I've been thinking about picking up FF13, the way people talk about combat system intrigues me (I've never really liked standard final fantasy combat) and I love for a story to have a female lead... if the writing does a good enough job? I've heard a couple vague compelling things about Lightning as a protagonist but I've never known how much credence to give any of it. My hope, spun up from what I've heard, is that she's kind of a bitch (laudatory) without the writing being too... aggressively gendery about her being a woman, if that makes sense. Any information/perspective you care to share would be helpful 🙏

(and I don't care very much about spoilers-- sometimes spoilers end up being crucial for making me interested enough in a piece of media to actually try it!)

ohhh interesting yeah so re: ff13:

Lightning's arc didn't feel particularly gendered to me, surprisingly! overall i'd say her arc gave me vibes of Stressed-Out High-Performing Twentysomething Who Opts To Work Really Hard Instead Of Dealing With Feelings. which is, like, how i spent some chunk of my 20s, so, perfectly relatable on that front, and also a thing i've seen high-performing twentysomethings of p much every gender do at some point haha

for me her most compelling arc was the one she has with Hope, which is a kind of mentor-y arc—you sort of see her transition from "i'm barking orders and bossing this kid around because I Know Best," into, uhhh "oh fucking shit this kid is listening to me, they think i have Authority, how did that happen fuck fuck fuck i'm freakin out a little." you can read a decent amount of gender into that if you want to, right, mentor-liness is somewhat femme-coded—but not exclusively so; this arc also felt compelling to me in that i could kinda see that dynamic happening between a lot of different types of 20something-teenagerish pairs.

the writing has other weaknesses—ones you've probably heard already. the game seems to expect you to either Read A Bunch Of Tiny Print In Menus, or else Just Be Kind Of Confused For The First Few Hours, and i'm impatient so i opted to Just Be Kind Of Confused. weirdly, once you hit the 10-hour mark, the story tightens up hugely and everything's very coherent. and it's not like you're totally clueless before then. but it's just... yeah, it starts out a little wobby for non-Gender reasons

my big rec re: gameplay: would be, maybe watch a video of some speedrunners playing this video game first? just 15min-1hr should be plenty—watching speedrunners which got me interested in giving this game a second chance. the combat system is SO cool, but it's possible to do everything slowly/tediously/boringly, which will NOT feel satisfying, and unfortunately the difficulty isn't high enough to FORCE you to try interesting stuff early on. whereas, if you're trying to do Speedrunner Bullshit (try and finish combat AS FAST AS POSSIBLE, a few tricks you'll see them do), you will have an amazing time out of the gate. like i literally think those speedrunners TAUGHT me how to play the game "properly," and sure i wasn't LITERALLY speedrunning but i was focusing on gogogo in a way that felt really visceral and satisfying when i played.

i typed up some other scattered thoughts over here, ages ago

hope that all helps! & lemme know if you give it a shot, for good or for ill~

Hi there I juts felt the need to be a little bit annoying and chime in since you seemed to have paid attention to Eichi Tenshiouin form the game ensemble stars and I couldn't help myself and so now I will infiltrate your inbox for a bit I hope youo don't mind and if you do my apologies anyways! Moving on!

So the thing with Eichi is that his driving force is his love for idols right right and he came to love idols so much because in those days where he'd be all alone in his hospital room the idols on tv game him hope. And the War situation directly leads back to that because Yumenosakis students are all lazy and unmotivated to really do much because yumenosaki is so prestige it would get you into an agency either way by association and to prevent the moral decay of yumenosaki to go even further the student council came up with a plan to bring back the morale of the students by chosing the five resident geniuses - the five eccentrics - as scapegoats and objects for the students ire. This is very vague and i'm doing a really really bad job at explaining it but that's basically the rough thing of what happened.

So during the war the student council staged these executions for the eccentrics and Wataru, blue haired guy I'm sure you know him, was supposed to go last because Eichi knew a great actor like him wouldn't just abandon his role and that he'd let himself get executed by fine like he's supposed to

and I'm trying really hard to stay coherent here but I need to make this really simple because as of this moment I am not quite eloquent enough to properly articulate what I'm trying to express but essentially the thing is Eichi and Wataru go Wayyyy back but not in the way they knew each other no no it's more like Eichi has had this adoration for Wataru for SO long now and even while planning the war with Tsumugi he talks about how amazing Wataru is you should watch the element anime btw and there's a scene in element where Wataru is practicing lines on the rooftop and Eichi looks at him from where he's standing on the ground and oh it is the most delightful thing. The guy is so gay.

And people like to joke about how Eichi started the war because he was gay and couldn't be normal about his crush which isn't true because that wasn't the motive but no Eichi almost didn't go through with finishing the war because he couldn't stand to see the Wataru he admired so much lose and there's another scene in element you should watch the element anime btw where Wataru visits Eichi in the infirmary to talk about how his execution is supposed to go an dagain I really am not doing them justice here but the english language is hard anyways Eichi almost confesses in that scene and then. Actually please watch the element anime it is so good and then you should also read daydream and blackbird.

Speaking of which daydream oh daydream is such a story. I'm focusing on Eichi being gay here but in general it also is really just such a good story. Eichi calls yuzuru hot ("the mole below his eye is sexy indeed" <- actual quote from the actual thing) and his description of wataru is also just so. Wataru is a beautiful man. Eichi makes that very clear. And also he trows up blood on Watarus face. please read daydream.

And another instance of Eichi being down bad for Wataru specifically is. actually it would be easier if I just got right to the infamous ep:link rooftop scene where Eichi was dense and made Wataru cry by not getting it but let me tell you that is one of the most enstars moments ever it is so good.

"The moment I yearn for you and pine for you - the moment I realise I've fallen in love with you - You'll disappear from my hands, just like the bluebird of happiness." "Eichi. I want to be the real thing, the real bluebird of happiness that you were unable to obtain in the past. Being more realistic than the real thing is precisely what makes a great actor, after all. But even if I prepared a million words, I'm sure they will mean nothing to you. So allow me to express myself through actions instead." "A mask? Isn't this an item of your prized collection?" "Indeed. This is me, and I offer this to you." <- normal about that exchange.

And also they have a matching card set that I will never shut up about

those are from Watarus center event Tempest and it's about fine making up a weekly holiday in Eichis honour so they all have a day where they do not work at all and just relax and they did that because they didn't want Eichi to keep working himself into an early grave it's rather sweet they care each other <33

*nods while taking notes* i see i see. this ask kept going i am delighted to learn about this apparently-more-eel-gee-bee-tee-than-i-thought game. like i knew it was gay but i didn't know it was. this deeply. you are not annoying at all i am genuinely interested! you are infecting your normalness about them on me. thank you for this ask!! perhaps i will watch the elementals anime. soon.

i am gonna try and make this as coherent as possible since i’m still running on the anxious high of my angels at the vmas (should have never opened twitter tho) 💖💖💖😭 but hello friendos! my name’s maya (she&&her pronouns) and i have not rpd in quite awhile so i’m v sorry if it shows! i’m really happy to introduce you to the light of my life, day, better known to the masses as roxy! she’s flora’s main vocal and she also fancies herself a comedian at times but that’s neither here nor there~ there’s a basic little overview under the cut, as well as some plots and connections i think would be fun! pls hit like if you’d like to plot or brainstorm anything with a v scatterbrained person 🥰

if you’d have told dayeon way back when that she’d now be a famous vocalist amongst a group of other fierce women, she’d probably have laughed in your face. she certainly wouldn’t have believed you. sure, her father had a ton of influence in the business world and their family was quite well off, but that didn’t really mean anything when no one was willing to listen.

she always liked those stories about people who had a passion for singing putting on little miniature concerts when they are little for their friends and families. it may have been nothing more than parading through the living room in their mom’s high heels belting out a ballad at the top of their lungs, but there was something special about the whole thing; them carrying music in their heart for their entire lives.

her family wasn’t the type to listen, though. her father was either always locked in his office or away on business. her mother was busy with a large philanthropic foundation for which she was the chairwoman. her older brother was just that — an older brother. he was more interested in teasing her and hanging out with his own friends.

thankfully, day had skin thicker than her familial bonds, and much of the time, she let it roll off her back. if anything, she seemed to have a one-liner for every situation, choosing to find the humor rather than taking any real offense. 

she was a so/so student, especially against the standards set by the private school she attended. she was always more focused on being the class clown than really paying attention, but still, it made her friends. she always sort of felt she needed to bring something to the table, lest people only befriend her for her wealth. the latter could be such a lonely feeling, and she didn’t fancy it one bit.

through sheer determination, she carved out her place in school socially, becoming known around the facility as uneun sae, due to her tendency to burst into song in the hallways between classes. she had a pleasingly light voice, but the randomness of such an act usually elicited laughter rather than applause, which was fine by her.

still though, dayeon had her aspirations. she wanted to do something pertaining to singing, even if she had to peddle her talents to every open mic night in seoul. her mother was rather encouraging to day and her brother about taking part in extracurricular activities (mostly because it got them out of the house) so dayeon joined a local acapella group with her blessing.

she was really able to flex the muscle within her that ached to sing at their rehearsals, and everything seemed to be going perfectly. the group even had a few local performances which set dayeon’s soul alight. it may not have been a stadium, but it felt amazing to at least perform to an audience who was listening.

good times don’t last forever though — especially when the main vocal in your acapella group kicks you out because they “don’t think you fit into things”. in day’s opinion, it was more a move made out of jealousy, but she refused to dwell on it. after all, success was the best revenge.

not that she actually thought she’d be successful with her next endeavor, but she was feeling a bit spiteful and overconfident. she recorded an emotional audition video of her singing her lungs raw, and even still, she never let up on any of the notes. before going to sleep that night, she passively emailed it to a few music companies, not really expecting a response. it was more so just getting it out of her system.

it took about two weeks, but a couple of the companies actually responded to her email with an invitation to audition in person. she was overjoyed, but also, at a loss for what to do. she never even expected to hear back, let alone be invited to an audition. she had this intuitive feeling that asking her parents outright to allow her to accept the opportunity might not pan out, so she conceived another plan.

she'd travel to stay with her aunt, who conveniently lived much closer to her chosen label’s headquarters, but her cover story would be...fictional to say the least. to her parents’ knowledge, day was to attend a highly reputable finishing school. she spun it as a way to discipline out that goofy streak she seemed to have, which had always embarrassed them. they agreed to the idea, with hopes of their daughter transforming into the perfect, proper princess they’d always wanted.

little did they know, she was taking her first steps towards a different life altogether. at her aunt’s place, she felt a sense of peace and normalcy. the woman lived a much more humble life than that of dayeon’s parents, but it was refreshing. she didn’t feel like there was any kind of appearance she had to keep up; she could just let her hair down and be a mess if she wanted to. no one was there to tell her to “behave the way she was raised”. 

a calm place to unwind was about to become more important to day than ever, as she wound up passing the next round of auditions for new star entertainment — the company she’d been eyeing the hardest. she didn’t take too much time for breaks though, as she knew she had to stay on her game and then some to make this a reality. it was one of the hardest times in her life, to say the least. the work was grueling, but the company shaped dayeon into a top tier talent by the end of her trainee period.

not only was she a very polished vocalist, but she’d become a passable dancer as well, able to keep in time with others when it was an area she’d epically failed in before. soon enough, it was time to take that next leap into a world that was only somewhat familiar. there were talks of forming a group named flora, but day didn’t know yet if she’d make the cut. still, it was probably high past time to tell her parents the truth.

one night, while she and her aunt were seated in the living room, she decided to make that dreaded call. she knew they’d be upset, but they were now threatening to come there and force her to go back home. she begged and pleaded with them not to, reminding them that they’d never been willing to listen to her. now that someone was listening, they wanted to take it away from her? this seemed to back them down a bit to at least let her try the experience.

all that squared away, she still had one goal left to achieve — be among the final lineup for flora. even if the group only released one song and then disbanded, she’d have still counted herself lucky for even being apart of it.

when the announcement came, she was indeed made the main vocalist of the group, which was even more than she was hoping for. it actually made her a bit nervous, but she was more than willing to take on the task. as for whether they released one song and disbanded? not exactly.

