where they were. His heart gave a jolt when he saw the buildings of the Elf Village loom before him, a thick crowd already amassing below, a song rising up to them, wordless but strong. He had heard of this tradition, the songs that the Fields sang only at such pivotal moments, the original words lost to time but still weighty with meaning for ceremonies like this, a crowning or a—

A coming back…

Bog dove, barely paying any mind to the sounds of Stuff and Thang struggling to get their steeds to follow with the same speed. It looked like they were congregating around a stage, one of the many he had been told they used for their Spring and Summer gatherings and performances, the hubbub of the crowd loud and cheerful, frank excitement on the face of each of the elves, brownies and pixies he could see. Even with how the gradual gratitude over the Winter for their aid, Bog could only hope the presence of his people wouldn’t take away from the spectacle they were so obviously anticipating…

He needn’t have worried. Now nearing, Bog saw that Brutus was in the midst of them, and noted with amused amazement that several Elf and Brownie youths had taken to climbing him like some sort of living boulder, happily dangling from his arms and neck, perched upon his mighty shoulders and thick skull. For his part, Brutus seemed utterly content, beaming benevolently as the children chattered and giggled and played, happily sitting in the square as the parents in the crowd milled around him. Bog shook his head in wonder. To see those that had once whispered rancid rumors flavored with fear about his people now allowing their babes to sport with them, watching a Goblin keep their company with fond indulgence…!

Marianne will be so pleased.

Biting back a smile, Bog swooped around a tall wheel that rose into the air and flew over the crowd, his eyes searching back and forth. Would that he knew one of the elves more than just in passing, one of them could be comfortable telling him where she would be, if she was already there—

Cries of surprise filled the air at the sight of him, and though some spoke of sudden shock, it was swiftly followed by calls of welcome, warm and sincere. Bog spared himself a moment to wonder over such a profound change the Winter had wrought before he heard it. “Your majesty! I mean, ah, Bog King, sir!”

Bog spun around, his eyes narrowing and then widening at the sight of the small Elf who had spoken, his shock of hair black hair and red head gear fashioned from the wings of a ladybug immediately familiar to him. The brother-in-law.

Bog touched down on the stage at once, striding to where the Elf was. “Ye’re back. Where are the—?”

“Yeah, she told me you might be impatient,” the Elf – gods, what the hells was his name? – chuckled. The sound was a touch nervous as he took in the dark, scaly beast of a King before him, but his smile was sincere as he continued. “I’m the first of the party to get here, I’m always sent on ahead a few days earlier to check out the Village, make a list of the damages done.” There was profound gratitude in his brown eyes as he looked up at Bog, earnest. “And there’s none. I can’t thank you enough, sir! The Village always falls into disrepair, and now it looks even better than before, it’s incredible—”

Bog waved away the thanks impatiently, his wings rattling with his fierce feelings. “If yer here, they can’t be far behind. Where are they?”

The Elf made to reply before another voice rang out from the crowd. “Sunny! Pip says he sees them just starting to cross the eastern tree line!”

The Elf – Sunny, right, that was it – immediately brightened and turned to the throng of his people, who hadn’t paused in their song. “Right, folks! We can head on over now!” He looked back to Bog with eager excitement, ready to share the happiness. “You can follow us, we know the best way to get there.”

Bog was torn between gritting his teeth and keeping his wings from buzzing from eager elation. “Where?”

“To the main royal garden! That’s where they always have the reception area. The pixies ought to have finished setting up by now, that’s what they do, it’s the brownies job to get the Palace all ready—”

The crowd had already begun to move, still singing their song. What with that and how Bog’s wings thrummed as he took to the air again he had to raise his voice to make sure he was heard. “Stuff, Thang, you follow me and then double back to guide the rest of the party behind us.” He looked to Sunny, nodding his head to Brutus. “Can some of yours wait with him to guide any stragglers?”

The young Elf nodded and then quickly and guiltily bowed, obviously still unsure just how he was supposed to treat this strange new King. “Yes sir! I mean, yes sire, sir! I mean—”

Even in the midst of his impatience, Bog had to roll his eyes with a smirk. No doubt his brother-in-law demanded the upmost formality, the ass. “As long as ye dinnae call me dirty rotten Goblin, yer fine.”

The Elf started and then laughed, the action making his eyes crease into a happy squint. “I can do that, sir. I’ll get Pare to wait back by the Border to make sure y’all are accounted for. That good?”

Bog tried to nod but gods, this waiting wasn’t any kind of kindness to his heart, the anticipation of it all a nigh unbearable ache. He couldn’t take much more. He tried to keep any of this out of his voice as he looked to the trees, the thick foliage hiding anything from his eyes. “They’ll be here soon, aye?”

But there was a new slant to the Elf’s smile as he looked up at the King of the Dark Forest, commiserating and kind. “Yeah, they will. I hated waiting to see Dawn when she got back from Migration too, sir—”

Bog would have asked what the hells he meant by that, but there was a sudden surge in the song, a crescendo of cries. “Here! They’re here!”

Bog spun around, his heart in his throat, and sure enough, there were several small shapes above the line of his land, tiny specks swirling and twirling over the swaying treetops. They were too far away to see clearly, but Bog fancied there were flashes of color now and then from the sun falling across fluttering wings.

Suddenly it was very hard to swallow. I’m going to be see her, finally see her—

It was a good job that his wings didn’t stutter as his heart did then. Gods, but after all this time, the moment had finally come. Please don’t let me make a ruin of it—

“This way, your majesty!”

Snapping back to reality, Bog trained his eyes on the Elf as the little fellow made his way through the crowd, who parted before him to let him lead at the front. Bog swiftly followed, before realizing that the whole company was earth bound and therefore kept a much slower pace than his wings allowed him, meaning he would have even longer to wait. Bog grit his teeth, resisting the urge to claw a hand across his face in frustration. Gods be sodding damned.

By the time the Fairy Palace finally came into view, Bog was near about to have a headache what with how he had ground his teeth, and was severely tempted to ditch the party entirely and find the main royal garden himself, manners be damned. It was only when he saw the gardens the crowd was aiming its track towards did his heart jolt – the same garden he and Marianne had talked by on that rainy day so long ago. Those were the main royal gardens?

“Nice, aren’t they?” Sunny called up to Bog with a grin. “Perfect place to hold the reception too, what with it being right below the ballroom balcony!” He then turned back and raised his voice. “It looks great, girls!”

Bog turned as well and saw that he was addressing a veritable swarm of pixies, their movements a swirl of motion and color as they flew to and fro between the small courtyard and the pavilion of the sprawling gardens, both of which they had transformed into veritable bowers of blooms and blossoms, the arches of the high windows garnished with garlands woven with bluebells, poppies and buttercups, their colors popping against the stone of the boulder. Likewise, the walls in the courtyard were hung with the blooms as well, while thick clusters of lilacs and freesia stood about to perfume the air. Several butterflies had already come to drink freely from the sweet blooms, and dipped in drunken dances across the space, their wings so like the heralded fairies that Bog had to squint to make sure he wasn’t mistaking them for the other. A small stage had been erected near the front of the pavilion, and Bog saw a small clustering of brownies fuss about a table bearing a frankly enormous spread of food and drinks that was no doubt for the refreshment of their long overdue court.

Bog would have been impressed - or perhaps nauseated - by the sheer spread of wealth had he hadn’t been so busy scanning the sky then, his eyes tracking back and forth as he touched down to the ground. Surely they would have made it by now—?

“Sire!” Stuff and Thang were both clambering off their dragonflies, Thang gaping about at the embellishments and elegance about him. Stuff waved to Bog, her face just holding back a grimace at the unapologetically Fairy décor – even with being a professional, apparently there was only so much her Goblin sensibilities could bear. Her voice held a subtle edge of pleading. “Shall we double back now, BK?”

Bog was about to reply when there was a sudden crescendo of song from the elves and the sky. What the hells—?

The three goblins only had a moment to look up before the rush of song crashed over them, like a wave rushing over the shore or the sun breaking out from behind a bank of clouds. Suddenly the sky above them was filled with countless beings, their wings spangling sunlight and casting the ground beneath them into various rainbow tones as the brightness of the day shone through their wings. They dipped and danced in their descent, all singing sweet and strong, and the elves broke into wild cheers – the fairies had returned, and true to form, it was done with colorful aplomb and a multitude of the sweetest of splendors. The song from the elves rose again, and the fairies echoed it back, wordless and wonderful.

Bog swiftly grabbed Stuff and Thang by the scruffs of their necks and retreated to the nearest patch of plants that would shield them from the onslaught of such songs, his head already buzzing with it. His time with at the Fairy Palace had given him some immunity to the constant use of songs in Fairy culture, but he was made of sterner stuff than either of his lackeys. Even as he deposited them at the base of some towering stargazer lilies that could serve as their refuge, Thang and Stuff were both holding their ears, Thang actually whimpering.

Bog would have rolled his eyes, but even he wasn’t that callous – his people preferred the darkness and shadows for a reason, after all. Sunlight and songs weren’t poisonous to those of the Dark Forest as the prejudices of the Fairy Kingdom had thought them to be, but singing their own songs amongst their people was a matter of willing participation and therefor something else entirely. The elves singing had been similar enough to their own that it wouldn’t trouble them. But now with the fairies back, it was like being subjected to an onslaught of blinding sunshine without any warning.

Bog spared no time in issuing his orders. “Get back to the Forest. If you see fit, collect the beeswax and pine sap for ear plugs.” He didn’t know how long the singing would last, after all.

The two of them nodded and quickly ran back to their steeds, the look on their faces profoundly grateful. Bog watched them go, their dragonflies dodging the flight of the fairies, before turning to the stage, making sure to keep himself beneath the shelter of the lilies as he watched it intently, his heartbeat picking up once more. That would be the space she would appear, he was sure of it—

Already were fairies touching down, embracing each other, greeting the elves and the brownies with friendly but formal waves. The pixies were not so restrained, and many bunches immediately flew to their favored persons to shower them with clamoring affection, causing those fairies to halt their songs in order to laugh and return such nuzzling. Bog spotted the little yellow one, Daffodil, shower a young blonde Fairy with gleeful little kisses, and could only hope she wouldn’t spot him.

Then—

In the midst of the greens and yellows and pale blues shining upon the ground, there was sudden flash of purple, and Bog’s heart nearly seized—

And there she was.

Marianne gracefully touched down upon the stage with her sister, the sun striking across her brow and the golden-green band of her crown, making her dark locks gleam and her skin glow. She wasn’t singing the song of her people, instead wearing an expression of furrowed concentration, looking around her as her sister twirled across the stage in a delirious dance of happiness. No doubt she was taking stock of the situation, making sure all was well.