flora is now in its 8th year, with multiple hit albums behind them and ahead of them. day, better known as roxy these days, has matured and evolved with the group itself, even if she’s still a giant goofball at the end of the day. she’s leaned into the fashion forward nature of being an idol, rather than the casual and simple style that used to adorn her, and now she’s a bit of a shopaholic. it’s something her managers try to limit, since leaving her in a mall with a credit card can prove dangerous, but she’s still happier than ever :)

plot ideas

flora sisterhood - her bestie within flora & her platonic soulmate in a way. they can just sort of communicate across the room with facial expressions, which often leads to other people looking at them like like they’re unhinged. you often can’t find one without the other, that’s just how they roll.

age of aquarius - day’s favorite form of exercise since becoming an idol is 100% swimming, even if it devolves from a workout into simply playing in the pool more than half the time. you enjoy the activity for your own reasons, and every time you go to the pool, you know there’s a good chance day will be there too. hopefully she makes it a bit more fun!

paradise lost - you were day’s first real relationship during her trainee years. she was still figuring out who she was in the crazy world of fame, and you took her by storm with everything that you were. you wound up betraying her in the end, and she’s still left with trust issues because of it. having to see you thriving after ripping her heart out robs even day of her ability to crack a smile.

secret friends - even though our fanbases may not get along and pit our groups against one another, we’ve become friends in all the madness. too bad we can’t actually hang out in public, or it would cause a huge uproar.

baddie influence - when day calls herself a baddie, she’s mostly being facetious, but since coming under the wing of an actual baddie, it may be starting to rub off on her. dayeon is suddenly instilled with a confidence and swagger she didn’t have before every time she hangs out with you and it’s done wonders for her self esteem.

i’d also love things like frenemies, day appeared in your mv when she was a trainee, always rooming together, day’s kinda in love w you and you don’t realize it, you fainted after practice and day took care of you, honestly any lil plot i’d love to do! i’m also happy to brainstorm anything, so yeah! 💖

“you only saw me as a weapon!” an in-depth analysis of tommy and techno’s relationship /rp

a mild focus on techno’s thoughts since it’s his speech, but not one or the other is in the right here. a lot of this might have been said, but this is a BIG collection from pogtopia to doomsday to address as many angles as possible. to preface, i don’t think tommy sees techno as a weapon and nothing else, but the point remains that techno feels like he does, and that’s important.

this is from like january btw lol

we’ll start with “the blade” tommy’s nickname for techno, which got adopted by a lot of the server (as tommy’s nicknames tend to be). most other people have the Big [X] format, but techno gets this specialised nickname. i think the reason he developed a negative association with it was because of when it was used; when they need him for fights. the most important would be the vault reveal, with wilbur getting everyone to victoriously chant “we have the blade!” to boister morale. this would have been fine in and of itself, if it weren’t for the events of the rest of the day and what that name would come to represent. it ends up becoming a taunt to him, because that’s what people get close to him for. his use to them as the blade rather than his friendship to them as technoblade

tommy’s always very happy to call in techno for help, and techno usualy sorts it out with... minimal effort required. i do see this more as a blend of tommy’s pride in knowing techno and smugness at having that kind of upperhand in a fight over him viewing techno solely as a weapon to use, but this still ends up being detrimental to their friendship because of how much it happens. remember, the entire reason techno joined the server was to help wilbur and techno form pogtopia. techno doesn’t mind helping tommy out, but at some point it’s going to be frustrating, being called in for any and all minor struggles. but in the end of the day, it’s fine, because they’re brothers under the same cause. destroying manberg. Oh Wait.

the main issue came after the festival, with that faith and trust tommy had in techno being shattered; rightfully so, because watching tubbo get murdered was traumatic for him, because for tommy the pit was no way to settle that conflict (which reminded, wasn’t techno’s suggestion, it was proposed and pushed onto them by wilbur). since tommy sees technoblade as unbeatable, he couldn’t understand why techno was so easily peer-pressured by manberg. he was threatened by how many people were against him, he was stressed dealing with the voices telling him to do it, he didn’t see any other way out, he wasn’t getting any support from his only other allies even though he was looking right at them and they still did nothing.

but tommy didn’t understand because he thought techno could have won. techno did try to stall as well, but without orders from his friends he ended up following schatt’s, and once he realised he had the power to kill everyone on stage, he just gave into that power. the miscommunication during the pogtopia arc was why techno felt as betrayed as he did, and why the victim complex argument annoys me so much, since he was kept in the dark for that long while grinding resources for the army. also, since techno wasn’t there for l’manberg’s peaceful days or the start of the disc saga he would never understand how important those attachments were to people, so he’d feel little remorse blowing them all up (especially since he knew that was the backup plan for pogtopia anyway, and just because people were unhappy about it didn’t change the fact that it was a plan)

a lot of people say that techno should have known that pogtopia’s goal was to form a new government, that at some point he should have overheard the real plan. everyone agreed to ‘destroy manberg’ (as in the government not the land) but somehow techno never found out about the ‘restoring l’manberg’ part of the plan. how that happened, who knows, but in the end of the day, the writers chose for that miscommunication to happen for the story. it’s not a how or a why, it’s just a fact that was written in. he didn’t find out until it was right in front of him, and he was bound to feel betrayed by that, enough that he was driven to do something irrational. my personal theory is that techno was mainly following wilbur’s orders, and because wilbur was the real traitor, chances are he never mentioned any forming of a new government since he knew that would lose techno’s support. wilbur was probably using techno as a weapon, that was his mentality for a lot of people back then, but since he was the leader of pogtopia then that negative transference carried on to the rest of the members for techno, most of all tommy as he was the other key founder, and not as underhanded about getting techno’s help. i’d say wilbur’s address of techno during the final speech was the a key reason as to why techno doesn’t feel as used by him than he is with tommy, solidifying the anarchy bros before dying, meaning anything else could be revealed.

after the war, the bedrock bros were completely alienated from eachother. tommy started to blame everything about l’manberg’s destruction on techno, since wilbur died and ghostbur isn’t really at fault for anything. techno distanced himself from everything, going into retirement for the unforeseeable future because he felt like his violent anarchist tactics were futile and grew tired of constant conflict. he talked to tommy a few times during retirement, and every single time, he asks tommy how the government was working out for him. when he was at risk of being exiled, just before being exiled and immediately after exile. he wanted tommy to see the government in the same light as he did, because when l’manberg sold him out he realised they were the same. they’d both been betrayed by the government and from that point on he fully believed tommy would be better off away from l’manberg. but every time tommy said no, because he believed in the original dream wilbur had for l’manberg and because he trusted tubbo’s leadership. techno was smug when he was proved right because of course he was he’s technoblade. plus, they did view eachother as enemies at this point, so it’s not unacceptable for them to argue with eachother right now.

that brings us to the execution. traumatising! the refusal to run a fair trial and the dehumanising treatment from his old allies in pogtopia hammer this home, but importantly they rope philza into the chaos this time. ALSO it’s important to mention that techno was killed; he just got an extra life from the totem. he was actually killed and his character experienced that pain as punishment. he was pushed out of retirement, which was unjust in his eyes, since he believed he had genuinely changed. it didn’t help that quackity explicitly told him it wasn’t actually punishment for the withers, but instead a move to consolidate power, furthering his view of the cabinet as corrupt. from that point on he left retirement. he’d been doing well without violence, building connections with new people like vikk and lazar and finding a fragile form of peace, but in the end this shattered it. he’s back to being the blade, speaking with violence, because l’manberg made it clear there was no other way for him to be heard at this point. so he’s going to destroy them, even if he has to do it alone.

enter stage raccooninnit.

tommy taking refuge in techno’s house because he knew techno was rich enough for him to steal his resources and strong enough to defend him from dream is... interesting. he couldn’t go back to l’manberg, but he took refuge with a man who he viewed as a villain. this probably doesn’t help techno’s opinion of him, since he is quite literally using him for his resources, but in the end of the day tommy was desperate and quite literally on the verge of death, so he seemed to take some kind of pity on him. the exile period of their relationship is definitely the most important part of this argument, because it was just the two of them: no wilbur or pogtopia as an external force (though the pressure of dream and l’manberg still affected things) but in the same way ultimately doomed to fail. they fight for a moment, but ultimately settle as ‘business partners’. which quickly evolves back into a friendship like the one they had before the festival.

my least favourite take is that either one of them never valued the other at this point because this is just.... violently not true. they started off working for mutual benefit; tommy explicitly agreed to do minor terrorism in l’manberg and to help techno get his weapons back in return for techno’s help getting the discs back and taking refuge in his house. from the start both of them stated their limits:

techno was always planning on getting revenge on l’manberg for what happened on the day of his execution

tommy never wanted to upset tubbo, and wanted to put getting his discs back first

should note that tommy changes his mind on the disc’s priority later on, but at the point of their alliance he does make it clear that’s what he wants out of the partnership. the issue is that from the start both of them went in with blind optimism. neither of them lied to eachother or forced them to change their viewpoints but in the end of the day they could never be on the same side as long as l’manberg was involved. (note, i think some people think he wasn’t but techno was actually planning on helping tommy getting the discs back, with him getting annoyed at tommy letting tubbo give dream the disc because that made both of their jobs so much harder, but it was more of a long term goal bc he knew dream was hard to beat. plus before his execution, he visited tommy and strongly implied he would be willing to help with the discs, and that he would be a better ally in those personal aims than NLM were)

i don’t understand the ‘techno was only using tommy’ accusation here because like... how? what would he have to gain by having tommy on his side? he could definitely have blown up l’manberg without his help, so why bring him in at all? it was a very mutual agreement of ‘we’re using eachother’ that developed into genuine friendship. i’ve always seen it as a teaching experience: techno knows tommy had been wronged by NLM, and by extension tubbo, and by taking him on these minor terrorism trips, he’s showing tommy the worst of l’manberg. look, look at this execution stand, look at what they’ve done. and in doing this, he’s trying to prove to tommy that what he’s going to do to l’manberg is right. and in showing him the worst of NLM, he’s neglecting all of its good parts, but again, techno cant see any positives in l’manberg, and is trying to show tommy that everyone, especially tommy, would be better off without it. and tommy had criticisms of l’manberg before he was exiled, especially in regards to tubbo. he told ranboo the reason he chose wilbur to be president instead of tubbo was because he was worried the presidency would ruin their friendship, and Look At Exactly What Happened. techno highlighting the flaws of the country to tommy was easy because it WAS flawed and it hurt both of them. and techno’s hope was that tommy would join him in the eventual destruction of it, because he wanted to share his revenge with tommy and for him to get his own justice against l’manberg. but it... didn’t quite work out that way.

they both tried to make it easier for the other; techno told tommy he didn’t need to fight against l’manberg if he didn’t want to, but tommy came with him to the festival anyway to confront dream, despite techno’s mission being against the government in that situation. tommy started to view tubbo’s cabinet as corrupt for the execution and neglecting him during exile, and ended up helping techno out around the base and even toning down the purposeful annoyance (per techno’s ooc request). and the day before the green festival, he told techno he would help to destroy l’manberg (not knowing how quickly things would escalate the next day, since doomsday was fairly spontaneous) but in the end they would never be able to find a full compromise: techno would always be an anarchist and tommy could never hurt tubbo.

people accuse techno of not caring for tommy, which really annoys me because it’s not?? true??? if anything he shows more outward affection than tommy did. he didn’t have any benefit from taking in tommy, but he still did it. it’s not really basic decency either, given that they were technically enemies beforehand. he picked up on tommy’s fragile state around dream and defended, hid him despite the fact that he owed dream, he kept him away from logsted and the final control room after realising how upsetting they were. he exchanged the christmas presents, he jumped in to defend him against the rest of the server and when tommy betrayed techno, he was genuinely hurt! he was wrecklessly impulsive in a way the calculated blade usually wasn’t, almost blowing up half his house (including almost killing his villagers) because of the negative association with dnret.