And why wouldn’t she, thought Bog, determinedly ignoring how his heart was now thumping with positively painful thuds in his chest. Hells, but to be back after so long, of course that would be her first concern, not some silly song or—

—or looking for him—

He couldn’t help himself, stop himself from watching her, each flick of her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her ear, the path of her hands as they smoothed at her top, each tilt of her chin as her head moved back and forth to take in the spectacle of their homecoming, her eyes – those eyes, gods, but to see them again – searching over the crowd. The Elf was up on the stage now, rushing to embrace his wife, and the young Queen smiled softly at the sight of them as they twirled around in their bliss at being back together, at being home, even after spending their Winter together.

A few feet away on the stage, the golden oaf had landed and was immediately greeted with a hail of cheers, causing him to laugh loudly, throwing his head back with the gesture, his armor and crown gleaming. He waved a hand over at Queen Marianne to come over to him, not even looking to see if she obeyed. Her soft smile fell for a resigned eye roll and a slight pull of lip that could have been a grimace as she turned to walk towards her King.

All this Bog saw, drinking her in like the most parched of beasts at a spring, aching to reach out for her, to her—

But then her footsteps to Roland abruptly halted as she looked to the lilies.

And the King they sheltered.

Bog’s mind blanked. She had seen him.

Oh gods…

In the midst of the moment, Bog was aware enough to know that the world did not stop, though for the briefest breath it felt as though his heart had as their eyes met.

It did not stop, but continued on with the inane formalities of the ceremonies of returning, the throng still very much present and still very much intent on singing their songs, elves and brownies and pixies raising their voices in warm welcome, whilst the fairies replied with a deep delight in an arrival long denied. None of this ceased when Marianne’s eyes met his.

Yet the need to move along with the rush of it, to participate in power plays and politics, was simply exposed as nothing in comparison to the need to drown in that long denied golden gaze, the depths of them damning any memory he had held over the Winter with their living luster.

Bog found that the former fervor that had so consumed him until now was now easily brushed away in their presence. In fact, his only concern was to take in how those amber eyes widened in that achingly familiar way, how the dark, lush line of her lashes fluttered in the Spring breeze, how her face reminded him of a flower, open and fresh and fixed on him, like he was the light so long denied…

She was there, just across the crowd from him, so far and yet so close, the closest she had been to him and him to her for so very, very long—

And then she smiled.

And if her face was a flower before, now it was a garden, blooming bright with a beauty hidden away for far too long, and Bog’s heart near about burst, his incredulous delight was so great.

For me, all for me, such happiness and all because of me—

Bog knew he must look an absolute fool, completely unable to keep his smile from burgeoning across his face, but Marianne’s own merely spread all the more as she watched him, apparently just as content to take him in as he was with her.

In that moment, Bog dared to step into the sunlight, and its warmth on his scales was nothing compared to the light of her smile, her amber-warm eyes. His wings shivered, and for the life of him, Bog didn’t know why.

All he knew was that the thought that had kept him going through the Winter had finally come to be, the price of dearly held dreams be damned.

She’s back. She’s back and right in front of me.

As Bog stood there, surrounded by sunlight and sweetness and song and all that was deemed intolerable by his people, he could think of no place he would rather be, standing only so far away from Marianne with her smile upon him.

Of course, the rest couldn’t be that easy.

Claws scrapped down the already deep grooves of his scepter as Bog bit back a harsh exhale, fighting the urge to swat at the lilacs hanging overhead, the sickly-sweet scent of them nigh overpowering even in a good mood. In his current state, it was too bloody much.

No sooner had Marianne taken a single step in his direction and he to her when they had both been swarmed with dignitaries and nobles on both sides, all pressing for their attention, their thoughts on how the Winter had passed, every bloody detail demanded. Bog had almost yelped in the sudden onslaught, and he was direly certain that the look he had passed over the heads of the crowd was one of panic and pleading, a fine thing for a King to show—

To be fair, Marianne had looked none too happy either as she looked over her own crowd, her brow hard and flat over her eyes, her mouth fixed in a tense line as her people clamored about her, unceasing and unrelenting in what they asked of the young Queen only just returned. Bog now bit back a hard and sympathetic sigh at the memory of her face, leaning against the stalk of the lilacs, one of his mother’s many sayings brought to mind. Anyone who fantasizes about ruling is one fungi short of a fairy ring.

After the river of unrelenting questions had tapered off into a gurgle of inquiries, what had followed was a formal presentation from the Fairy Kingdom to cement their return from the Winter, then an official tour and inspection of the Palace, before this final ceremony held once again in the gardens. All of which had of course demanded more songs and dances in both the figurative and literal sense. It was to be expected, of course, given the affection fairies held for both, but as Roland made himself the focus of each song and speech, it wore on already thin nerves. Honestly, it was probably a good thing that Griselda had been having one of her allergy onslaughts and had deemed herself too sick to attend the ceremony. Bog was sure that even her love of parties would have been tested and tried by the prattling pettiness of the golden idiot.

Hells, he wouldn’t have minded it all so much if he had simply had a moment to talk with Marianne—

Bog sighed once more as he sank further back against the stalk, causing one of the blooms to bounce closer to him, the ripe perfume of it cloying and close. With aimless ease, Bog reached and ripped down one of the blossoms, rending it with idle ferocity between his claws as he watched the happy crowd with a wilting will any introvert would appreciate. Wonders of wonders, despite being King of the Dark Forest and the one of the very reasons the Winter had been such a success, Bog had managed to keep himself to the sidelines of the crowds well enough throughout all of the ceremonies. It was a fact no doubt helped by Roland’s glory seeking ways, and Bog found he didn’t give a damn about not receiving recognition as long as he wasn’t bloody expected to participate in a number. There’s diplomacy, and then there’s lunacy.

Still, he had hoped…

Bog frowned, his claws pricking at his skin as he clenched a fist. No need to get bloody greedy. Seeing her had been bloody well enough, a talk would come later.

Maybe even later that day, if he was lucky…

If he could find her, that was.

He had tried to keep her in his sights throughout everything, but Marianne had managed to slip away from the proceedings with a stealth that would do any warrior proud. Indeed, Bog would have readily offered his congratulations on that fact if only he bloody knew where she had gone off too. No doubt she had seen the same proceedings in the past and knew when to make her escape. Clever girl.

Bog let the remains of the flower fall from his fingers as he turned his head away from the crowd. No one was bloody paying attention to him now, just like they hadn’t at that past party. Perhaps…

Hells, she had once flown into his Kingdom uninvited, once upon a time. Surely he could do so now to seek her out…?

“Impetuous.”

Bog scowled and ripped another bloom from the bower before him, rending with a fine bit more of ferocity then he had the last one. Sod off, Plum, you’re not but a memory and an annoying one at that.

He was already in her Kingdom, anyway—

“Sire? Is it fair of us to leave soon?”

Bog sighed as he turned to Muggon, who looked up at his King with an expression that was pleading it was almost pained. “Muggon, if you can stomach guttin’ and skinnin’ a squirrel in the dead of Winter, ye can stomach a party for a while yet. I need to stay here.” And see if I can find her again—

“That’s hardly a fair comparison,” Muggon groused, looking thoroughly put out. “One of those things is a pleasure, the other is a pain.”

Bog nearly groaned, he was so sodding done with it all. “Muggon, fer mud’s sake, get over yer—”

“Um, your highness? Bog King?”

The two goblins immediately stopped and looked at the young Fairy maiden before them with surprise, which only seemed to make the already nervous lass all the more uncomfortable, twisting a pale golden curl around her finger and biting her rosebud of a lower lip in consternation as she took in the two fierce beings before her.

The Pixie hovering over her shoulder was what caught Bog’s attention, and he surprised himself with his smile at the sight of them. “Lady Daffodil! How fares ye?”

The Pixie chittered and chirped in delight before zooming up to him and around him a fair few times, trilling her happiness at his greeting. Muggon gaped, and the Fairy maiden blinked frankly enormous brown eyes – not the amber-gold of Marianne’s, but the soft brown of soil – in amazement. “Daffy, you know each other?”

“We met during the Winter,” Bog clarified, mildly wishing he could shoo away the creature without hurting her physically nor her feelings. Aware that Muggon was still gaping, he cleared his throat and stood his scepter in the ground, drawing himself up as regally as he could. “What is it, Lady…?”

The lass blinked again then blushed, the pink of her cheeks far outstripping any of the roses beside them. “Oh! Um, Daisy. Lady Daisy. I mean, just Daisy is fine…” she trailed off and gave a clearly embarrassed wriggle. “Whichever you prefer, sir. I mean, Sire.”

She snuck another look at Daffodil as she still merrily made her way around the dark and dire King, and was obviously unable to hold back her amazement. “I can’t believe she likes you so much…!”

Muggon dropped his gaping in favor of a scowl, and Daisy’s cheeks flushed crimson once more, but Bog merely chuckled. “Nor can I, lass. What was it ye wanted?” Amusing as it was to him, he doubted a girl as naturally nervous as she seemed had willingly come to him to chat about her little friend.

Daisy, clearly quelling under Muggon’s fierce look, started and flushed even more. “Sorry, I meant to tell you straight away – I mean, she wanted me to tell you as soon as I found you…”

She stopped herself and took a breath, straightening her shoulders and spine even as her hands tucked themselves in her skirt, still clearly nervous. “Queen Marianne sent Daffy – I mean, Daffodil to come ask you to the Library. If you wanted to meet her there, that is? Apparently she wants to talk to you—”

She stopped with a little shriek as Bog went past her in a rush of wind and wings.

Remembering himself, he flipped around midair to address Muggon. “Muggon, find Stuff and Thang and let them know Ah’m meeting with the Queen. If they wish to leave before th’ end of th’ ceremonies, tell th’ fairies my mother is ill and she needs attending to.” It was true enough, wasn’t it?

Muggon had lost any trace of his scowl in favor of panic, his dark eyes darting back and forth between his King and Daisy. “Alright, but – ah – what do I do afterwards, your majesty?”

Bog favored him with a slightly evil smile. “Why, enjoy th’ conversation with this fine lass, mah good Goblin.”

Muggon scowled once more, gritting his teeth so hard Bog could easily imagine the dagger he was certain his lackey was yearning for in that moment. His smile growing, he inclined his head to Daisy, who also seemed less then enthused about keeping her current company. In fact, the girl looked rather faint. “A great gratitude to ye, my dear, but Ah best go now – it would nae do ta keep yer Queen waiting, would it?”

Hells, like he would be able to be kept waiting any longer—

“Hmph! Since when do you ever?”

With that dratted voice in his ears and that thought in mind, Bog rolled back into his original path and sped through the air, the sight of Muggon shooting him a discrete obscene gesture doing nothing to stop the chuckle he had to give.

A chat in the library, eh? He could do that. He most certainly could do that indeed.

The route to the Library was as well-known and familiar as ever, though sheets were now draped over the furniture, no doubt as protection from the dust and frosts of the Winter. They would’ve made a ghostly sight if not for the swarms of pixies taking them off and shaking them out, chirping and cheeping merrily, buzzing about in bright swirls of color.

That was until Bog passed by, and the small clouds of them were scattered, the wee things tumbling back with shrill little screams from the force of his speed. Looking back, Bog gave an apologetic grimace before continuing on, still intent. So close, he was so close—

And then he was there, almost all too soon, the doors of the Library looming before him.

His frantic flight at an end, Bog touched down, the buzzing of his wings slowing to a stop as a strange sort of trepidation coming over his heart. Just beyond the doors, that was where she was…

They could finally talk after all this time, just like before…

A Winter without her, and now she was here, just a few feet of wood and gilt separating them the only barrier between them now…

Bog lifted his fist, then lowered it, his heart giving a queer thud. What if he did something to ruin it?

Enough stalling, ye great coward.

Bog closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could manage, the feel of it rattling through his scales before he let it out in a great gust and knocked on the door before his nerve could fail him, his heart echoing the hammer of it.

There was silence, and for a few heartsick seconds, Bog wondered if the Fairy maid had been mistaken—

Then a familiar alto called out curiously, even cautiously. “Who is it?”

Oh gods.

It took Bog several seconds to find the breath for his reply, meager as it was. “Me.”

There was a pause that seemed to last forever to Bog, and he began to panic anew. Oh hells, had he already done something wrong—?

Then the door opened with a great heave, and there was Marianne, standing there with a smile of such sincerity upon her face Bog felt his heart stutter.

She looked…

Bog wasn’t sure how he managed the few steps past the doorway, Marianne quickly stepping back to let him through, but somehow he did it with enough sense not to stumble as he drank her in.

She had changed out of her traveling outfit into a new gown, the purple iris petals hugging her slender waist like a lover’s embrace. Her hair seemed lighter, a bit more golden-red then when he had last seen her, and there was a glow of sun to her skin. Even her wings seemed to shimmer with a new iridescence as they flowed behind her. Undoubtedly it was all because of the sunlight she had seen in the South.

Or perhaps his memory had betrayed him and she had always looked so bright, so—

Thoughts and feelings crashed through him, words tumbling upon his tongue before he just managed to keep them back behind his fangs. The thing that remained clear in the tumult of it all was the desire to take her in, bask in her being there, right there, when for so long she hadn’t. This whole time he had felt it, had fought against the fast-burgeoning bud of it in him, impatient and ill-concealed no matter how hard he had tried to dismiss it.

Now it was all he could to steady his drinking in of the shine of those dark locks under the light of the Library, that warm flush in those cheeks and the amber flash of those eyes he had – so dearly – missed, all of her so tangible and so there—

He wanted…

Marianne let out a soft, breathless laugh under the continued silence, bashful but beaming, her eyes sweeping down and her wee white teeth catching at her lower lip in a vulnerable bite, slender fingers twisting at each other, hands clasping together for comfort. Bog’s fingers itched to curl along them, feel the press of her palm against his once more, hold her—

Hold her.

He wanted to hold her.

The tempest storming within him came to a crashing calm as Bog’s mind blanked with shock. He wanted to hold her?

—hold her hug her embrace her feel her heartbeat against his know that she was there, there there there, with him—

Bog tried very hard not to reel. He – that – that was completely inappropriate, especially between two rulers, rulers of neighboring kingdoms—!

—but between you and her—

Bog viciously pushed the thought away. They were a King and a Queen. His kind may have never set much store in fluttery, fanciful forms of formality, but some codes had to be observed, impetuous impulses or not.

More importantly, such an action would be undoubtedly shocking for Marianne, most definitely unwelcome—

Like anyone would welcome being in your arms—

The hot, discomforting prickle of angry acknowledgement and bitter acceptance in the wake of that venomous old voice brought Bog back to the fact that he was still stewing in silence whilst the poor girl was waiting for him to speak, amber eyes wide and getting worried—

You great git, bloody well do something.

His hand nearly shot forward in decisive determination before Bog caught himself in time and gentled the action, claws curling in careful consideration, his palm open and up and undemanding. No matter what her response would be, a returning clasp or a rejection, it was hers to make and his to readily accept.

Marianne looked up at him, eyes still wide, and something in them flickered, a faint flame of something – disappointment? – in those amber depths before she softly placed her hand in his.

For one brief moment, so brief that Bog could have easily dismissed it as mere imagination, her fingers seemed to curl at his, clasp him closer, a coil of power tensing through her arm like she was preparing to tug, pull him to her—

And then those glowing gold eyes ducked down, and Marianne gave another soft, bashful laugh, giving his hand a firm shake before letting go and clasping her hands together, tucking them into her skirt. Her voice carried the same warmth and edge of embarrassment that traced her smile. “It’s…good to see you again, Bog King.”

Bog had to fight once more for the breath that formed his reply, and even then, it was a trial to get the words out. “And…and you, Queen Marianne.”

Oh, brilliantly spoken, you great git. Yer winning awards for sheer prose.

Marianne gave another laugh that distracted that poisonous voice, breathless and bashful still. “I—I mean, it’s incredibly good to talk to you, face to face. I was so scared that we wouldn’t be able to, if you needed to get back to your Kingdom—” she stopped and looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t need to go now, do you?”

Bog gave a laugh of his own, even softer than hers, both amused and touched at her endless concern. “I—no, there’s no worry of that. They know that I wanted—I mean, that I needed to be here. I…”

He paused and hoped his words didn’t betray his heart. “…I can stay as long as you need me to.”

Marianne’s smile was so giddy with gladness that Bog almost had to grin himself, it was so infectious. “Good. I mean—!” she stopped and stumbled, her words and wants so clearly conflicting, her hands leaving her skirt to twist at each other. “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to stay as long as I want you to, because, well, I know that, ah, the ceremony and the tour must have been quite tiring and, um, tedious, I mean, hell, it’s tedious even for me and I’m the Queen here—”

She stopped again then sighed before letting her head drop into her hand, her crown gleaming with the gesture and her voice muffled. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this.”

“This?” Bog knew he shouldn’t be grinning, but gods, he couldn’t help it, he so loved hearing her voice again, after a Winter of its silence, and she was so…endearing when she let her words carry her away—

Marianne looked up to give him an apologetic, lop-sided smile. “Babble. Get clumsy. I always do that when I’m hap—” she stopped and cleared her throat, bringing a hand through her hair as a blush came back on her cheeks, “—when my emotions get the better of me. I…”

She stopped again and her blush deepened before she took a deep breath and straightened her spine, her skirt rustling. “Well…suffice to say, I didn’t and don’t want to waste your time. That’s not the point of the diplomacy, and I know that you’re probably sick of all the songs and dances we put on in this Kingdom when it comes to politics—”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Bog replied, smiling wryly. “Particularly when your King is the one singing and dancing them.”

Marianne snorted before controlling herself. “Regardless, I wanted you to know how deeply we appreciated everything you’ve done this past season.” She laid her hand on his forearm, and Bog felt a prickling warmth flood from the spot, her the press of her palm sinking into him like something he had no words for—

Marianne continued on, oblivious of the effect such a simple touch was having on him, and Bog fought to regain what control he could and pay attention to her words. “—practically sang about how much the fireroot helped them this season. You know how much music means to this Kingdom, so that’s huge coming from them. And then to have invited you to one of their communal sings—!”

She stopped and exhaled, a great gust of pleasure. “I knew it was going to be a success. But to have such an outpouring, to have them make such a point of singing your praises to everyone, and to see them greet your people with such good cheer…”

Bog smiled with pleased wryness. “It almost makes this Winter worth it.”

Marianne looked at him concernedly. “What do you mean?”

Bog immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. “Nothing, it’s nothing, I promise you—”

She didn’t need to hear about how he had fared, after all—

Marianne put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look, her manner so like his mother’s that Bog almost laughed.

Instead, he tried not to do her any disservice and fought to find the right words, ones that would pacify and yet inform, divulge and yet not be steeped in self-pity. “This Winter…”

Was hell? Hateful? A bane because you were gone?

Bog cleared his throat and raised a shoulder, setting his scales to crackle as he dropped his gaze away from her, feeling something close to almost…bashful? “Well…it seemed a long one.”

He couldn’t very well tell her it was made all the longer by her absence, after all, he wasn’t about to pile on meaningless guilt, not when she was here now—

“I know what you mean.” She turned and walked to the table, leaning against with a carelessness one wouldn’t think would come from a Queen. The gesture was so familiar and welcome that Bog only just restrained his pleasure at it in a half smile.

Marianne caught it and a smile of her own blossomed upon her face as she took him in, the look in her eyes fond. “I hope at the very least yours was better than mine.”

Doubtful, that. But there was something beneath that amber-gold gleam, something staining her tone that made Bog look at her in concern as he joined her at the table. “It was a trying Winter for you as well?”

For while he was sure any Fairy would be nothing but happy to be away from the snows and drenched in sunshine, Marianne was different. He had reread her letter enough times to recall her words, the cursive carefully constraining an unhappiness Bog was all too ready to remedy.

Marianne sighed, her smile dropping along with her eyes, and she studied her hands as they twined together in front of her. “Well, some parts were…lovely. Being with Dawn and Sunny, seeing Jasmine, that was great.” Her lips curved in a brief hint of a half-smile before it fell once more, and she fell into pensive, almost pained lines. “But, there…there was…other stuff.” Her brow furrowed, and her lip curled. “Council stuff.”

Bog drew his head up at that, a sage and sad understanding in his voice. “Ah.”

“Right.” Marianne rolled her eyes, an unhappy scowl twisting her fine features. “Shockingly, they weren’t pleased with my reports about all that you and I accomplished this Fall, nor by the fact that I was still so eager to continue working on our diplomatic aims even during our stay in the Southern Fairy Empire. Apparently, they were under the impression that a Winter away from y—”

She stopped and flushed before continuing, speaking with what seemed to be more care. “A Winter away from here would have caused the flame of my enthusiasm to cool.” She smirked unhappily. “So to speak.”