that’s not to say tommy doesn’t also get absolutely crucified for betraying techno because of all of techno did for him. again it was somewhat inevitable. tommy said it himself, he was turning into someone he didn’t want to be, he was hurting people, and it was somewhat because he was living with technoblade. he was so powerless under dream, and he liked the feeling of power he got from teaming with techno, so much so that it drove him to cruelty, with even techno telling him he went too far with fundy. in the end, it’s probably for the best that he set that boundary and left to go back to l’manberg, but ultimately it was upsetting to both of them. techno felt betrayed because he genuinely thought tommy was his friend, only to be turned on last minute once again, now surrounded alone by enemies he was trying to protect tommy from. to him, allying with dream was just as bad as tommy allying with l’manberg. a betrayal for a betrayal, absolute reciprocity.

we all know the doomsday speech, with techno’s arguments being consistently stronger than tommy’s and much easier to defend, but we can’t just dismiss him. tommy had a lot of emotional input that day, and was angry at techno for a Lot of reasons, so he was more focused on shouting than making sense. he was more accusatory, while techno had fairly focused rebuttals (which, fair, i’m pretty sure that was techno’s first big addressal of most of that with other characters). it ended with tommy calling techno selfish for destroying l’manberg and techno coldly shutting tommy out for the betrayal.

betrayal was the driving force for techno’s “weapon” speech. tommy used him in pogtopia, tried to use him to stop dream exiling him and terrorising NLM) which he laughed at when told in character) and used him for getting the discs back. tommy wasn’t just using him, he genuinely felt like they had built a relationship beyond that, but when techno acted under his own ideals that went against his, then it was over. because tommy doesn’t value techno’s ideals, because they’re ‘selfish’ to him since he’s one of the only ones who believes in them. in turn techno sees that as making tommy selfish and as such they’re unable to compromise.

living with techno was an important part of tommy’s recovery process, which is still ongoing now. he saw immediate changes from his time with dream, claiming he felt “more me-ey” around techno and genuinely valuing his company. but he viewed techno’s alliance with dream as a betrayal, and he viewed the nov 16th incident as a betrayal. because he see’s techno’s belief in anarchy as selfish. something i never hear people point out is that tommy ADMITS he betrayed techno. after doomsday*, he says “all this time, technoblade told me i was betraying him. and you know what? (whispered) i was.” he’s guilty about it, and he understands that techno’s hurt. but he still can’t see him as being in the right, because techno took l’manberg forcefully and violently, and because tommy was hurt by their separation too. techno was powered by revenge more than anarchy during doomsday, which i think is important to point out. tommy had focused in on the threat of dream, and forgotten all the trauma techno went through with l’manberg, and left techno to rejoin l’manberg.

BOTH of them have explicitly stated “i viewed him as a friend but he never viewed me as one” and that’s just... devastating. at one point we can only hope that they have an in-canon conversation to actually settle all of this, but for now their storylines are separate and we’ll just have to live with that.

if anyone has anything they’d like to ask/clarify, or additions from any side i’d love to see it bc character analysis of dsmp characters is what’s keeping me going rn lmao. i said betrayal so many times here i am very sorry for clogging up the tag bc my readmore isn’t working yet (edit SAVED)

*i actually think this speech from tommy is very important, and not looked at as much as other stuff so im gonna link it here [55:52].

The Football Player (Part One)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you're also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

masterlist / part two

According to every ounce of common sense still left in your body, you should be paying attention. You’re in school, might as well actually learn something, right? You have a test next period, and if you were smart or wanted to pass at all, you should be focusing right now, tracking every single word that your professor is saying. The only problem is that you’re not doing this whatsoever. No, your gaze is instead directed out the window, where a certain football team is just beginning practice.

It’s not like you were intentionally trying to get distracted. You had come to the classroom right on time, pencils lined up and notebook out, ready to start the day. Your gaze just happened to accidentally shift to the window instead, and when you saw number seventeen in red and gold, well, how could you focus on math at a time like this? You’d seen James Barnes around the school many times, but he never ceases to amaze you.

Honestly, even talking about him tends to light a fire behind your cheeks. You’ve seen this movie dozens of times before: shy, studious girl falls for the football player, hijinks ensue. However, this isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster. Bucky is a star member of the team, and you’re just a fan of your school’s football games. Whenever you do icebreakers in class and you’re forced to describe yourself in one word, you always reach for ‘bookish’ or ‘smiling’. Certainly never ‘superbly athletic’ or ‘on Bucky’s radar in any way’. Those aren’t even one word.

However, you never quite seem to let yourself be brought back to reality. Time and time again, you don the red and gold colors of your school- Mid-Capital University, or MCU, ready to go cheer on the team and your favorite player especially so. In fact, there’s a game tonight, you’ll be going with your friend. No matter how many times you laugh at yourself, though, you can’t shake your crush. You doubt it’ll be going away anytime soon.

The night is young, the shouts loud. You cheer with your friend and the rest of the school as the football team runs out onto the field. Their manager, a Mr. Stark, watches from the sidelines, yelling directions or complaining about how much the equipment is going to cost. The team jogs over to their captain, Steve Rogers, to huddle up and discuss final strategy. Steve is a senior, and you’ve heard rumors that he’s chosen Sam Wilson to take his place as captain next year. He’s Bucky’s best friend, so you’ve heard, although they pretend to fight often enough that you’d think they were rivals.

Bucky is here as well now, eyes glinting from underneath his helmet. He’d had long hair for the longest time, but when he’d cut it over the summer there had been more than a few desolate sighs from the cheerleaders. You had to smile at that- at least you weren’t head-over-heels enough to give up your crush based on his hair. You weren’t that bad yet.

As you watch, the team takes their position. They’ll be playing their rivals tonight, the Hydras. Steve heads to the back, Bucky and Sam on either side of him. Further along the team, you can begin to recognize other players- Scott Lang, a kid who’s scrawny off the field but seems to grow twice in size the second he puts on his gear, Peter Parker, the freshman who managed to make it on the team within his first few days, and Natasha Romanoff, the one girl on the team who’s got a death stare promising she’ll tear any objectors to shreds.

The whistle blows, and the teams are off. You watch with bated breath as Bucky darts left, right, catches the ball from Steve and takes off down the field. Apprehension grows across the student body until at last- touchdown, your school! You rise with the others, cheering in unison. Maybe you’re just being silly, but you could swear Bucky looked at you with a smile just as he started off back towards the line.

The rest of the football game is a breeze. Your school wins easily, and Bucky definitely did his part to secure the victory. The next day, everyone is still buzzing over the catches and near misses with their friends, not wanting to miss a single moment. You suppose it’s still on your mind, which is why you’re frozen in your tracks when your new lab partner sits down beside you in biology.

It’s Bucky. Of course it is Bucky. Of course, the one time you have to have a new lab partner in class, your teacher manages to have the terrible luck to place you with the one person who reduces you to a blushing mess every time he steps within ten feet of you. Bucky slings his backpack down beside his chair, offering you an easy smile like a flyer, free of charge.

“I’m Bucky.” He says, and you remember yourself. “I know. I saw the game, you were really good. I’m Y/N, uh, by the way.” Bucky’s smile grows even wider when you mention the game, if that’s possible. “You saw the game? That’s so nice of you.” You feel like you can’t form a coherent thought. “Yeah, I went with my friends. Your team won.” You want to slap yourself in the head- of course he won, he was there. You’re stating the obvious.

But Bucky doesn’t laugh at you, or act like you’ve said anything strange. He just nods, shoulders slumping slightly as he thinks about last night’s game. “It was hard. I guess every time you go against your rival school the pressure’s just ten times worse. It took a lot to just run out on the field.”

He stiffens slightly after he says this, like he wasn’t intending on sharing that secret just yet. However, you’re just grateful that you’re not the only one saying whatever pops into your head. “I can’t blame you. If it’s worth anything, though, I thought you were great.” Bucky’s beaming smile is back, brighter than ever. “It’s worth a lot from you.”

Maybe this sudden seating arrangement won’t be that bad after all.

Your friend catches up to you the second you leave the biology room behind. She looks back and forth between you and Bucky’s retreating form, something in between astonishment and a teasing grin lingering on her face. “Tell me I didn’t just make that up. Tell me you’re actually the lab partner of the one and only Bucky Barnes, the guy you’ve been crushing on for, like, forever.”

You shove her slightly, although you can’t help but smile. “It’s true. I don’t know how, but it’s true. Guess the bio teacher really liked me that period.” Your friend loops an arm around your shoulders. “It’s not just him who really likes you. Did you see the way he was looking at you? All through class, he kept stealing glances. I think Bucky Barnes has a crush on you.”

You stop in your tracks. “That’s impossible. He would never.” Your friend crows in victory. “But he did! You don’t stare at somebody like that unless you’re hopelessly in love with them. It’s the same way you stare at him.” Indignation rises in you like a spring. “I don’t stare at him. I just observe, casually.” Your friend snorts. “Well, you casually observe him a lot. Honestly, I just see this as a success. If you can get the star football player to fall in love with you, then I think I can win the lottery or something.”

Even after your laughter rises and dies away, you can’t help but think about what your friend said. Surely it’s impossible- Bucky would never so much as talk to you outside of class, let alone have a crush on you. But your friend wasn’t exactly lying. You had seen Bucky out of the corner of your eye, the way a smile lingered on his lips when he glanced over at you. That wasn’t just nothing, right? Honestly, this whole lab partners deal might be more pressing than you ever thought possible.

The only way to move on is to go through the next day, and the next. After that, however, you have biology again, and that means finding your place next to Bucky Barnes and pretending like your heart rate isn’t skyrocketing the second he smiles up at you, saying he’s glad to see you again. Your friend keeps stealing glances your way, eyes wide and thumbs raised in an expression of impressed awe.

As it turns out, your friend isn’t the only one to see something between you and Bucky. You make your way out of the bio room, unable to hide a smile, although your happy outlook disappears the second somebody blocks your path across campus. This somebody just happens to be Mandy Fleming, bottle blonde junior who thinks she owns the school, and her entourage of preening followers.

Mandy folds her arms over her chest, considering you. Her lip purses. Evidently she finds something lacking. “You know, I don’t think we’ve had a proper conversation in a while. We need to make a few things clear.” You force a smile, trying to step around her. “Can we do it later? I have places to be.” Mandy curls her lip. “I don’t wait. This can’t wait. See, you’ve developed the unfortunate habit of spending too much time around Bucky Barnes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We’re lab partners. What, you want me to ignore him?” Mandy’s eyes narrow. “That would be preferable. Next class, you��re going to go up to the professor and tell him you want to switch partners. Make something up about wanting to be closer to the board or something, I’m sure he’ll believe it.” You can barely listen to her. “And why would I do that?” Mandy takes a step closer. “Bucky is mine, not yours. I’m going to need you to back off.”

You stare at her. “You want me to switch lab partners all because a boy you’re not even dating is sitting next to me?” Mandy’s head rears back. You’ve obviously struck a nerve. “Listen here, honey. This isn’t an issue about me, it’s an issue about you. What, did you really think Bucky would ever even give you the time of day? You’re a nobody, a nothing, somebody not even worth a fraction of his time. Honestly, I’m doing him a favor by getting rid of you. He doesn’t want to see you, not for a second.”

With every word, you can feel your confidence plummeting. Mandy notices this, a smirk burning even deeper into her lips. Sometimes, you swear she can smell fear just like an animal. “You’re worried because you know I’m right. You’re pathetic, really, and Bucky Barnes wants nothing to do with you.” Just as you feel like you want to go back to your dorm room and never see the light of day again, a voice rings out from behind you. It’s a voice you recognize instantly, and one that Mandy does too, as she shrinks back the second she hears it.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Bucky steps forward, taking a place next to you. Mandy forces a smile. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about. Y/N and I are just having a little chat about homework. We had homework, right, a textbook reading and-” Bucky cuts her off coolly. “I heard every word. If you think I’d want to choose you over her, you’re wrong. She’s a hundred times the girl you’ll ever be.”

Mandy stammers, fishing around for words but coming up with nothing. It’s almost cathartic to watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Y/N and I have somewhere to be. And if I hear you trying to talk to her like that again, believe me when I say that this won’t be the worst I’ll say to you.” Bucky offers you a hand like a proper gentleman, and you take it, letting him steer you away from Mandy and her followers, who are still gaping at your backs.

The second you’re out of earshot, Bucky turns to you, apologies and regret written all over his face. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s all my fault- she’s been trying to flirt with me all semester, and I finally gave up and rejected her, and now she’s taking it out on you. I wish none of this ever happened.” You manage to force a smile. “Trust me, it’s fine.”

Bucky looks at you, concern still lingering in his eyes. “Are you sure? I can talk to them again if you think they’ll bother you.” You laugh at that. “Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly alright.” Bucky smiles at that. “Well, if you are perfectly alright, I was wondering if you were busy this Saturday. I saw this new park that opened, and it looked really interesting, but if you’re busy or something we can totally do something else, or nothing at all, whatever you-”

You cut him off, unable to hide a smile at his rambling. “I think that sounds excellent. I’ll see you there?” Bucky’s face lights up. “I’ll see you there.” He gathers his courage one last time, then leans forward to kiss you. He flashes you one last perfect smile before disappearing around the corner, leaving you with a smile and the memory of his lips on yours. When you look up, you see scores of jealous girls staring at you, but for once, the attention doesn’t bother you. Why should it? You have Bucky at last, and he doesn’t want anyone but you.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

more than gold

summary:  A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

-

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

Nannyette

Chapter 7 – Narrow Escape

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette was just finishing her paper on corsetry in the 1900’s when she heard a loud bang against the balcony doors.  She jumped out of her seat, accidentally dumping her computer and books on the floor.  The balcony doors burst open as Superboy pushed through carrying a body.  “Tim!” Marinette called out to him, rushing to help clear a path to the couch.  “Is he alright?  What happened?”

“Little bit of an incident.  He’ll be fine, but he needs to take it easy,” Kon said pointedly, giving Tim a clear look to stay there.  “Dick said he could crash here.  It was closer than the Cave.”  He sat him gently on the couch.  He turned to Marinette.  “I’ll leave him in your capable hands?”

“I’ll be fine.  I just need to lay down for a little bit,” Tim breathed out roughly, trying and utterly failing to reassure her.

“Did I sound this unconvincing when I said the same thing to you?” She asked exasperated.  “Yeah, I can take care of him.  Go ahead and finish what you need to.”  She waved Kon off to focus on Tim.

Kon nodded to her.  When she turned toward Tim, Kon looked over her shoulder and gave him a thumbs up and a wink.  Tim groaned at him.  “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

Marinette knelt in front of Tim to look him over and winced at his injuries.   “Yeah, no. You need a bit more than just sleep. I’m going to have to cut off your shirt. Is that okay?

Tim gave her a strained smirked.  “Already trying to get my shirt off?”

“Oh you know, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”  She shrugged distractedly, still focusing on the cuts to his chest, arm, and shoulder. It looked like the left side of his body took the brunt of the blows, though there were likely to be more bruises under the suit.  Luckily, his legs seemed to be fine so she wouldn’t have to cut them off as well. She didn’t think she would be able to function if he was sitting in front of her basically naked.

“Wait, really?” Tim squeaked out.

Marinette ignored him, trying to examine his injuries, but his suit was not giving at all and she couldn’t get a clear view of his injuries.  “How do I… Can I cut this?”

Tim examined his suit.  He hadn’t thought about that.  They had special tools for that in the Batcave.  There really wasn’t a way to remove the suit here other than taking it off, which was not ideal.  “No, not really.”

“I’m going to have to remove it the old fashioned way then.  It will hurt a lot more.  Let’s get you some pain killers first.  Won’t do much while we’re taking off the shirt, but it will help later.” She cringed at the thought.  “I’ll be right back.”  She hurried away to get the first aid kit and was back before he could even adjust into a more comfortable position on the couch.  She handed a glass of water to his good hand and then realized he probably wouldn’t be able to use the other hand to take the pain killers.  She looked between the pills in her hand and him a few times.  “Right. Okay.  I’ll just… um… open up.”  He looked up at her surprised.  “Well, you can’t do it yourself so…”

He flicked his eyes between the pills in her hand and her a few times as well.  A blush dusted his cheeks as he looked down.  “Yeah, okay.” He opened his mouth hesitantly. Marinette gently slipped the pills in his mouth, her fingers dusted his lips causing his breath to hitch.  His eyes shot up to her, but she had already switched focus to the blood seeping through his suit from his shoulder.  

As soon as he took a drink and swallowed the pills, she took the glass away and knelt in front of him again, examining the shirt for the least painful way to remove it.  “You should design these with this kind of thing in mind.  We’ll take it slow, okay?”  She looked up making eye contact with him, waiting for him to get ready.

“What, your heroes’ suits were easy to remove?” Tim tried to joke to distract them from the oncoming pain as she started easing the shirt up his chest.

“Yes they were.  Magic, remember?  They came right off with a few words.” Marinette smiled tensely back at him helping him ease his arm out of the sleeve.

“You seem to know a lot about their suits.” Tim raised an eyebrow at her.  He took a deep breath and hissed as they slowly worked on removing his left arm, which was significantly more sensitive, from its sleeve.

Marinette’s hands faltered momentarily.  “You’re not the first superhero I’ve had to… help heal.” Tim’s brows furrowed further at her explanation.  She eased the shirt over his head and looked down to assess the damage. “Oh Tim,” she said quietly, her lips turning down into a frown and concern shining in her eyes. “Surely you have people that are trained to deal with this you could have gone to.”

“I trust you.  I just need to sleep and I’ll be fine.  Dick’s place was closest.” He tried to shrug but gasped in pain when he did.

“Tim…” her hands hovered over the cuts, too scared to make his pain worse.

Tim gently held her hand to bring her focus to him and calm her down.  “None of them are deep enough to need stitches.  I didn’t lose enough blood to be concerned.  I don’t have a concussion.  I just need some bandages and sleep.” Tim assured her.

Marinette looked in his eyes as he comforted her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.  She nodded at him but her eyes were still laced with worry.  “Let’s get you bandaged up then so you can get that rest.

“Why don’t you tell me about what happened?” She prompted him while she salved his cuts and put on bandages.

“Ugh.  Escape Room hell.” He huffed.  Marinette spared a glance up to raise an eyebrow at him.  “Riddler thought it would be fun… for him… and I’m sure it was, until we got out and kicked his ass.  He had some backup traps though and a ton of henchmen.  I think he borrowed some from Penguin.  One of them thought it would be a good idea to set off some of the more… explosive traps to stop us.  It did work, kind of.  It stopped me, but it killed them.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right for Gotham.” She grumbled under her breath.  “All done.” She smoothed out the last bandage.  Her fingers brushed over a scar just below the bandage.  She absentmindedly traced it as her eyes wandered over his chest noting the great number of scars.  “There’s so many.” She whispered, more to herself than him.

“Scars don't bother you do they?” Tim asked hesitantly.

Marinette’s eyes shot up to his and turned soft.  “They mean you walked away. I’d rather see a scar than a coffin.” She reassured him.  Her eyes returned to the scars on his chest.  “I’m just… there’s so many.  You must have gone through so much pain.  So much terrible pain.”

He smiled gently at her.  He was so touched that her first response was concern for how much he suffered.  That the idea of him hurt touched her so deeply.  Without thinking he reached out and cupped her face, hiding the slight wince from the pain he felt from exerting his left arm.  He stroked her cheek with his thumb and leaned down closer to her.  “You’re amazing.” He whispered to her.

Marinette looked up at him with wide eyes.  “Me?” She exclaimed quietly.  “You’re the one going out there and protecting Gotham, taking the hits for the people who can’t fight.  You’re the one solving cold cases the police gave up on, making Mar’i smile by just walking in the room, successfully running a multi-million dollar company, helping fund programs to help the people.”

He shook his head.  “You’re creative and dedicated and smart and compassionate and kind. You risked your life to save Mar’i. You’re the one Mar’i gets excited for because you make her feel special. You make everyone you meet feel special. You make me feel special.  And I really want to kiss you right now.” He licked his lips as he searched her eyes for some indication of how she would react to his comment.

Marinette gave him a gentle smile and nodded dreamily. “Okay,” she whispered almost reverently, her brain not fully capable of forming coherent thoughts after that his confession.  Tim’s lips formed a relieved smile and he leaned the rest of the way down to gently touch his lips to hers.  The kiss was chaste and sweet and it made his whole body feel like it had been enveloped in warmth.  

They pulled away too soon for either of their tastes.  He wound his hands behind her head and around her waist to gently pull her closer to him again.  Marinette picked up on his intention and surged up to kiss him again.  Her lips met his in a heated, passionate kiss with such force, it pushed him against the back of the couch.  A grunt left him when he hit the cushions.

Marinette started to pull away to make sure he was okay, but he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her closer to him instead, not willing to end the euphoric feeling of her lips on his and her hands on his face and in his hair.  He didn’t want to think about his injuries right now.  He just wanted to think about her; her lips, her hands, her tongue, her warmth, each of them salving a part of him the bandages couldn’t reach.  The kiss finally broke up when Tim could no longer contain a groan of pain from having pushed the injuries on his arm and side too far too soon.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Marinette fretted. “Are you okay?  I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“It was my fault.  It’s okay, but maybe we should continue this tomorrow.”  Not even the radiating pain could wipe the grin from his face, the feeling of touching Marinette and being touched by her still coursing through him.

“That sounds like a good idea.  You should lay down.”  Marinette fussed, trying to make the couch more comfortable for him. “I’ll get a blanket for you and a better pillow.”

Tim kept smiling as he laid down on the couch. He shifted uncomfortably.  “I think I need something to prop my arm on to take the pressure off my shoulder,” he told her when she sat on the edge of the couch to lay the blanket over him and switch out the couch decorative pillow for a real pillow.

She looked around, taking stock of the options in the room.  “How big were you thinking?”

He pulled her down to lay next to him and laid his arm over her waist, smiling at the surprised squeak she let out.  “I was thinking about this size.”

She giggled and shifted slightly to get comfortable looking up at him with an amused glint in her eyes.  “That was incredibly smooth.”

“Thank you.” He grinned at her

“I’m going to have to add that to my list of amazing things about you.”

“You are the only one I’m smooth for though so I think it goes on my list for you, that you inspire it in me.”

“Still going on my list.”  She smirked at him.

Tim smiled contentedly and pulled her closer to him, trying to adjust the blanket so it covered her as well.  He grimaced lightly when he put more pressure on his left arm than he meant to.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Marinette asked anxiously.  “I don’t want to aggravate your injuries.”

“This is a brilliant idea.  This can only help.  Being with you only makes me feel better.” Tim assured her gently.

Marinette looked down trying to hide her blush. “Me too.” She said quietly and curled into his chest.  He smiled wider and kissed the top of her head, letting out a contented sigh.  The warmth and comforting feeling of having each other in their arms lulling them to sleep quickly.  Their sleep was so peaceful in each other’s arms, they didn’t even notice when Dick came home or when he started taking pictures of them cuddled up together.  The pictures would be extremely helpful at their wedding.

Chapter 7

Tags:

@timari-month-event  @ichigorose @stainedglassm @better-toast @theymakeupfairies @trippingovermyfeet @demonicbusiness @maskedpainter @ladybug-182

Gingerbread (Ficmas #1)

Here we go!!! Ficmas day one! Super excited about this - I’ve never done ficmas before! As promised... a little sweet competition!

Characters and their world by @lumosinlove “Is everyone ready?” Celeste asked, standing around her kitchen, looking at the room nearly overflowing with hockey players and their loved ones. “Leo and I are the judges. The rules are simple, you all have to build a gingerbread house, everything you need is right in front of you. The best looking one wins, okay?” 

Remus grinned and nodded, nudging Sirius excitedly. They had everything - including the gingerbread premade by Celeste herself, so even if it looked like a disaster it was sure to taste amazing. Not that theirs would look anything less than fantastic.

On second thought, maybe a group of highly competitive athletes working against each other instead of with each other was a bad idea.