Bog looked at her, her small stature smaller in her unhappiness as her shoulders drew up and she crossed her arms in front of her, and a positive deluge of distress made his fingers twitch with the need to reach out to her as she stood by the table, take her hand, comfort her somehow.

He set his jaw and contented himself with moving closer, hoping that his voice held some of the pained sympathy so heavy in his heart. “Ah’m sorry…”

Disquietingly, Marianne seemed to withdraw further at that, ducking her head down as she spoke once more, her voice strangely dull. “I wouldn’t have minded so much, but then they…” she sighed gustily before raising her head to meet Bog’s worried gaze, her face almost brutally blank. “They apparently used the Fall to do some brainstorming sessions themselves, to think of ways to improve the moral of the Kingdom other than diplomacy.”

Bog blinked before sputtering in his shock. “But…it’s a success! We know it to be—”

Marianne laughed, soft and bitter. “Like they would let that stop them. Prejudice is a weed that never stops. It just finds new ways to grow back.” She ran a hand through her hair, rough enough that her crown was set slightly askew, sighing as she did so. “The Council had many…” her lip curled, “…suggestions for alternate ways in which to improve the moral of the Kingdom.” Her voice became dull once more. “One way garnered almost…unequivocal support.”

Bog raised a scaly brow at her, trying to ignore the foreboding unfurling in him like some awful bloom. “Which is…?”

She looked away. “An heir to the throne.”

Bog could only stare at her in the silence that followed, the slow rise of horror within him sticking in his throat, stopping him from speaking.

No…oh gods, no…

Marianne’s shoulders rose and fell with her silent, deep inhale, before she looked up with a briskness that bordered on brusque. She then turned to the table with a tenseness in her shoulders that traveled down her wings as she began to sort through the papers on the tabletop, gathering and shuffling them in a forceful manner that seemed to hold no true rhyme or reason. “Like that will happen. Still, good to know that they recognize my worth.” Her voice was as bitter as belladonna seeds, brittle as bones. “Roland’s the King. I’m the breeder.”

Bog stared at her, horrified at the resignation in her voice, and the words left his mouth before he could even think. “You’re the heir to the throne.”

She looked up at him sharply, her brow furrowing, the papers slacking out of her grip.

Bog continued, urgent and low, determined to make her see, make her understand that she was not – that she was so much more – “You were born to rule, a royal by blood and character. He had to marry you to get whatever power he has. He is nothing without you.”

He is nothing compared to you.

Marianne’s wide eyes were had grown wider still, and she was so silent as she stared at him Bog wondered if her very breath had stopped. The look in her eyes was one of an almost unnerving intensity, as if there was a chance that if she were to give even the merest blink, he would disappear.

And she desperately didn’t want that…

The thought came so suddenly that it was Bog who blinked, before furiously focusing on something else so he would not follow such an idea. Looking away, he cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders with a crackle of scales. “B-besides, if the need for the heir was so very pressing…” he paused to look at Marianne, careful cautious concern at odds with honest confusion, “…is not adoption an equal path to parenthood?”

Marianne blinked and started, passing a hand through her hair once more and making a noise that was somehow a huff of laughter and a shaky exhale. “It…it absolutely is, but…the Council isn’t concerned about parenthood. They want an heir. Someone to continue the royal bloodline. I’m pretty sure there some horrible old archaic laws about it too.” She crossed her arms once more and slumped against the table, her face somewhere between rueful and wrathful. “I would love to destroy them, but fat chance of that happening.”

Bog shook his head, appalled. “But if you chose the child—!”

Marianne’s voice was horribly flat. “In their eyes, the symbolism of blood trumps the power of choice, even if it comes from a Queen.” She paused before continuing, her voice turning soft, a melancholy murmur. “Besides…no matter how badly I want—” she stopped to take a breath, so deeply it was almost a shudder, before continuing with a detached determination that was honestly dreadful. “I couldn’t live with myself, bringing in an innocent child into such a sham of a—”

She stopped again, took another breath, and closed her eyes. “Into a marriage like Roland’s and mine. I don’t…I can’t do that. I won’t do that.” She then sighed, uncrossing her arms to press a hand to the back of her neck. “Besides, I don’t think Roland has ever wanted to be a father.”

She then shrugged, turning her head away with a determinedly blasé air that made Bog’s heart ache anew. So careful to mask her unhappiness. “Anyway, I decided long ago to pass the throne onto Dawn and Sunny. Sunny might not be able to be recognized as King, but everyone will be happy to have Dawn on the throne.”

Bog silently ruminated over this news, considering the implications of it. To have an Elf on the throne would no doubt cause no small amount of chaos in the Fairy Kingdom. Marianne was wise to play to the power and popularity that her sister held over the court, and undoubtedly she had considered the support those in the Fields would give to her brother-in-law, even if it was only her sister who bore an actual title.

Yet there was one detail that was distracting him…

Bog his lower lip a slow pass of his tongue, wondering if he even dared pursue such a train of thought. Surely it would hurt her further still to discuss—

“You can ask it, whatever it is.”

He started and looked up, and Marianne gave him a smirk that didn’t negate the weary fondness in her eyes as she looked at him. “I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re trying to hold yourself back from doing something. And I always prefer answering questions then dealing with assumptions.”

Right. Bog swallowed and scratched at the back of his neck, nervous nonetheless. “You…said you believe your husband has never wanted to…to enter parenthood. Would…would you…?”

Marianne looked at him with those large, luminescent eyes, eyes that could give him so much but gave nothing to him now, and Bog wondered if he had made a fatal mistake.

Then she turned to the table, her easy casualness almost surreal, leaving Bog to look at her back, the gentle shifting of her wings.

Her voice was clear and calm when she spoke, her hands busying themselves with another bundle of paper. “I suppose that’s what makes it such a shame. I…”

She paused, then slowly and softly set the papers down to the table. Bog saw the slight tilt to her chin that kept her face even more away from him.

And gods help him, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking that one worried step to her, his tread almost timid.

Marianne must have sensed him all the same and turned back to face him. Though her face wore an inscrutable expression, her eyes were down and withdrawn, gone to some secret, silent pain. Yet when she spoke, her voice was still collected. “I always wanted to be a mother.”

Bog lowered his eyes, his heart giving an even fiercer ache, unable to look at her as the sight would bring even more pain, a reminder of all that she was and all that she was unable to be. Fiercely protective, forthright and fair, warm and compassionate and kind…she would be a wonderful mother, and now…

Gods, but it’s so wretchedly unfair.

Bog exhaled, slow and steady. Like his unhappiness at her own would make her feel any bloody better.

Then a thought went through his mind with such striking horror that he almost reeled, aghast at the very thought, the very chance—

Oh Gods, please no, please please please no…

Marianne turned to him, going tense as a hare sighting a hawk as she looked at him, her face full of fierce concern. “What it is? What’s wrong?”

Bog shook his head dumbly, numb with the still fresh horror of the thought. He had caused her enough pain with his prying, he wouldn’t add anymore, especially not if there was a chance that they…that he…

Marianne set her jaw, her ferocity fierce as thorns and her concern tender as petals. “Don’t you shake your head at me, you’re obviously freaking out about something, now what is it—?”

“Ah don’…” Bog stopped and cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the telling rasp in his voice before speaking once more. “I’ve troubled you enough with questions, I don’t want to cause you any more pain—”

“And I don’t want you hurt either,” Marianne retorted, her stern words accompanied by the soft touch of her hand on where his hand held his scepter with clenched knuckles. Her eyes were so soft as they looked at him, so ready to put aside her pain when faced with his. “Please…let me help you like you’ve helped me.”

Well then…

Bog ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, wishing he could test the mettle of his words on them, taking time to taste them on his tongue before finally speaking. Even then, they sounded trepidatious as he tried to keep his fierce turmoil at bay. “You say that the Council has put this pressure upon you. Given how…they’ve frequently have his support in the past, I know how often your husband sides with them.”

He stopped and breathed as deeply and evenly as he could, even as the sickening thought pushed up through him like welling bile. When he spoke, his words were halting, trying to lessen the horror of them. “Is there…is there a chance, a danger of him…of him…?”

Marianne stared up at him, her brow knit in perplexion and still fierce concern, obviously trying to make sense of the implication of his words, and Bog could only pray that he wouldn’t be forced to make himself plainer.

And that if the golden braggart had done something that irredeemably vile to her, that his claws were sharp enough to gut him from stomach to sternum to stupidly shining smile—

There was a sudden dawning in Marianne’s eyes, and the same horror in the pit of Bog’s stomach was on her face, her features twisted in fresh and fearful understanding.

Then she looked into his eyes, and all fear and revulsion fled, leaving only desperately distressed reassurance.

She reached a hand to his, seizing it with the obvious intent to comfort, the clutch of her fingers so fierce his hand ached. “No,” she said, low and obviously trying to dispel his own horror, even in the face of her own. “Oh god, no no no, it’s…no, I truly don’t believe there’s a danger of…” she swallowed, the slender line of her throat working, trying to get the words out, “…of that. Roland wouldn’t dare.”

Bog closed his eyes, his relief was that great. He had never had to deal with the abomination of rape in his kingdom, what with all goblins holding it as the horror it was, but to think of Marianne in such a position…it tore him to his core. To hells with the diplomacy if the bastard so much as laid a hand on her—

Marianne continued on, tripping over her words in her haste to reassure him. “I mean, I think…I would hope that there are…things beyond him. The most he does is try to convince me of the Council’s ‘wisdom’, but…” Marianne trailed off and sighed, lifting a shoulder. “Roland doesn’t really…care about the future of the Kingdom.” She then snorted. “Well, apart from the fact that he’s the King of it. But in his eyes, it begins and ends with his reign. Besides, we haven’t shared a bed for—”

Marianne stopped, her whole face aflame.

Bog felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him as well, hot and prickling, as the weight of such an admission sunk through. As close as he and she had become, there still remained some lines that were not to be overstepped. And he already knew far too much about her marriage to begin with.

Would you want it any other way, if you knowing is a comfort to her?

Surprised, Bog tilted his head at the thought. The echo of old words rang in his ears: “You needn’t worry about letting yourself truly be…be you. There’s no shame in that.”

He had meant them that night, hadn’t he? Marianne had never given any inclination of not wanting to confide in him, and whenever she had expressed reluctance or embarrassment, it had been over her concern of his discomfort.

And he had never turned her away. To be sure, he had never let her know he had soused out Roland’s unfaithfulness, nor had she ever mentioned it to him, but still…as far as he knew, he was the closest thing Marianne had to a confident, besides from her sister and her pixies.

And who was he to shirk such a role?