“Okay guys!” Leo called as he hopped up to sit on the counter and oversee the proceedings. “You have one hour. Your time starts.... Now!”

Remus grinned at Sirius, and then they set to work.

Logan knew watching Leo be all authoritative as a judge while he just had to watch would be hard. He didn’t know it would be torture. He was teamed with Adele and Katie, but Adele had to keep hitting his arm to get his attention.

“Logan,” She warned. “I want to win. Now are you gonna focus or not?”

Logan shook his head. Leo could wait. He had a competition to win. “Oui, sorry yes I’m good now.”

Adele nodded, apparently satisfied and Katie drew their attention back to her when she started bouncing in her seat. 

“Allez!” She said, her eyes wide, “Tremzy come on I wanna get to the part where I can eat it.”

Logan chuckled but obliged her, obediently holding pieces of gingerbread in place at the girls’ command as the icing dried.

“Okay, no pressure or anything, but your name’s Noelle so I’m expecting you to dominate this Christmas thing.” Thomas said, only partially jokingly as Noelle carefully piped the outline of their ‘windows’. 

“Um, excuse you Thomas Walker,” She replied, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Okay, but hear me out,” Thomas started as he picked up a piece of gingerbread, and started piping green spikes on it. “We should have pine trees in front of it.”

Noelle looked at him like he was losing his mind. “Babe, it’s a gingerbread house.” She said slowly as if it were a foreign concept.

“I know!” Thomas said, excitedly waving his hands and as he did, his pine tree went flying through the air and landed in Kasey’s hair. 

Kasey turned around very slowly and looked around menacingly, reaching up and pulling the biscuit out of his hair, leaving green splotches and crumbs in its wake.

“Who?” He ground out, and Thomas looked around with a shocked expression. “I have no idea! Noelle? Did you see anything?”

Noelle bit down her laugh and shook her head. “Non. Maybe it was one of the kids?” She said, looking over at Logan’s table to where Katie had more icing on her than the house. Kasey followed her and his vision softened. He nodded once and turned back around, Thomas made another tree and held it up to Noelle.

“They’ll never see it coming.” He said, finally finishing his statement. Noelle rolled her eyes, but in the end, there were a ton of palm trees in their ‘garden’. 

Finn was with Pascal and Marc, all of them particularly competitive and set on winning except there was one little problem… None of them had ever actually made a gingerbread house before.

“I think it goes like this?” Marc said, tilting his head as he stuck two pieces together, the icing going everywhere. He let go and they all held their breath while the biscuits stood for about ten seconds before collapsing so slowly it was actually a little sad. 

“I say we give up and just eat everything.” Finn proposed. Marc nodded, Dumo looked like he was going to put up a fight, but one glance at their gingerbread wreckage had his shoulders slumping. He reached out and broke off a bit of biscuit, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“At least it tastes good?”

“But we didn’t make-” Marc began.

“Shh.” Finn cut him off with a playful wink. “At least it tastes good.”

Kasey’s hair was green and that had been a problem but then Alex promised he’d wash it out himself later that night and well, those words along with the little wink Natalie sent him had Kasey pretty okay with the whole situation. He sat there, smiling softly as he listened to Alex and Natalie chat away while Kasey did all the actual work, creating quite a nice gingerbread house, thank you very much.

Kasey grew up with his dad baking every Sunday and he’d always help. He wasn’t ashamed to say he was quite handy with a piping bag, and Alex was watching with wide eyes as Kasey piped ‘snow’ on the roof.

“How-” Alex stuttered, his eyes focused on Kasey’s hand.

Natalie bit down her smile. “He likes to keep people guessing.”

“I… I’m not complaining.”

“Like what you see O’Hara?” Kasey asked, unable to stop himself from teasing the other man. Alex was as prone to flushing a deep red as his brother, but Kasey found Alex looked a lot boyish when it happened to him.

“I definitely like what I’m seeing.” Alex replied, before cheekily dipping his finger in the icing and smirking at Kasey as he ate it. 

Natalie laughed at them both as she leaned in and kissed the sugar dusting Alex’s lips. Kasey raised an eyebrow, but kept looking at what he was doing, until Alex was standing next to him.

“Open up.” Alex prompted, holding his icing coated finger up to Kasey’s lips. Kasey made eye contact with Natalie for a split second, before doing as instructed, smiling into the kiss Alex gave him after.

“Chocolate was always my favourite.” Alex said with a sigh as he sat back down, Natalie placing her feet in his lap as she shamelessly ate the sweets they needed to decorate. Kasey glanced up to see Leo already looking at him.

“Redheads.” Leo mouthed with a shrug, “Gotta love em.”

Leo had to admit, sitting back and watching the world devolve into chaos was quite entertaining. He could still taste the gingerbread Finn had given him, their house looking more like it had been hit by a hurricane instead of like someone had actually tried to, you know, build it. Logan’s little team was doing a whole lot better, it was looking a little messy but Katie was doing a lot of the icing and well, there’s only so neat kids can be, try as they might. 

Leo’s heart melted as it always did when he would watch Logan with Dumo’s kids. He was just so good with them and they adored him in turn. One of the spare bedrooms in their apartment had been the designated spot for where they would keep presents until they were able to give them out, and Leo was fairly sure half of the room’s contents were just Logan’s presents for the little Dumais’.

“Are rookies even allowed to be judges?” Thomas queried as Leo passed and Leo had fun getting to act all haughty. Thomas looked particularly suspicious and Leo didn’t miss the correlation between the green icing he sported and the little patch of colour in Kasey’s hair. Leo filed that little bit of information away for a day he could really use it.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to get on a judge's bad side, Talkie?”

“Hey, you love me!” Thomas protested and Noelle shook her head. 

“No, but he loves me.” She said looking at Leo and winking. “You’ve got to stay on the good side of your future in-laws.”

Leo felt himself flush even as Logan twisted in his seat to look at them. “Tricheuse!” Logan cried. “Leo baby don’t listen to her, she just wants to win.” He stuck out his tongue at Noelle.

Leo abandoned Noelle and Thomas to crouch next to Logan, smirking. “Am I not marriage material Tremblay?”

Another time, earlier in their relationship maybe, Logan would have scrambled to reassure Leo, probably tripping over his own words so many times nothing actually coherent came out. Now though, Logan just smiled at him lazily.

“The most. I just mean she loves you either way, I think there’s literally nothing you could do that would make her not like you.”

Leo kissed him on the cheek before laughing as Katie wrapped her arms around him. 

“Salut Katie!” He said, standing up to throw her in the air, Katie shrieking with laughter before Leo set her back down on her chair. Leo stood up and began to move away, but not before he missed Katie unintentionally chirping Logan, “Leo throws me high.” She said in a serious tone as Leo snorted his laughter, shaking his head as he moved away.

Regulus hadn’t been sure about building a gingerbread house with Nado and Kuny - he didn't really know them and as a general rule, he didn’t like to spend too much time with people he didn’t know. But Dima got on with them really well and Dima was his friend so here Regulus was, building a gingerbread house in Pascal Dumais’ house. Two snakes in a lion's den.

“Are you sure that will hold?” Regulus found himself asking sceptically as Kuny attempted to build a several story building. Gingerbread house - more like gingerbread mansion if Kuny had his way.

Nado answered instead just nodding his head. “Of course.”

“Fair enough.” Regulus conceded, happy to sit back and watch the proceedings. He glanced around the room, still not quite sure where he fit into this chaotic little familial like team, but happy to be here all the same. More than happy to see nothing but pure joy on his brother’s face. Hope because maybe Regulus could find that kind of happiness here too.

“D’accord!” Celeste called, clapping her hands. “Okay everyone step away from your tables, your time is up!”

The team piled into the sitting room as Celeste and Leo judged all the gingerbread houses. Sirius and James sat on the floor, with Harry playing happily with them. Remus and Lily sat snugly on the couch above them, both nursing mugs of tea and heads bent together as they caught each other up on the events of the last couple of weeks. 

Finn and Logan were having an arm wrestling competition in the corner and most of the others piled around to watch them, all yelling for someone. Logan won, Finn hanging his head in shame and then they were both immediately challenged by the rest of the team, Logan battling (and losing quite dramatically) to Katie. 

Leo and Celeste came back into the room, looking quite smug as they held up a cardboard trophy.

“We have the winner,” Leo said to get everyone’s attention and the sudden hush that fell upon the room was quite comical. 

“Drumroll!” Thomas cried and the room was filled with the rapid thuds of everyone slapping their hands against the nearest object.

“And the winner is…” Celeste drew out, “Katie, Adele and Logan!”

The trio jumped up, hugging and high fiving. 

Logan stood up on a chair and pressed his hands against his chest in gratitude. 

“Thank you, thank you,” He joked, wiping away a fake tear. “We’ve been dreaming about this for, mon dieu, I don’t know how long.”

“You weren’t this dramatic when you won MVP!” Sirius called from the back of the room and Logan winked at him before continuing. “I think Adele had the idea that secured our win though, Adele?”

The girl dashed to the kitchen and came back with their little gingerbread house, the outside entirely lined by little gingerbread people. 

“We made the team!” Katie said, bouncing on her toes. There was a rush as everyone came over to have a look and before long, everyone was grabbing their figurine and eating them.

“Goodbye little Thomas.” Talkie said mournfully before biting its head off.

“Hey, maybe now I can give myself head.” Leo muttered to Finn, who promptly choked, spitting crumbs everywhere as he flushed a deep red.  

Remus leaned back into Sirius as they munched on their biscuits. 

“This is fun. We should do it again next year.”

Sirius wiped the crumbs from his lip and tightened his hold on Remus’ waist. “And the year after that, and they year after that, and the ye-”

Remus giggled, twisting in Sirius’ arms to shut him up by kissing him. “Yeah, baby. I’d like that.”

Hand-Me-Down Words

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1639

Summary: A publisher wants to print the Beth Harmon story, but Beth doesn't know how to go about writing a book. Luckily, she knows someone who does.

They want her to write a book. With triumph over Borgov behind her, Beth requires a new challenge, and with the payout from Moscow, she doesn’t need to enter any American tournaments for the time being. Tedious car journeys and rough hotel sheets combined in trips that end in prizes of piddly amounts aren’t in her future unless she wants them to be. Victory means control. Writing, writing should mean control too.

Except that Beth’s never done anything like this before.

Numbers are the Harmon language—hers and her mother’s. Expressions, equations, calculations, and chess. Even Alma made sense of life through budgeting. Beth’s first thought after meeting with the agent she selected to represent her and the acquisitions editor at the publishing house is, Thank god I’m already in New York, because she needs help here. She needs somebody who’s done this before.

Unsure how quickly or if they’ll fall into their old pattern of sharing the bed, Beth informs Benny that she’s buying him a couch. A couch which will really be for her. She rejects even the remotest possibility that she’ll ever again sleep on that stupid inflatable mattress, pretending not to get a cramp in either her calf or the arch of her foot (or both) when she had to work the damn pump every night to avoid his gloating smile, to perpetuate his mistaken understanding of it being a situation of him providing her with something instead of the opposite. She maintains that he did promise a couch and is therefore a boldfaced liar. Which she should have seen because, liar? Yes, of course. The man plays chess for a living. A face that can alternately frighten and reassure an onlooker is a necessity. Come stay with me at my apartment in New York while we’re both aware of your attraction to me. Frightening. Don’t worry, you’ll sleep on the couch and this arrangement will keep things platonic and focused on your chess training. Reassuring.

“I’m buying a couch for your living room.”

“No.”

Well, fuck him. Beth leapfrogs her original scheme and buys an entire apartment. Not a nice one—she still has the Lexington house to caretake and eventually reinhabit—but it is above ground. She insists it’s hers, a good investment, a base in New York for all of her future meetings with her agent and editor, until Benny gives her a look that has her raising her palms and halting her excuses. She never asks him to give up his place. When he walks into hers one day with the key she had made for him dangling from his finger and a box of possesses under his arm, she just scrapes her chair back from the table and shows him the space she left for him in the closet.

She thinks they might have sex the day she comes back from a publicity event (they’re drumming it up before she’s written a single coherent page) to find Benny napping on the couch with his hat over his face like a cowboy, instinctively pulling her close when she knocks it away and startles him awake. Or when he suggests that she begin carrying a knife too and jokingly taps her thigh when she asks where she’s supposed to conceal it. Or when he stumbles blearily into her room in the early morning because she’s crying tears of frustration over her typewriter and he wordlessly gathers her into a sleep-warmed embrace. Or when they quit acting like he’s a guest and he calls it “our apartment” for the first time.

Beth wants to charge through the book. She’ll write for hours at a time, answering questions only as they occur to her, the way she’s danced back and forth with her true competitors on the chessboard. But Benny has the wisdom of a published author here and ruthlessly edits these pages—verbally, never picking up a pencil. He pushes her to compose the questions ahead of time, allowing her to address them with equal weight. Also, to come up with certain themes or trains of thought that are vital to the forward energy of the book and capture the spirit of her play, which is really what she’s made this deal in order to describe. People are hungry to see chess through her eyes. They’ll pay good money for it.

Whenever they’re on the brink of an argument because Beth is hammering away at the typewriter while Benny’s trying to get to sleep, or Benny is being as pushy and transactional as her editor while Beth’s desperate for a little encouragement, one of them inevitably suggests a match.

Playing at home is helping to break his habit of wagering on games. She never says anything directly; progress seems to come more easily for him when he doesn’t feel watched, which she gets, from having people voice their concern over the tranquilizers. It’s been… well, since the night she decimated him and his friends at speed chess, that he thought he had a failproof method for beating her. He can’t afford to lose every game—he has to contribute to the household finances.

They play three games at once, on three separate boards. They play without a board, swapping moves as they eat lunch and people-watch on a park bench. They play blindfolded until they get into a fight because Beth isn’t familiar with the shape of one of his sets and thinks she’s been moving a bishop when her fingers really stuttered over the pieces to land on a pawn. (They remove the blindfolds after checkmate to see that pawn ‘checking’ the king from a diagonal across the board and Benny discounts the entire match as illegal.)

They play games that last a day or more, leaving notepads beside the board like they do at tournaments and checking each other’s over the hours for new moves before responding with slides and taps and exchanges of their own. During one of these, when Benny’s been taking forever to take his turn (because Beth has him pinned and he’s being stubborn about conceding), she comes into the kitchen to start dinner and sees him sitting at the table, staring at the board, still not making a move.

“You can get out of it,” she comments, standing next to his chair with her arms folded. She doesn’t really believe that and he knows it; she watches him shift irritably in his seat.

“I think I would’ve done it by now.”

His refusal to even try while she’s standing there watching (yes, she still loves to watch him play) makes her just as determined to beat her own white pieces back as she was formerly determined to beat him. She studies the board harder and it does take several minutes. Finally, she spots the move.

Without thinking, Beth drops down onto his lap and says, “Here,” as she reaches out and drags the king onto a new square. “It looks like an exposed placement, but it’s really the perfect bait to get white to rearrange its offensive, opening things up for a comeback by black. See?”

She turns her head and her heart swoops as Benny’s gaze strokes unhurriedly up her neck to her face. He blinks twice, quickly, like seeing her here is a surprise and a dream. Gently, he shifts her hips back a little, until she can feel the firmness at his groin. He stops sleeping on the couch.

With trimming and factchecking and too much coffee, her book is suddenly in its final draft, pressed back into her hands by the editor who’s probably really, really tired of reading about chess. Regardless, the woman still loves the book. Vibrantly, aggressively. The house’s whole staff does, the way they can only love something they’re publishing in a frenzy, before interest in the young female champion wanes. Beth is amazed to find that she loves it too. It has a lot of heart, she feels, between the numbers that have defined her career; though it isn’t one of the sections she’s been requested to rejig for this last edit, she finds herself flipping back to a page near the beginning, where she writes about going to her first tournament unrated. Though journalists have always been curious about the morbidity of the car crash and her orphanage upbringing, she doesn’t give up too much of that. The highs and lows of Methuen—Jolene’s resilience and the green pills’ quicksand—will go unprinted. Readers will have to search for the personal. It’s in the brimming praise of Mr. Shaibel that Beth fought to include, and the passages of effusive respect for Alma, who learned to both manage and mother her.

It’s in the dedication.

Beth carries a copy home from the first box of the first printing. For the moment, it’s precious, but soon those boxes will be shipped out to bookstores, where employees will stack and shelve and shoppers will recognize her name on the spine and go, “Oh, isn’t she the one who…?” She smiles to imagine it.

“Benny?” she calls into their apartment. “You home?”

She curls around him from behind when he raises a hand from the couch. He’s reading but he puts the book down to transfer his complete attention to her and she kisses him with her mouth so full of the delight of her accomplishment that they almost get carried away. Breathless, she draws back, then hands her work over. She watches eagerly as Benny turns the pages, stopping him before the introduction.

His name isn’t the only one on the list—compiling people worth dedicating her book to was an exercise in recognizing the luck of her life—but it is the last. The endgame.

…and to Benny, it reads. Let’s set it up. Let’s think it out.