He was the Bog King of the Dark Forest, and he had never turned down a duty before.

Meanwhile, Marianne seemed to have recovered from her humiliation and had shrugged back her shoulders, her mouth in a moue of resolve. “So…yeah. Roland hasn’t a chance to try anything like that. Even if he wanted to…” a look of disgust flitted across her face before she pushed on determinedly, “…like you said, I’m the heir to the throne. If he harmed me in any way—” she stopped and gave a wry smile, “—well, physically harmed me in anyway, he would have the whole kingdom to answer to. They might take flirting with other women lightly, but not that.”

She then sighed, letting her shoulders slump in a shrug. “Besides…I’ve learned to take care of myself.”

Bog smiled sadly, wishing he could say something to put a smile back on her face. “I don’t doubt you there, Tough Girl.”

Marianne looked at him curiously, her eyebrows quirking. “Tough Girl?”

Now it was Bog’s face that was aflame. “Ah—Ah’m sorry, that was—”

“No, it’s fine.” Amazingly, Marianne was smiling. “I just…no one has ever called me that. Roland always calls me Buttercup—” her nose scrunched in disgust, “—or pretty little thing. He’s never…he never would call me strong or tough or anything like that.” She gave a wry smile once more. “Probably wouldn’t think it’s ladylike.”

“That you put any store by what that fool thinks is a kindness he doesn’t deserve,” Bog retorted gently, daring to give her a smile of his own.

Marianne laughed, and it sung through Bog like the sweetest song. Gods, to think he had missed her voice—

Marianne smiled at him, full and frank, beautiful and beaming, and her laughter still colored her words when she spoke, shaping them into something beyond any kind of sweetness Bog had ever known. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She took a step to him, her arms rising, and suddenly his heart was in his throat—

Marianne halted before blushing brilliantly, her hands falling to her sides, twisting into the fabric of her skirt. “I…I actually had an idea I did want to discuss with you, one that’s…that’s sort of related to that.” She pushed a hand through her hair, her cheeks still carrying a bit of pink. “Missing you, I mean.” She stopped and let out a soft, deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry, I sound so sappy each time I say it—”

“Ye truly don’t,” Bog managed to say, and for some reason his heart was pounding. Gods, he could listen to her say that all day. Him, she had missed him—

She smiled at him gratefully before clearing her throat and continuing. “Well, the thing is…I know that you don’t like to be away from your Forest, so you can absolutely veto this if you think it won’t be useful, but…” her fingers fiddled with the bodice of her dress, picking at petals, and the look she gave him was hesitant, almost shy. “I…I was thinking of building a wing for you.”

Bog could only blink at her in his shock. “A…a wing? Here? At the Fairy Palace?”

She gave him a smile both nervous and teasing. “Well, yeah, where else?” She blew out a breath, a strand of her hair fluttering out of the way. “I just…I just thought that it might be nice, you know? Having a place for you to stay so you wouldn’t have to keep traveling back and forth. Knowing that…” she blushed again, her eyes ducking down, shyness once more stealing over her, “…knowing that you’re here, even if it’s only for a night or two. After a Winter without you, I…I think it could be nice. Would be nice.”

She stole look up at him, biting her lip and then shrugging in a determinedly nonchalant way. “At the very least, it’s a definite show of hospitality between the two Kingdoms, and maybe we can get both of our people to work on it, architects and laborers and, and—”

Marianne stopped with a sharp inhale as Bog took her hand in his, and even he wondered at his daring as he raised it up between them to cover it with his other hand. But it was suddenly rendered a matter of little to no consequence when he looked into her eyes, their great golden-brown depths so deep, so guileless and gorgeous…

He had had no intention of sounding so tender when he spoke, but he simply couldn’t summon up a damn. “You would give me a home here?”

Marianne stared up into his eyes, so close that he could see the butterfly-flutter of her pulse on her throat. “Only if you wanted one,” she breathed.

Bog could only nod, his heart too strangely full for him to answer.

Marianne blinked then ducked her head down, her free hand going to her hair and a blush once more stealing over her features, her wee teeth biting into her lower lip, deprecating and delicate. “I mean…if you really think it’s a good idea…I don’t want you to only do it because I’m a huge sap who missed you so much that she can’t bear to be without you now—”

“I did too.”

Marianne stopped completely to look up into Bog’s eyes, her own eyes wide.

“Miss you.” Bog’s throat was tight, his heart so full of something inexplicable and unexplainable and all for her that it ached, but he could only continue. “I missed you too. So much.”

Marianne remained stock still, her eyes still taking him in, her lips parted.

Bog felt the prickle of humiliation begin to creep over him, and he cleared his throat, his scales rattling as he shrugged his shoulders, preparing to drop her hand which he really ought to have done ages ago. You great prat. “That is, I, uh—”

The rest of Bog’s words left him in a gasp as Marianne launched herself into his arms, her hug fierce and strong, her tiny body clutching at his in a clasp that the flytraps of his Kingdom couldn’t have competed with.

Bog could only gape as he stared down at her, his hands hovering over her form, his heartbeat thundering beneath her cheek. She was—

He was—

No had ever, no one besides his mother, no one had ever dared to—

And she had—

And she felt so—

Slowly, softly, his touch as tentative and timid as a twice-burned moth, his hands settled over her back, and Bog wondered at the feel of the petals beneath the wide weight of his palms, so soft under his skin, so warm from her body…

A strange and sudden flash of something went through him at that thought, and Bog could only spare it a passing glance as he quickly discovered just how huge he was in comparison to her. The top of her head only barely brushed where his chest began, but her arms, slender and yet so very strong, easily wrapped around the skinny, scaly trunk of his waist. His hands covered the width of her waist and then some, and Bog found that he could just as easily span the length of her spine with them too. Now more than ever did he take care with his claws, his heartbeat hammering at the thought of her dress rent by him, or gods forbid, her skin…

He could so easily hurt her without even meaning to. He knew that, she had to know that…

And yet here she was, hugging him like…like…

Like she’s been wanting to hold you as much as you had wanted to hold her?

Bog nearly reeled at the thought. For him to feel such a way for her, that was one thing, but to have anyone nurse such a feeling for him—!

It was then that it truly dawned on him, the feel of her in his arms and the press of his palms upon her back and her breath above his breast all combining into a powerful punch of understanding.

She had missed him.

She had truly, truly missed him.

Bog’s gaping shock slowly faded into a slow and wondering smile. He looked down once more at her, this young Fairy so ferociously fine in all her ambitions and dearly held dreams, and felt his heart throb in tender astonishment. She would never cease to amaze him, would she?

And it was suddenly so very easy to embrace her back, not just hold her but hug her, his sudden gush of feelings making any stiffness of shock leave his body. Bog bent easily, his arms circling her, and let himself sink into the embrace and all the emotions it gave forth. This…

This, more than any blue sky, more than any tender furl of new leaves, more than even those wretched primroses, proved that Winter was utterly banished, that all cold loneliness had fled. Spring had come, and Bog felt a warmth spread through his chest like new roots as he held Marianne in his arms.

She’s back.

#God Almighty I can't believe this is finally happening...#TWO YEARS #IT'S BEEN TWO WHOLE YEARS #suzie's strange magic fanfic: between the shadow and the soul #suzie's strange magic fanfic #suzie's strange magic fanfic: crowns & hearts & broken things #strange magic #strange magic fanfic #butterfly bog #butterfly bog fanfic #butterfly bog au

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the-desolated-quill · 6 years

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Into The Dalek - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Deep Breath couldn’t have been a more disappointing start if you tried. Into The Dalek on the other hand is pretty damn good for the most part. There are some problems, sure, but the quality is night and day compared to the previous episode. Maybe Phil Ford’s input had something to do with this improvement. I don’t know.

On the spaceship Aristotle (subtle), the Doctor discovers a Dalek that seems to have turned good. So he, Clara and some soldiers from the future get shrunk down and go for a little trek inside the Dalek to see what caused this. Now yes, this premise is similar to The Invisible Enemy just like the plot of Deep Breath was similar to The Talons Of Weng-Chiang, but unlike Deep Breath, Into The Daleks is actually entertaining and does just enough to make the premise its own. I mean come on. It’s the inside of a Dalek! How cool is that?! We finally get to see how it actually works, and there’s a lot of imaginative concepts here. I like the Dalek antibodies, the whole idea of a memory cortex that edits and suppresses memories to keep a Dalek ‘pure’ is intriguing, and we finally get an explanation for the sink plunger at last. So it’s used to absorb protein from victims? How positively revolting.

But let’s talk about the thing I love the most about Into The Dalek. The Doctor. Now we’ve gotten past all the post regeneration nonsense, we can finally see what kind of Doctor this one is going to be, and it’s very dark indeed. Warm and cuddly he most certainly ain’t. He’s very cold and methodical. The scene where he lets one of the soldiers die in order to use him to track the antibodies was a bit of a jaw dropper, but i liked it. It’s still very much in character and it’s a side of him we don’t often get to see in New Who. I’m also pleased to see that the humour has improved since Deep Breath. It’s no longer goofy whimsey. This Doctor’s humour is much more acerbic and dry, and he delivers a lot of darkly comedic lines.

Journey Blue: (referring to the protein vat) “Is Ross here?”

The Doctor: “Yeah. He’s the top layer if you want to say a few words.”

This kind of humour fits Peter Capaldi like a glove and he does a great job portraying that cold logic mixed with callousness. but what I especially love is how this episode explores this Doctor’s priorities. One of the many things that’s been bugging me about New Who, and about the Eleventh Doctor especially, is how the Doctor has been sliding closer and closer to being an all powerful saint who can do no wrong. Not only is that incredibly boring, it’s also not who the Doctor is at all. Sure the Doctor is a decent person who will always try to help those in need, but he’s not a god or a superhero. He’s just a guy. He can make mistakes, he’s capable of doing morally questionable things and sometimes he can let his own scientific curiosity and self interests get the better of him. Into The Dalek really seeks to highlight that. Throughout the episode, the Doctor is utterly convinced that there is no such thing as a good Dalek, and when he fixed the radiation leak, he knew full well there was a chance that the Dalek would revert back to its murderous self, but he did it anyway. The Doctor knew that fixing the radiation leak could make the Dalek evil again, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was being proven right. I love that because it adds a whole other layer to the character and makes him all the more interesting.