Hi!  There are some excellent Obi-Wan and/or Ahsoka fics in the fandom!  Not all of them will necessarily feature a ton of interaction between the characters, but you will have a ton of reading material if you just enjoy reading about the characters!  I have a long archive of fic recs here, where any given list will give you at least something to check out for both characters! But if you want to hit up some of the Must Read Firsts, LET ME HELP WITH THAT. OBI-WAN & AHSOKA: A Future in Crisis by WolfMarauder is a fic where Ahsoka has a vision of the terrible future to come, so she returns to the Jedi,  works through her feelings and starts working on saving the rest of the galaxy. At it’s heart it’s very much an Ahsoka story, about her figuring herself and her relationships out, as much as it is about being a fix-it fic.  There’s such a warmth and charm to this fic that it’s like being in a warm bath and relaxing into it.  There’s very much a plot going on here, a complicated relationship with Anakin because of Everything, but it’s balanced with something that feels really, really good to read. The Journey of the Lights by Pandora151 is a fic that I got sucked into and couldn’t stop until I’d finished the first one, because it’s a Canon Divergent AU where things go just a little differently, things snowball, and it’s painful but so good and ultimately I think things end up in a better place.  Another great fic if you want plot, super satisfying confrontations that have been building for ages, and a progression towards things changing, in a way that’s often not easy, but works. Chosen, not assigned by Lysore is one where, ultimately, Anakin and Ahsoka’s relationship became absolutely incredible and Yoda was right about how good they were for each other, but what would it have been like if things were nudged a little to the left and she’d been chosen by Obi-Wan instead?  That she’d felt directly wanted from the beginning instead?  And it’s a lovely piece that explores that! Tano and Kenobi by FireflyFish is a time travel fic with Ahsoka going back to the past, taking a young Obi-Wan as her Padawan instead.  The fic is admittedly pretty hard on Qui-Gon, as well as their dynamic is different here because this is an Obi-Wan who is not yet an adult, but Ahsoka is, so they’re very changed from how they were before.  But it’s two and a half novels worth of plot and development and fun and angst and action!  It’s an incredibly written fic and does so much to really build up what it’s going for and really earns the massive changes it’s making.  Fishy is an amazing writer and I love the wide span of dynamics she gets into this story, so many different relationships, even as Ahsoka & Obi-Wan is the central one!  PLUS TIME TRAVEL FIX IT FIC, YESSS. Declarations by Nny11 is a series of scenes exploring Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s relationship and I always like anything I read by this author.  I haven’t finished this one yet, but I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read of Close But No Cigar (Ahsoka-centric fic where the timeline is changed a little and she’s Yoda’s Padawan instead and it spirals out from there) and Let's Try This Again with a time-traveling Ahsoka in toddler form (so it’s more Obi-Wan & Anakin & Ahsoka) is probably my favorite of the author’s! Waiting and Learning by otherhawk is a lovely piece for Obi-Wan & Ahsoka that’s balanced between hilarious antics and the more painful aspects of what it means to be a psychic space wizard who wants to help people.  There’s such kindness here, even as it aches, in a way that’s very deftly done. The Only Way Through by victoria_p (musesfool) is a shorter piece, but has this really well done balance between the familiarity between them and yet how they’ve both grown so much older, during Obi-Wan’s time on Tatooine.  There’s so much pain in the background, but that doesn’t mean there’s not still moments and sparks of light to be found, which is perfect for them. Under a purple sun... by Perspicacia is Obi-Wan helping Ahsoka with her homework and it’s short but so lovely, it does a fantastic job with their dynamic and weaves in a few really nice details about Jedi philosophy that are hinted at, and is just warm and charming exactly as it should be. The Ryloth Excursion by Icarus_is_flying is one I love, where Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are on Ryloth, where she asks some questions that don’t have easy answers (but aren’t awful questions, either), and Obi-Wan’s guidance as her grandmaster is absolutely wonderful. Knight-Errant by zinjadu is about three novels worth of fic, which doesn’t have a lot of them interacting directly, but Ahsoka is probably the most central character and Obi-Wan has a lot of scenes in it, plus SO MUCH PLOT.  I’ve read about a third of the series so far and it’s incredibly engaging, where Ahsoka’s choice to stay with the Jedi helps shift things a little to the left, then a little more to the left, and suddenly everything is snowballing, all the same pieces we’re familiar with are in different places and maybe they might have a chance!  It is Rex/Ahsoka eventually, but it’s a very slow burn to get there and it’s not the only relationship that’s important to them.  It’s an Ahsoka piece and an ensemble piece and a fix it piece and a huge sprawling plot epic, and I’m loving it a lot. When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place by IllyanaA is another one where Obi-Wan and Ahsoka don’t interact directly a lot, but they’re both very present in the story and get some really excellent scenes.  The Jedi manage to scrape a few more people together, Anakin doesn’t turn on them, so they’re still in the middle of a galaxy that’s hunting them down, but now they might be able to mount a fighting chance sooner than before.  The Obi-Wan & Anakin scenes are stellar, Ahsoka gets her own subplot, and it’s a lot of really excellent plot as they figure out how to rebuild in this new Empire. Echoes of Mortis by orphan_account is more Obi-Wan & Anakin + Anakin & Ahsoka, but both are well done here, and the plot is excellent.  It’s marked as incomplete, but I would say that it reaches a place of good resolution and I felt satisfied by the ending!  In a Canon Divergent AU, where Anakin remembers everything that happened on Mortis, things go a little differently.  Which is very, very much not the same as easier, but it does lead to better places, even when everything is painful and ouchy in the best ways.  A lot of angst, but the kind I eat up with a spoon, it was so good. Obi-Wan and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad (Life) Day by orphan_account is charming and adorable, that Obi-Wan’s life day is beset upon him by the people who care about him and it’s just an absolute JOY to read. OBI-WAN KENOBI: Fire and Ice by Yesac is the one fic I always, always come back to, the one I keep rereading and the one I would put at the very top of my list of fics that I think really wrote Obi-Wan brilliantly.  Oh, sure, there’s some stuff I disagree with, a few brief bits of the Jedi weren’t allowed to love or the like, but they’re extremely minor in a fic that shows otherwise.  This is a fic where Anakin won the duel on Mustafar and kept Obi-Wan and Padme hostage both, unable to let either of them go.  This is an Anakin who has this tremendous power but no core of self-understanding, so he’s legitimately unstable, you feel how fragile and cracked he is.  In comparison, Obi-Wan is steady and unbreakable, even when he’s entirely human.  This fic gets the balance of that, of who Obi-Wan is and how he relates to Anakin Skywalker, in that way that I can’t even be coherent about because it’s so well done.  Yeah, I’m probably overhyping it, but this one is just my fucking jam. starbird by imaginarykat is the other fic that I always come back to as a fic that really gets Obi-Wan Kenobi, the mix of flirtation and humor and seriousness and insight and how he’s both direct and wily at the same time, that Anakin’s just kind of spun around by him when Obi-Wan really focuses on him.  Yeah, wicked thing is the more popular one by this author (for good reason!) but I always love starbird for the one I can point to as a more canon-friendly version of Why I Love Obi-Wan Kenobi So Much.  (Obikin.) The Dark Path Lit by Sun and Stars by A_Delicate_Fury is a brilliantly done time travel fic where Obi-Wan, Luke, Leia, and Han end up back in the past and even in just the smallest of gestures, this fic gets Obi-Wan, all the more so because it’s balancing a character who is both the General Kenobi of the war and the Old Ben of Tatooine as they suddenly find themselves occupying the same mental space! Cataclasm by dendral is another excellent fic that does right by Obi-Wan’s character, where he gets a vision of something and decides he needs to take another path in this terrible war they’ve all been dragged into.  He takes Waxer along for the ride, going around the galaxy where the Force leads them, getting into batshit Jedi scrapes, trying his best to save people, and it’s this really beautifully done action fic, buddy fic, and examination of what the war has done to the Jedi and why it’s such a tragedy. The Living Force; Parables for Padawans by glorious_clio is a beautiful piece for both Obi-Wan as a character and for a story-within-a-story about what a Jedi fairy tale would be like.  It does such a beautiful job of telling interesting stories, the kind that would be used to make generations of Jedi think and turn them over and find meaning in them, while also illustrating the deeper meaning of the lines that make up their most famous meditation mantra. Stunning work. Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi by stonefreeak is an ensemble piece, but it’s centered around Obi-Wan and is really great if you’re a fan of his character, where he has pretty much The Most Exasperating Day Ever and winds up elected as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and then everything starts slowly inching towards the left, now that the Jedi and the good people of the Senate have some actual breathing room.  It’s about what might have been possible in a galaxy with a little more good faith to go around, as well as a great look at Obi-Wan’s relationships with various characters.  An absolute scream to read, but also a really delightful plot. Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove is a fic that is very much based on Legends, rather than on canon/George Lucas’ Star Wars, so you have to roll with that when you pick this fic up (which I find useful to note mainly in the context of those who find my recs useful/want a heads up, never really as a value judgement), but what you’ll get is an incredibly thoughtful, warm-hearted fic that I found to be incredibly engaging and charming. The entire fic is about Obi-Wan trying to figure out just how to train Anakin and how to fit him into the bigger structure of the Jedi Order, how to adjust himself and that structure to better fit his new Padawan and the other Jedi learners, but in a way that’s also about understanding why they’re set up the way they are, about how deeply caring they are, and how thoughtful they are. It’s a good faith look at the Jedi and a great look at Obi-Wan’s character. Reprise by Elfpen is another fic that I’m only a third of the way through so far (I’ve been hoarding it for awhile) but it has some absolutely stellar Obi-Wan characterization, who is someone that’s really Seen Some Shit, who feels kind of lost sometimes, who feels things very deeply, but who also has a kind of strength that allows him to continue rising above.  It’s not that he’s untouchable by mortal feelings, but that he’s used to understanding himself, acknowledging himself, and working through what needs to be worked through.  Combine this with some really stellar writing for Qui-Gon, for Obi-Wan’s younger self, for the other Jedi around him, for the plot, and it really is one of the best fics in the fandom. The Exchange by MissLearn is one of those that I absolutely fell in love with, where Obi-Wan and Anakin exchange places with their TPM and pre-ROTS selves, which leads to a lot of shit hitting the fan in a way that is forcing things to a head a little earlier, so they can deal with it in a way that they couldn’t in canon.  It’s a great look at their relationship, both the beginning of it and the established one, as well as the glee of having them in different eras and seeing how they react/how the people around them react! The Hand Dealt by not paranoid enough is another favorite, where it’s about a simple twist that changes so much--instead of Qui-Gon going to Tatooine, it’s Obi-Wan who meets Anakin first, and that shifts everything to the left just enough that everything is so recognizable and yet different.  It’s an engrossing read as things happen differently, some good and some bad, and it’s an amazing read. Though Lovers Be Lost by panharmonium is a shorter but absolutely fantastic look at Obi-Wan’s character.  I love all of pan’s fic, The Mathematics of Repair and Take My Waking Slow are both great looks at Obi-Wan and Anakin’s early days, but I think the first one is a great starting place for a fan of his character, it’s beautifully written. After the Pillars Come Down by Virgo827 is a fic that deserves so much love because it’s one of those that, aside from the acknowledgement of Obikin, it could have fit right into an episode of The Clone Wars.  It does a lovely job of Obi-Wan being level-headed and focused, but that something about Anakin makes him lose his mind a little, that Anakin is that one person that he finds it difficult to remain calm about, which speaks to how blind he was towards Anakin’s faults, because he loved that guy so much.  It also has a real, genuine plot that’s a fantastic read, it has amazing Anakin moments, and it was an incredibly satisfying read. Equinox by lilyconrad is a fic I’ll never not be biased about, because it was written for me and tailored to my wants, but I genuinely hold this up as one of the best examinations of Obi-Wan’s character and his relationship with Anakin, as it moves from one of friends to one of lovers.  It’s a look at what having Sith versions of themselves means for parallels and contrasts alike, what that forces Anakin and Obi-Wan to understand about themselves and their feelings towards the other.  And it has a fantastic plot!  Every chapter of this fic was one I wrote like three paragraphs of a rec for because it had such thought and care put into it, so it’s probably always and forever my #1 Obikin fic. Upfall by bell (belldreams) is a stellar Obikin read for both Obi-Wan and Anakin’s characters, where so much thought has gone into each chapter, as well as some incredibly building tension and breaking.  This is a fic that is very, very aware of Anakin’s character arc in canon and the things he does there, as well as it’s an incredible look at Obi-Wan trying to balance his own boundaries, that he’s allowed to have his own internal world that’s not just about Anakin, versus that Anakin is the one he’ll always choose, even when he’s being a shit.  Seed is another one I love (Anakin contracts a virus that means he needs to give Obi-Wan blowjobs and then, oh, no, feelings happen) that does an amazing job of looking at the characters and digging into the issues they have.  bell really gets the both of them and these are incredible reads for them. Pas de Deux by Ghost_Owl is a lovely look at Obi-Wan and Anakin and Ahsoka.  Well, it’s primarily Obi-Wan and Anakin, but it’s about Anakin’s relationship with Ahsoka in the background as well, shown through the lens of Obi-Wan & Anakin.  I love this one because it’s about how difficult it is to balance that Obi-Wan was his Master, but is now his friend, that Anakin bends over backwards to lash out sometimes, instead of listening, instead of still accepting Obi-Wan’s guidance, but that they can muddle their way through to something good again.  And its characterization is lovely, too! AHSOKA TANO: What We've Become by Vinyarie is probably my favorite Ahsoka fic, where the first one is an absolutely gorgeous look at her getting trapped on Malachor with Vader, where they have to depend on each other to live, which gives them time to breathe and then argue some more.  The characterization for her is spot-on, where she is a grown woman who is settled in her own skin, that she still feels deeply but she has a hell of a grip on herself.  That she may not be a Jedi anymore, but she still carries their teachings in her heart, and that strength of her sense of self is beautifully shown.  The second fic is one where she visits Obi-Wan on Tatooine and I loved the conversation they have, as well as the digging into her character even further and what she really wants from here. time to change the road you’re on by wreckageofstars is time travel fic with Ahsoka and is another absolutely stellar look at her character, that it’s partly about her relationships with others (especially Anakin) but is also about her coming to understanding about everything around her and even herself somewhat.  This is an older Ahsoka, the one who has settled into her own skin more, and it’s a beautiful look at her AND a time travel plot! Old Sins Cast Long Shadows by zarabithia is an AU where Anakin died in the fight against Palpatine and the galaxy has to continue on without him.  Ahsoka takes up the job of protecting Padme on Tatooine, giving her time to heal from everything that’s happened, as well as Obi-Wan eventually joins them, and it’s a lovely look at Ahsoka’s character and the dull ache of Anakin being dead in this universe, but knowing that things are so, so much better here. Strange Meetings by gilestel is a beautiful post-Return of the Jedi scene between Ahsoka and Luke, where they don’t have much time to talk, but the potential of it and promise of it and just the immediacy of the moment are all lovely. memories like ashes at our feet by ambiguously is another shorter fic but a fantastic one where Ahsoka is stranded with an amnesiac Vader and has to walk the line between that this is something of her Anakin back, but also that this is still Darth Vader and he could regain his memories at any point.  It’s aching and hopeful in all the right places. The Season's Rain by Bythoseburningembers is an absolute scream of a fic, where Lux and Steela and Saw join Ahsoka in the Jedi camp, where they get to see them in a more relaxed state and they are all a bunch of absolute CHILDREN.  It’s one of those fics that could have been bordering on parody, but the strength of the writing and the charm of the characterizations instead makes it a fantastic look at the Jedi and clones being entirely relatable, being family to each other, and I love everyone in this, including Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. The Cave by Ria Talla (ronia) is one where absolutely fell in love with this gorgeous fic because it pulls off a dreamy mishmash of imagery and slipping from one memory/moment to the next beautifully, it does a gorgeous job of making Ahsoka feel unstuck in time after the events on Malachor. Which is wonderful in and of itself, but it lends such a great weight to the cost of traveling through the World Between Worlds as she did, that there’s a reason that it’s not a thing to use lightly, and it’s not punishment, but consequence all the same, as the fic says.  It has some really great characterization for her, too.

“Forget what I said,

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left.”

- Falling, Harry Styles

A/N: the long anticipated third installment of “that angsty threesome story.” this shit hurted y’all. that’s all i’m gonna say. hope you enjoy :) 

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring masterlist

word count: 13k

content: A N G S T, drunk sad!harry, melancholic relationship flashbacks, and Niall being an amazing friend. oh and lots of pining pain 

preview:

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons. 

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.” 

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution. 

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence.

or Harry and Y/N breakup after the incident and the next two months are the worst either of them have ever known

///

Two months and thirteen days. 

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up. 

It’s poetically ironic, if you ask him, and he felt like the universe was playing a cruel game at his expense. Though it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. 

The length of time that had passed was coincidentally parallel to how much time he had spent sitting on his couch that dreaded Saturday morning— which had been two hours and thirteen minutes— wringing his hands, boiling in his regret, and waiting for her to come out of their bedroom with a verdict on their relationship. 

When Y/N had finally surfaced from her hiding spot, she had barely acknowledged him other than a few one-worded, snipped answers to his questions. She was headed out, she’d said, and that she would return later. Her path had been straight for the front door and the body language and aura she had displayed from the frame of their room door to the frame of the front door had been enough to clearly communicate a simple message: Don’t come after me. 

He had followed her to the edge of the corridor that led to the exit, but he knew better than to chase her once she was out of the door. He remained put and watched her walk out without so much as a glance back. 

She needed time, he had assured himself. Y/N needed a chance to cool off on her own and smothering her would do nothing but dig him further into the hole he was already neck-deep in. 

In hindsight, Harry should have gone after her. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, or maybe it wouldn’t have at all, but all he’s aware of now is that he’d never know.

The minute she got back, a few hours later when the sun had just finished dipping over the stretch of forest that extended beyond the balcony of their apartment, he could immediately tell he had to prepare for the worst. 

From the second Harry had met Y/N, he had always been able to read her. It’s something he prided himself in and something he always admired about the connection they shared— that it had been instant. It had been one of those rare pockets in life when he met someone and clicked with them automatically, so effortlessly that it was almost fictional. He’d always been a hopeless romantic and he had his mother and sister to thank for that; growing up with two women who constantly fed him stories about true love and the importance of emotions had molded his relationships down to the very core. And through that characteristic, which had been engraved within the man he had grown into, was how he and Y/N so easily came to be. 

Harry had been able to read the nervous excitement she was wading through on their first date, watching her with fond amusement as she had contemplated the menu, trying to pass as nonchalant but being betrayed by the obvious cinch in her brows. 

He had been able to read the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, eyes absorbing her features like the pages of a novel. He had picked up on the metaphors she depicted in the form of wine-swollen lips twitching with longing anticipation. He had picked up on the similes that translated into her slowly dilating pupils, the glittering specks of color that shimmered in the depths of her irises dancing with anxious enthusiasm as his face drew closer to her’s. He had picked up on the analogies that painted themselves onto the warm, supple skin of her cheeks as he cupped the side of her face with the palm of his large hand, fingers tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear as he thumbed over the faint smile lines chesiling themselves into existence along the edges of her mouth, her action thick with enamored awe. 