But as much as I enjoyed Twelve in this, there are some aspects of his character I don’t like. For example, the whole self doubt thing and his constant need to seek Clara’s approval. Considering he just retconned the whole Time War in order to save his own race and defended Trenzalore for centuries, I don’t see why the Doctor is furrowing his brow over whether he’s a good man or not. Especially when the answer is so painfully obviously yes. He may occasionally be selfish and self absorbed, and can sometimes make mistakes, but he always tries to do the right thing. And can I just take this opportunity to debunk the idea yet again of the Doctor being completely ineffectual without a companion. It seems as though the Doctor can’t do anything without needing Clara to hold his hand and guide him through everything, which just feels totally wrong.

But by far the thing I hate most about Twelve is his soldier prejudice. I’ve spoken at length in the past about how idiotic the whole pacifist thing is considering the Doctor has often resorted to using violence and guns in extreme circumstances during the classic series. Yes I suppose you could argue that Nine and Ten’s PTSD might have exacerbated the whole ‘no guns’ thing, but Twelve takes it to a whole new level. He hates soldiers to the point where he rejects Journey Blue’s request to travel with him at the end, but he doesn’t actually seem to have a good reason for his hatred. Journey doesn’t do anything wrong as far as I can see. He just hates soldiers because the script said so. You’d think, considering he recently met the War Doctor, that he would be slightly more sympathetic to soldiers, but nope. It just doesn’t make sense and the whole idea of all soldiers being bad is just too narrow minded.

It’s such a shame as well because I actually really liked Journey Blue. Zawe Ashton did a really good job in the role and I loved how she interacted with the Doctor. She clearly has a begrudging respect for him, but at the same time she’s not prepared to put up with any of his bullshit. I would much rather she was travelling with the Doctor than Clara because I feel Twelve really needs someone to pin him against a wall sometimes and challenge him. Clara seems to have more of a teacher/pupil role with him (with Clara playing the teacher role, which is wrong in and of itself), which just feels incredibly patronising. Journey’s relationship with the Doctor is more believable and thus more engaging in my opinion and I would kill to have her in the TARDIS with Peter Capaldi. I know some people didn’t like how aggressive and stroppy she was, but to be fair, she did just lose her brother. I think she’s got a right to be a little bit cranky. And the scenes with her uncle, played by Michael Smiley, do more than enough to humanise her in my eyes so she’s not just an angry, shouty woman. They have this really professional relationship, but you can detect a familial warmth underneath.

I really enjoyed Into The Dalek for the most part, but it’s when we get towards the end where the wheels start to wobble. The Doctor realising that all the Daleks could potentially be turned good isn’t a bad idea in and of itself. The problem is what this plotline focuses on. In the end, it’s the Doctor’s own hatred of the Daleks that turns Rusty into a Dalek killer rather than the reformed good guy the Doctor wanted, and we’re clearly supposed to be thinking about how much hate and prejudice the Doctor has towards the Daleks, but it doesn’t work. Not only have we basically explored this already in 2005′s Dalek (and done it better), I can’t help but feel Phil Ford and Steven Moffat have missed the point of their own story entirely. Honestly I think this tells us more about the Daleks than the Doctor. My main takeaway from this isn’t how hateful the Doctor is, but rather how utterly beyond help the Daleks are. Rusty was banging on about destroying the Daleks long before the Doctor mind melded with it. The way I see it, what turns Rusty isn’t the Doctor’s hatred, but rather its own desire for hatred. The Daleks don’t just want to hate. They need to hate. Whether it’s hating against humans, Time Lords or their own fellow Daleks, it seems that is a Dalek’s sole purpose of existence. Even in an attempt to expand its consciousness, Rusty ends up going for the one thing it recognises within the Doctor. Hatred. Why? Because that’s the only thing it knows how to do. It’s kind of tragic when you think about it and could have been used to great effect. This could have been an opportunity to shine a whole new light on the Daleks and present them in a way that’s never been done before, but instead Ford and Moffat sidestep what could have been a very interesting issue to explore in favour of retreading old ground. They’re focusing on entirely the wrong thing here, which is frustrating.

And then there’s the whole situation with Danny Pink. Samuel Anderson does the best he can with what he’s been given, but I’m not impressed with this character. Not only are we doing the whole cliched romcom shit again like we did in The Lodger, it’s also yet another stupid mystery for Moffat to drag out over the course of the series. What did Danny do while he was a soldier? And just to make sure all subtlety is thrown out of the window, we even get a prolonged shot of a single poetic tear trickling down Danny’s cheek. It’s really pathetic. Moffat is so bad at getting us to care about his characters that he has to resort to melodramatic bollocks like this to try and drag some kind of emotion out of us. Also, fuck you Clara. I don’t know what sort of emotional trauma Danny went through (and I don’t really care neither), but he’s clearly suffering from some form of PTSD, so to make dismissive jokes about it really is just beyond insulting. (And while I’m complaining about Clara, can we drop all the companion slapping Doctor jokes now please? Like I said in the past, it’s not cute and sexy. it’s assault and battery).

While there are a few flaws here and there, I still had a lot of fun watching this episode. I’d say this is definitely one of the better Dalek stories to come out of New Who.

#into the dalek #phil ford #steven moffat #doctor who #twelfth doctor #peter capaldi #clara oswald #jenna coleman #daleks #bbc #review #spoilers

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How to Survive a Breakup

Initially, i wanted this to be a written book like the ones Carrie Bradshaw wrote in Sex and the City or a video of me personally talking about it like one of those famous “Youtubers”. However i realised a book is too much of a cliche as I've often referred to my experiences as a book and one must know when to close it so the idea of writing a book at first was wow it has a double meaning but i kinda ditched the idea and a video is too emotional as i’m guaranteed to cry and nobody wants to see a pretty girl ugly cry. So i thought hey, a blog would be just fine, enough for me to write a small piece on how to survive a breakup. This may be a long piece of writing and i haven’t done a piece on how to survive a bad piece of blogging about my emotional experiences just yet. So i hope you make do.

I’ve been thinking about writing this piece for a while. It’s a relatable subject for quite possibly everyone on the planet. In our lifetime, at least once, we will experience a traumatic break up. Now a lot of people will associate it this with romantic breakups, but a breakup is a breakup. Whether its with family, friends or loss of something that meant a lot to you. A loss is a loss and its really hard to process and deal with. With regards to my experience, it is a romantic breakup but i think the feelings and personal experiences is something a lot of us can relate to.

It’s been 2 years since i experienced what i’d say was the worst breakup of my entire life. At 25, i can easily say I've loved and lost a few people along the way. But this was definitely the worst and most painful.

At 18, an young Asian girl in a small city, in high school and desperate to fit in, you can imagine me, a stroppy teenager in 6th form, bit of an over confident big know it all. Had my cries over the last one and looking to move on to the next, because for some reason if you didn’t have a boyfriend you weren’t normal. Now in my culture, dating and boyfriends is a big no no, but at 18 we were hardly the most modest of people. My friend circle was tight and we all came from the same backgrounds and going through the same things. A lot of my friends were getting into relationships, just so we wouldn’t feel left out. We kind of just pick somebody and hope for the best i guess. At 18 you’re not really going to have everything figured out nor do you have this big massive tick list of your ideal man. We kind of just wing it.

I was just coming out of a 2 year on and off relationship with someone when i met him. Him. Lets call Him “Strathmore” not because it means anything but because its the one name i can see in front of me while i’m writing this and i’m trying to keep him anonymous for various reasons. Strathmore and i knew each other here and there as we went to the same high school but i’d left and rejoined for 6th form by then he’d left. I knew mutual friends of his and its actually a funny story how we started talking.

I had a friend in 6th form, who was quite close to Strathmore. By close i mean, he had a massive crush on her but she “bro-zoned” him but they remained friends. One day, my friend came to me and asked for favour. Being the good friend i was i agreed. She asked if i could message Strathmore on Facebook for her as she’d lost her phone and needed to get in touch with him. So i did. And as they say, the rest is History. He asked if i remembered him and i said i did. We spent the next few hours chatting away and catching up about the last couple of years of our lives. I had such a good conversation with him. At the time i took it as a distraction from all that was going on but as the hours went by i just found myself in awe of his company.

I remember coming into School the next day as i couldn’t wait to tell my friends. To be honest, i wanted their views on him as they knew him better seeing as though i was in a different school for the last 4 years. My friends couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth as if to say i was talking about a completely different guy. Strathmore was your typical Asian lad at school. Class clown, didn’t really do his work, always causing trouble, always getting thrown out of class, wasn’t particularly polite with the ladies and always fighting with the other lads. Yet here i am telling them that he was talking to me for hours, so nicely and so sweet. They kept telling me i got the wrong guy as if to say i had the wrong suspect in a criminal case. But i kept telling them its the same guy. They obviously tried to talk me out of it so me being an 18 year old, your friends know best. So i avoided him at all cost and moved on.

A few days went by ignoring Strathmores messages and then he just stopped messaging. I was kind of gutted to be fair, i thought we had a connection. I mean who talks for 3 plus hours after a one line message saying “S***a needs your number asap shes lost her phone” to “Aw its been so amazing talking to you, its been a laugh catching up” to someone who’s supposedly not a “good lad”. Who makes these rules up for an 18 year old to follow blindly! Anyway, much to my surprise i get a request from him on only about the most popular thing back in 2010-2011, BBM. It was basically a watered down teen version of tinder with the two most introductory lines; “hey its a random add” and “whats your ASL” translation “whats your age, sex and location” a must have to guys otherwise how will they know if they want to pursue things. As as 18 year old on BBM you just about talk to anyone and everyone between the ages of 17-21 everywhere in the UK, anything above 22 was “too old” and that was a no go zone. So a request from him was pretty exciting but my friends have already told me he’s no good, i heard so much negativity about him so naturally the obvious thing to do was decline his request which i obviously didn’t do because i’m a rebel. Request accepted! Hey! My friends aren’t here, what they don’t know won’t hurt them! I just wanted to talk to him. Naturally his first message was “wow thanks for not ignoring me”. Gosh i felt so guilty, i was so apologetic and the rest really was history! We’d message for hours and hours, staying up so late at night. It was difficult for us to stay away from each other. I had to eventually tell my friends the truth about talking to him, most were shocked and disapproved, but my best friend stood by me. Months went on, we exchanged numbers and long nights of phone calls until it was time to meet.

The first date or first meet up is the most dreadful and most sickening thing for a girl. Do you know how hard it is for an 18 year old plus size Asian girl to dress up, wear makeup, sneak out of the house and to not smell of curry on a first date?! It’s a deal breaker i’m telling you! Naturally there’s only one way of getting out the house, if your best friend comes to your house and tells your mum we’re going to a charity event. Normally i would probably say, if your best friend comes to your house and tells your mum *insert lie* which is what happened 70% of the time but we were telling the Gods honest truth. We really did go to a charity event and it was local to where he lived which made it easy to meet up. I’m on the bus on the way there and i remember having butterflies, i remember feeling sick and nervous. My best friend was trying to keep me calm and tell me everything was gonna be okay but i didn’t believe her. We went to the charity event for an hour or so and the whole way through i couldn’t even swallow my spit. I couldn’t breathe. To say I've already had 2 boyfriends by this point, this should’ve been pretty normal to me but for some reason it was different with him. I remember he called me tell me he was outside and i wanted to throw my phone at the wall! My best friend had to literally drag me outside AND THERE HE WAS IN THE FLESH. This person i have been talking to for months. He was right there. So many things were going through my head but his one smile made it all disappear. He didn’t even say hi or hello, he just straight in went for a hug. That hug represented so much for me. It represented acceptance for me, happiness and joy, relief and just awe for each other. Right there and then, believe me when i say this guys, i knew he was the one.

25th June 2011 we became an official couple. You had to make it official otherwise what was the point of growing social media, everyone had to know. Except for my family of course. The whole world can know but not your family. I told my friends and again the disapproved but i knew i had my besties to support me. We had such an amazing relationship. He literally became my 3rd best friend! We really took our time to get to know each other. I mean by this time we’d already known each other a year, but we honestly got to know each others strength and weaknesses. What makes us tick and what makes us happy. All the struggles we faced. The one thing that connected us so much was we both felt like we were the black sheep of our families. Never fitted in and always in trouble at home. We took our sadness and our feelings to each other. He would help me and i would help him. Together we built the foundation of our relationship through our emotions and we learned to channel our emotions through our love and turn it into a positive as oppose to a negative. Yes you heard me. Love. I fell in love with him pretty much straight away. He took a bit of time because commitment for a man is tough choice but in the end he made the right one. We spent years together. I could sit here all day and write about all the special things he did for me, everything that he helped me through, the words he said to me to make me feel better, he loved me for me and wouldn’t have had me any other way. He made me feel like no one else did. We truly did love each other. Even though we were definitely opposites attract. For the words he couldn’t say i said, for the support i need he was there. We because half of each other which somewhat made us whole.

But as we grew and progressed naturally our relationship had to grow too. Normally relationships grow in stages. You meet, you become a couple, you tell your friends, you tell your family, you move in, then you get married. But for Asian girl in love at 22, marriage was the only thing on my mind. It was a chance for me to put things into prospective. To do right by my religion and culture, right by my family and right by us. It was the “normal” right thing to do. I loved him immensely and i knew i wanted to marry him. Commitment was huge for him and marriage was the next major step. So i slowly started to talk about marriage. At first he wasn’t saying yes but he wasn’t saying no either. So i gave him the space to think about it. He eventually proposed and of course i said Yes. No it wasn’t no fancy proposal. There wasn’t a fancy dinner, we didn’t get dressed up, there was no romantic scenery, it was just me and him and the most precious ring ever. I had my eyes on this gorgeous purple diamond ring and there he was on one knee with my purple diamond ring. His speech was so heartfelt. He said he was glad that i messaged him all those years ago, he was happy that he chose me to be his girl, he said he’s been the happiest he’s ever been and couldn’t imagine his life without me. And if i didn't agree to be his wife, he’d go back to Pakistan to get married! He really was a Chandler with his jokes! I remember just hugging him and crying because i knew our next step was going to be the hardest and most challenging.

We both decided to tell our parents. Our Asian parents. That we’ve met partners we would like to marry. I remember i took my mum out to town and took her to lunch. God bless my mum who said “What do you want, i know you haven’t bought me out just for lunch”. She knew me too well. I told her about Strathmore and that we wanted to get married. Her first reaction was anger, naturally. I’ve been dating this guy for 4 years and never told her but then she calmed down and said i was too young and maybe i should wait. I told her i understood her concern but its something that i really wanted. She agreed and said we’d have to speak to the family and see what the next appropriate step is. I was happy knowing that my mum would support me. It made me feel at ease thinking going forward might just be okay. But i was wrong. Strathmores meeting with his mum didn’t really go the same way. His mum completely rejected the idea of him marrying somebody from outside the family as she had hopes he’d marry her niece. For months we were trying to get his mum to agree for some reason we just couldn’t get over this obstacle.

Lo behold. The worst thing that i thought could have happened. My brother found out. Now when your Asian and your brother finds out you’ve got a boyfriend, doesn’t tend to go down well but i was lucky. He was angry and upset but wanted to speak to me directly. His issues wasn’t with the fact i had a boyfriend it was about who my boyfriend was. At that moment i felt like i was 18 again, with everyone telling me all the bad things he’s done, what kind of person he is and all the negativity surrounding him was coming back to haunt me. A random person who knew Strathmore and knew we were together also happen to know my brother. He’d told my brother a series of things with regards to Strathmore and family. Now 60% of what was said was not true so i became defensive but i had no answer for the 40% that was true. He didn’t complete his GCSEs, he didn’t take up further education. He hasn’t thought about his career. He doesn’t have a stable job. If his family don’t accept me, where will we live? Can he provide a roof over my head? Can he provide food on the table? Will he be able to take of my needs? My brothers words were “I didn’t raise you so well just to make ends meet. I raised you well so you would be well taken care off. So that you don’t have to go through what we went through” I know your thinking well normally relationships work 50/50 and i shouldn’t have to depend on him and i agree with that. But if i had to put myself in the shoes of a man who literally raised me and bought me up, i would probably ask the same questions he did. I remember just crying because i had come to a realisation that i hadn’t really thought this whole marriage thing out. Marriage is a commitment between two people that goes beyond love. Love plays a major part but so does responsibilities, bills, works, maintenance and so many other things. Things i didn’t even contemplate. My brother hugged me and said he only wants the best for me and if this is something i want then he’s happy to agree only if Strathmore can show him that he can give me a good life.

Strathmore was very hurt by this. As someone has just tarnished his reputation based on what he used to be like in school as a teenager. We’re 22 and very different people from what we were. I spoke to him about what my brother said and assured me he’d do what it takes to take care of me. He began looking for work that would have more of a stable income, he started saving money and was still convincing his family to accept me. But his family were not going to accept me. He’d decided that he was going to do this with or without his family but i couldn’t accept that. There was no way i was going to be a reason for him to disown his family. We both made a pact that we would do this with our families blessings no matter how long or hard the wait. I believed in him and everything he could achieve. I saw his potential. I knew his heart was big and he could do anything he set his mind to. I reminded him constantly of his potential and he could soar to heights he never dreamed of. I saw that all for him and i wanted it for him so desperately. I wanted him to know the depth of his true potential because i saw it all along.

We struggled. We struggled a lot. A year went by. In that year we’d gone through the worst of our times. We were struggling to balance pleasing his family, pleasing my family, having a stable job, saving money, looking for a house all whilst trying to maintain our relationship but it just wasn’t working. The strain of that responsibility and the weight of that pressure slowly ate away at us. There was no more late night phone calls, there was no more texting for hours, there was no more date nights. It turned into 5-10 minute calls until we fell asleep because he was so tired from work. A few texts here and there throughout the day because he was so busy at work. Seeing him maybe once or twice a fortnight. We became frustrated. We started to take it out on one another. I was angry he wasn’t making time for me, he was angry that i was being ungrateful. I loved him and i all i wanted to do was be with him and have a good life. Isn’t that what any woman wants? He made me feel like i was asking for too much. We’d constantly fight and argue because he kept losing jobs and going back to his old work place that didn’t treat him well or pay him any good. It just felt like we were going back and forth. Until i decided i had had enough. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Our relationship was not how it was. The foundation we built was broken. He didn’t understand my emotions or feelings and he felt like i didn’t understand his. I had broken up with him. I told him it would make his life easier and he wouldn’t have to bother with all of this. At first he agreed and we didn’t speak to each other for days. Until he called telling me how much he missed me and he couldn’t be without me. He reassured me so much that he will do what it takes and we can make this work. I believed him. I put my whole heart and soul into his words and promises. But so began a vicious cycle for us. We made up, tried to work things out, we became frustrated, we’d argue and break up. Lord knows how many times we did this in the space of 6 months until he had enough.

When i had enough and i broke up with him i was okay because it was my decision and my choice but when he broke up with me, i didn’t have a choice because it was not my decision. 18th July 2016 a couple of weeks after best friend number 1 got married. He broke up with me. It didn’t feel like those random break ups in the vicious cycle we were in. It was a true and wholehearted break up. We both knew it was the end. There was a lot of awkward silences, a lot of tears, hugs, guilt, regret, sadness, pain and all the things you’d expect to feel when losing someone. Losing a battle. He didn’t say much and neither did i. I still had a lot of fight in me, but i could see in his eyes that he just couldn’t do it. I felt guilty because i felt as if i pushed him too hard and i didn’t want to push him any further. We hugged each other and cried. Cried for hours. People walked by and saw us. We didn’t care. We were ending our relationship of 5 years and neither of us could control our emotions. I looked at him one last time and walked away. I sat in a taxi and was on my way home. I couldn’t even process what was even happening. He broke up with me. We’re no longer together. I’m wearing a ring. What is happening. I knew i couldn’t go home with that state that i was in so i went to my best friend. I cried and i cried and i cried. She wouldn’t believe me because to her i was just the boy who cried wolf. She kept saying you will get back with him this is just your routine. She didn’t believe a word i was saying when i said this really is the end.

It really was the end. I was heartbroken. I was completely and utterly broken. There are no words that could describe what heartbreak feels like but to me being heartbroken was like every time my heart beat, a knife was being struck into my chest. It was as if my chest was weighed down by the heaviest weights, i couldn’t move, i was paralysed and every time my heart beated, a knife was struck through my chest. My heart was so weak with the pain, the physical pain of my heart hurting was running through my chest making it almost unbearable to breathe. I had rivers of tears streaming down my face, my eyes swollen and puffy because the tears wouldn’t stop. So many thoughts going through my head, so many feelings. Anger, pain, guilt, regret, sadness, relief even. So many things going through my mind i couldn’t even grasp my attention. We didn’t speak for months at a time. When we did. It was either i’m missing him or he was missing me. It was difficult for the both of us. We told out families we no longer wanted to pursue marriage and that was the end there for that.

August 2016, best friend number 1 and 2 decided to get married as in to have their big lavish weddings. Of course i was happy for them but deep down inside i was breaking. Seeing their weddings and experiencing their happiness with them, i was feeling envious as i wanted this so bad too. Seeing them as brides and watching them walk down the aisle. Seeing their families happy and dancing. It cut me up so bad. I cried and i cried a lot. I cried because a lot was changing and i couldn’t keep up. My friends are becoming wives, their responsibilities were changing and so was our friendships. It wasn’t going to change but a lot will be different. I felt as if i was just losing everybody and my mind and body couldn’t cope, it couldn’t keep up with it. I could tell i was losing myself.

I spent days and nights silently crying into my pillow. I spent many nights screaming silently because i couldn’t bare the pain. I spent days and nights and weeks searching for an answer as to why this happened to me. Why me? Why Us? I cried a few tears in public. Friends and family embraced me and told me everything is going to be okay. This was meant to be. Everything happens for a reason. I put a brave and strong face on. I pretended i was okay, acted as if i’m this new woman. But the act only lasted so much. I stopped going on, i stopped socialising. I stopped working, i stopped doing things i love. I secluded myself to the four walls of my room. I stayed in bed all day and all night. I wouldn’t eat i wouldn’t drink. I was unlike myself. I didn’t even recognise myself or who i was. I was in a dark place and i just felt every bit of me fading away into this darkness. I didn’t want to be alive. I wanted to die. The pain was unbearable. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I was thinking about what ways i could kill myself. I have no purpose to live. I knew i was thrusting myself into depression and i tried to seek professional help but i was numb to every word they said. Hell, i wanted depression to consume me, chew me up and spit me back out. I was lost in a dark hole and i couldn’t get out. I don’t think i wanted to.

2nd September 2016. A date i’ll never forget. A beautiful little girl, my niece was born. It was the first time in a while i felt genuine happiness over my pain. I felt joy and i felt excitement. I remember seeing her for the first time and i cried. I cried and i cried and i cried. I was crying because it was the first experience i was going through and Strathmore wasn’t their. I was crying because no one knew my pain but her face calmed the pain. I was crying because i lost someone but i gained someone too. That feeling is in explainable. She was a little ray of sunlight in my dark and dreary world. She was my first steps into getting out of the darkness. I felt love towards her. I felt light. I felt goodness. All of sudden i didn’t want to be in the darkness. I didn’t want to lose myself. I wanted to be around her.

16th November 2016. The worst birthday of my life. I was turning 24. I didn’t even want to think about spending my birthday without him. I just wanted to be alone. Knowing that 12am essay text wasn’t going to come through, knowing i wasn’t going to speak to him, knowing i wasn’t spending the day with him broke me down hard. Who knew last year was going to be our last birthday together. I would have spent every minute and every second just being grateful to be with him but time has a funny way of showing you the value of time. But thank God i have friends and family that were rooting for me more than i was rooting for myself. Even though i pushed them away they came through. Spent the day and night with me. We went out and had a good time. So i tell them. I was grateful they were there and what they did for me. But i was sandwiched between two couples and the whole day i was thinking about what i would’ve have been doing otherwise if i was still with him. I came home with my cousin who was staying with me and that’s when he called. He called just to say Happy Birthday and hung up. I knew it was because he was going to cry cos i tell he was choking up. I cried and i cried and i cried. Hearing his voice was soothing yet painful for me. All day i was thinking about him and whether he was thinking about me. I didn’t cry. I put on my brave face and went about my day. All it took was his name on my phone to break me down again. His voice to break my heart all over again. I knew that i wasn’t going to heal easy and i knew that it didn’t matter how many times i put my brave face on, my heart was breaking.

I was still stuck in my dark place. I had people around me who loved me and i loved them but it wasn’t enough to break me out of the darkness that consumed me. I made myself ill so many times. Their were times i literally had to roll out of bed to fall on the floor to feel physical pain for me to get up and start my day. Otherwise i was numb and oblivious. Months were going by. I had friends who were truly there for me and understood my pain even though they didn’t really understand, i had friends that made excuses and i had friends that abandoned me. I was already numb. Too numb to feel the pain of their losses. I just feel sorry i couldn’t give back to the friends that were there for me. There were a few conversations between me and Strathmore. It was very difficult for us because we couldn’t cope with talking to each other. It was too hard. And so we indulged into another vicious cycle. Trying to stay away from each other but we couldn’t. We were hanging onto a tiny piece of a broken thread of hope that someday we may salvage whatever we have left to see if we can try again. He called one day, 16th August 2017. We had a 2 hour conversation. We talked about our feelings and how we have dealt with our emotions in the past year. We talked about our future. A future that we hold onto together. That we start afresh and we start from the bottom and work out way up. Holding on to that hope may have been beneficial after all. But i was wrong. The next day he had disappeared. He changed his number, deleted his Facebook, his Instagram, his snap chat and any form of social media where i could have contacted him including his friends and his family. He cut all ties with me. He left.

I was heartbroken. Again. I had my heart broken twice by the same man. I couldn’t tell anybody about our conversation as no one would have approved. They began to hate him and despise him for all the pain he’s caused me. For constantly calling me, as if it was torture even though i stayed away. I was heartbroken again. I found myself spending days and nights crying into my pillow. I spent days and nights screaming silently because i couldn’t bare the pain. To describe this heart break was as if to say the heaviest of weights weighed me down, while a bed of knives forcefully pierced every inch of my body. My heart was ripping into a million pieces. It was burning through my pain. I was heartbroken. Again.

I tried everything to get back on track. Whatever made me a little happy i did it. But nothing i did soothed the pain i was in. It was never ending.

Its almost a year later and i bet a lot of you are wondering well where has this all come from? Why talk about it now? Throughout this year i have had zero contact with him, didn’t know where he was, what he was doing or what hes been up to. This past year has been the most difficult because there was no random texts or there was no random calls. I had so many unanswered questions. I had so many thoughts and so much on my mind and chest. I burdened myself because he left. He cut all ties so quick i couldn’t even get a word in. And he haunted me and it stayed with me. It weighed me down and affected in more ways than i can imagine. But i realised i couldn’t fully move on. Why? Because he left an open book. I couldn’t close the book until i had read or written the rest of the pages. He might of left the book to get dusty on his bookshelf. But my book was left open and i kept on reading and writing until i came to pit stop because i need to close the book with him. I needed closure. It was time for one more conversation. Somehow, through his 2 siblings and 3 friends, a snap chat and Instagram page, i managed to get my message across that i wanted to speak to him and so he called. 9th July 2018. And boy what a conversation it was. His Hi threw me back, i didn’t even know how to respond. I knew what i needed out of this conversation and i need to compose myself. We made small talk. But the big question he asked was “how come you wanted to speak to me?” There was plenty of things going through my mind about why i really wanted to speak to him but ultimately i need to know why he built my hopes up and cut me off cold. Much to my surprise he was very straight forward. He said that he needed to cut off otherwise he was never going to move on. He said his intentions were true but he knew he couldn’t do it. He said believe me, everything happens for a reason. He said if he didn’t leave he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in now. I’d love to say we talked for hours but it was a short and sweet conversation. He left because it was right for him. He left and it did wonders for his life. He met someone else, got married and even has a baby on the way. Moved away from home and settled in his life. I should be angry right? He got married to someone else? That was quick. To be honest, i wasn’t angry. I was happy. He fulfilled his full potential just like i knew he would. He is reaching heights i knew he could. He talks about his life and his coming family with such pride. And funnily i couldn’t be more prouder. He told me all about how hard it was to move on but it’s really important to just live your life and life has a funny way of setting itself in place. He said stop trying to force your life to work out, you just go along with it and it will take you places. I cried. Not because i was sad but because i was happy. The man that he is now was the man i knew was there all along. 2 years ago this man would laugh when i cry and say what can i say to make it better, i was giving him life advice about unlocking his full potential and he’s turned around and giving me the same advice. Hes this responsible man with a life wife and baby on the way. What a good man he became. He just wasn’t meant for me. Right there and then i got my closure. All my unanswered questions, answered. All my worries, gone. All my sadness and pain, withered away. I closed my book and i sighed in relief. A weight has been lifted of my shoulders and chest. I can finally close the book and put it to rest.

After closing my book, i literally sat back and reflected on the last 7 years of my life. What a journey i have been on. Through the happiest times of my life to the most painful time of my life. I really have been on a roller coaster of wild emotions in the past years. Everyone always says “i don’t know how you do it, it must be hard”. Truth is i don’t even know how i did it either. No one walks into a situation knowing the end outcome. You hope and pray for the best and positive outcome but you never what life throws your way. So, how did i survive this breakup? Honest answer is. I didn’t. You don’t survive through breakups, you die. I know you’re probably thinking well that’s a bit harsh but its the truth.

When you lose something or someone that’s practically embedded into you, you die. If your body was to lose its heart, you will no longer be able to live. If your brain stops working, you die. If you all your vital organs fail, you die. If you lose the blood in your body, you die. And that’s what happened to me. I lost someone who was as vital to me as my heart and my brain and all my bodily organs and blood. I invested my heart, my soul, my mind and body into him. He became me and i became him. When i lost him, i lost everything i invested into him. Through these last 2 years i have been slowly dying. When i closed my book i finally died. All the happiness and pain was gone the moment i closed this book. The truth is, in my situation, i felt like i need to die. There’s a reason they call it a break up. Because it literally breaks you down into nothing. You are literally breaking the bond you made and losing everything and eventually plunging into the face of death. But you know what. THAT’S OKAY! I needed to die in order to be reborn again. I needed to hit rock bottom because the only way is up! I am tired of being in the dark. I am tired of having no life. I am tired of wasting my life. My heart break was a lesson, my heart break was a learning curve and my heart break is a guiding point. Because of what happened i have a new outlook to life. I’ve closed one book and ready to start a new one. I’m ready for a new journey. I don’t know what i’m going to do. I have no job, no career and no real plan for the future. But that’s okay. This new journey is a road to recovery. Its a chance to do things, new things. A different experience is ready for me and has my name on it. I’m going to take this one baby step at a time. Learn how to walk again, learn how to run again, learn how to love again and learn how to live again.

A breakup isn’t about survival, its about rebirth. Its about starting a new life with a new you. Your breakup shapes and moulds you into a new person. A new person, with a new outlook to life, new experiences, new people, new environments, a whole new world. Its like an alternate universe to be discovered. You get to live all over again as a new and improved person. Life will always throw things your way but trust me, you handle them a lot better as a new person. Your weakness becomes your strength. With that strength, as a new a person, you have the power to go through your journey.

By no means this is THE concept or way of thinking. Its just my outlook on my personal experience and i wanted to share it with anyone else who may have gone through the same or similar thing. Its not easy and our paths may differ. But what i can say for sure is a new you awaits. A new journey is waiting, a new book is ready to be written. The question is, when are you ready to close the old book and die to live again?

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