He had been able to read just how taken Y/N was with him the first time they had slept together. It was certain in how she had clung to the bare, sweaty muscles of his shoulders as her nails clawed memories along the soft sides of his torso, her head dangling over the edge of the kitchen island to allow him the intimate comfort of pressing hot, wet moans to the searing skin of her throat. He had whined and shuddered as he’d spread her open over the cold marble surface, fogging it with the heat of their conjoined bodies, the air tinged with the scent of desperate sex and blurbs of orgasm-drunken praises that to this day he can feel burn his lungs. Barely coherent mumbles of “God, been needing you for the longest time now.” and “Fuck, you’re an absolute dream.” and he had even made himself susceptible to some of his deepest vulnerabilities, confessing how quickly and dangerously he was falling for her in a breathless little whimper of, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

Tiny zaps of invisible electricity had passed through her fingertips and into the flexing tendons of his back, revealing that she was just as scared and jittery and needy and absolutely whipped for him as he was for her. He had never been able to read her better than at that intense, emotion-packed moment, and he knows he’ll cherish that wordless instance of assurance for as long as he lives. 

The only other occasion that competes is the first time Harry had known Y/N loved him. They had planned to go bar-hopping with their friends but, in a spur of laziness and utter disinterest, had decided to stay back. The night had been filled with board games and hot chocolate and half-burnt quesadillas because Harry had bought a new panini press that he didn’t quite yet know how to work. He knew she loved him when he beat her at CandyLand for the third time in a row and in a whirlwind of victory dancing, he had knocked the coffee table with his knee and ended up with cooled cocoa all over his striped pajama pants rather than in his belly. 

He knew she loved him because she wasn’t upset that she’d have to help get the stain out and she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten marshmallow goo on the carpet and she wasn’t angry that his silliness had ended with her favorite vase rolling across the ground. All Y/N had been focused on was Harry and that ridiculous wide-toothed grin of his, her own lips nestling into an endeared smile as he giggled out of sheer shock at his ruined pants, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back against the couch cushions. Through teary, delight-blurred vision he saw her staring at him with this doe-like gaze, her eyes soft and glossier than he’d ever seen them, a tender laugh evident on her cheeks. Her eyebrows had been slightly furrowed with a type of disbelieving wonder at the utter moron she had chosen to share her heart with, but specifically at how she loved him all the more for it. 

That’s when Harry had read that she loved him and she had confirmed it with words about ten minutes later as they both sat on their knees against the ground, scrubbing at the mess he’d made and sharing soft little snickers under their breath. 

In the end, all of these milestone moments in their relationship had all funneled through his mind the minute Y/N had walked back into the living room on that forsaken day, hours later. They all sped past the inside of his eyelids every time he blinked, each one dissipating with each step she drew closer. She had stood before him as he sat forward tensely on the couch, forearms propped on his knees as he grasped his knuckles nervously, though they had stopped cracking ages ago. 

It all flashed back to him like a film on fast-forward and it was because for the first time ever, he wasn’t able to read her face and it fucking terrified him. 

Y/N’s eyes were the first factor that had given away the impending end. Even at the darkest of times, Harry could always count on Y/N’s eyes for support. They had always held a permanent admiring warmth towards him, even beneath clouds of rage or annoyance or worry. They had been empty that day. 

Her lips had been etched into a emotionally-detached straight line, though the corners dipped down ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were void of any wrinkle, groove, or lifting that would suggest even a smidge of sensitivity and somehow her cheeks seemed more sunken in, as if the last couple of hours had aged her years. 

Y/N had approached him with her hands cradling each other before her stomach, footsteps heavy against the carpeted ground, muffled yet somehow loud. She’d taken a seat before him on the glass coffee table, knees pressed together tightly and unintentionally brushing his as she settled her hands into the crease between her inner thighs, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world was using her back as shelf, the flyaway hairs that had fallen from her ponytail kissing along her jaw and caressing her temples almost apologetically, as if trying to comfort her for what was next. 

Y/N hadn’t spoken a single word before Harry was already breaking down. 

It wasn’t dramatic or spontaneous like the break-up scenes in the rom coms he often fancied; it was quiet and concise. The hot tears streamed down his cheekbones and followed the slope of his sharp jaw, squeezing out of his tear ducts and rolling along the bridge of his nose, itching the very tip, to which his instincts responded by spurring him into wiping away the water with the front of his shoulder. 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her out of self-hatred and shame— how could he be as selfish as to cry when everything that was about to unfold had been solely of his doing. He knew he didn’t deserve the best outcome, but he had hoped for it. Prayed that she could find it in her tattered heart to grace him with the option to rebuild what he had so recklessly torn down. He didn’t deserve it and he’d felt like he never would, but he had promised himself he would try and earn it if she gave him the chance. 

But that was just the hopeless romantic in him flaring up again. Reality was sharper and much icier. 

Harry had taken in a deep, trembling inhale, feeling it cut his lungs and tug at the pit of his stomach. He’d released it in stuttery spurts through his nose, back muscles contracting with dread. He found it in himself to uncoil one of his index fingers, gently grazing the curve of Y/N’s right knee with the bed of his nail. 

She’d tensed up momentarily, toes curling into the rug below her feet, but didn’t shed him away. It was the first time he’d touched her since last night and though it made her feel sick to her stomach, she figured she’d allow it as a parting gift. 

The air stood still for a few elongated seconds that seemed to drag out for an eternity. Finally, one of them spoke up. 

“Y/N...” Harry had choked on the singular word, swallowing thickly in an attempt to recuperate. 

The syllables seemed to lodge in his throat, outright refusing to emerge, likely due to the fact that he spent the day soundlessly moping to himself. He forced them out anyways in a low croak. 

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons. 

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.” 

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution. 

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence. 

Harry had cleared his throat softly, mind treading through his jumbled thoughts to try and sew together a worthy sentence, the pad of his forefinger tracing down the visible threads of Y/N’s worn jeans. 

“I didn’t mean any of it.” 

Though it’s the truth, it sounds feeble and pathetic. His words had then started tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or rhythm but simply in an attempt to communicate his rawest emotions. 

“That’s not an excuse or anything, but I just want to make sure that you know. And if I knew all of this was going to happen, I would’ve never brought it up in the first place. You’re important to me— I hope that all the time we’ve spent together shows that— and to lose you over something like this…” Harry pauses, choking up at the sheer notion of having to let her go. He continues his speech slowly to avoid another mishap, though it quivers nonetheless. “To lose you over something that was so stupid on my part would tear me to shreds, Y/N. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There’s nothing I can do now except apologize until my voice gives out and pray that you give me the chance to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it and I know that the damage I’ve done could be beyond repair, but I also know that I will spend every second trying to mend it if you allow me to. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I know we’re young and that it sounds dramatic and I’ve been told a billion times over that I love too deeply for my own good but I don’t care because I know it’s the truth. Without even the slightest bit of doubt.”

His words had echoed across the walls of the flat, the dim buttery light of the single lamp in the living room casting their seated shadows over the creme surfaces. The dark silhouettes of their bodies seemed to absorb his message, picking it right out of the air and engulfing it into the ominous shade. 

All that could be heard was Y/N’s faint breathing as she processed his confession and the occasional sniffle on his part. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds— Harry had counted. A frail distraction, but a distraction either way.

A deep inhale had cut off his mental stopwatch and he could tell Y/N had cried recently before arriving because the air had to force itself through her stuffy nose. His index finger had twitched anxiously against her knee. He found himself counting again, this time the target had been the thin lines of the rug beneath the reinforced glass of the coffee table. He hadn't known it then, but his urge to count whatever he could to pass the time had been the start of what would later develop into a coping mechanism.

“I don’t know what to say.” 

It had only been a day but Harry had missed the sound of her voice more than he’d ever care to admit. She was talking to him rather than at him and it was enough to halt the fresh flood of tears that had been gathering across the glossy sheen of his irises. It was a victory, no matter how small. 

The sentence she spoke, however, was a whole new battle he had to face within itself. 

The words hurt, but luckily, they didn’t cut. There were dozens of harsher possibilities of what could’ve come out of her mouth and that makes him thankful for what he’d received. 

Harry had shifted in his seat, pulling the sleeve of his old Greenbay Packers sweatshirt over his free hand and tucking his arm across his stomach. His other hand remained on Y/N’s leg as non-intrusively as possible. “Is there anything you want to get out? Anything at all? I want to hear it no matter how bad you think it is. I deserve it as much as you deserve to express your feelings.” 

He hadn’t noticed when, but at some point he had absentmindedly tilted his head up to look at her. What brought it into clear attention was when she did the same and their eyes met. 

Y/N’s expression had crushed the oxygen from Harry’s lungs. 

He had hoped it would be different after everything he had said. That her eyes would hold some form of love within them, even if it was shrouded with sadness and disappointment. He had aimed to draw an ounce of forgiveness from her that he could cling onto and expand; he had aimed for redemption. 

Instead, her eyes held the same barren gaze that she had doted when she had walked in— vacant acceptance. 

Her own speech had confirmed his worst fears. 

“I don’t know if we have a future together. All I know is that right now, I feel like I could never forgive you for what you did. Watching you treat someone you barely knew the way you treat me made me feel like what we have isn’t real. Sex can be something both meaningless and meaningful and the lines between those two is finer than most people think. And even though I know in my heart that you’re telling the truth about not feeling anything towards her, I just can’t let it go. I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that you called her what you call me. That you kissed, touched, and held her the same way you do me. You made her feel the same way you make me feel. And the whole time, I was sitting there watching you do it, begging you not to and trying to communicate to you that you were crossing the line and you didn’t even notice.”

Y/N had lifted her hand from her lap, running the back of her wrist across her cheeks messily. Harry could see the tears sparkling on her lashes and he felt like his chest cavity was going to collapse in on itself. 

When she had spoken again, her voice was tight and packed with all of the pain she’d been holding onto since the incident happened. 

“You took all of the private little things that had built our relationship and shared them with someone else just to get your dick wet.” She releases a short spurt of a laugh, miserable and humorless, her palms smacking down against her thighs as she shrugs her shoulders for emphasis. “Intimacy is the most important factor of genuine love and you went and tossed it around like it was nothing. We’ll never be able to regain that; not in the way we had it before. I don’t know if I could ever trust you with it again. I shared myself with you because I love you— we opened up to each other in that way because we worked up to it. And now that you so carelessly let yourself have it with someone else, I’m too disappointed and hurt and fucking terrified to let you see me vulnerable like that again.”

Y/N had locked her eyes with Harry’s and his heart had shattered into a million shards. 

They had been swollen and bloodshot, tiny red veins webbing across the dull white, scraping at her irises and relentlessly chipping the color from them. There was no twinkle left whatsoever; the specks that normally decorated around her pupils had completely defused, disappearing into the murky sea of the muted shade behind them. 

“You broke my fucking heart, Harry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you pick up the pieces.”

He had never heard her say his name like that, so dismal and void of emotion. He’d never felt more unworthy of love than at that moment and he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He’d fucked up and now he had no choice but to marinate in it for the rest of his days. 

The process of separating was painfully fast. 

As it turns out, when she had left the morning after everything had happened, she had gone to visit Niall. 

Niall had been the mutual friend that had introduced Harry and Y/N in the first place so, naturally, Y/N’s first instinct had been to seek his counsel. She had kept the details of the breakup to herself but from how distraught she had seemed when Niall had opened the door to his flat, his hair sticking up at weird angles and his eyes crusted over with sleep, he had known it was not on good terms. She had stood there with dried trails of tears staining her cheeks as her entire body shook like a leaf and the second he had opened his arms caringly, she immediately collapsed into them, violent sobs wracking her body unapologetically. 

The Irish lad was as big-hearted and supportive as friends came and it was seen in how he offered her the spare room in his apartment that was normally occupied as a home gym. 

“I haven’t had a roomie since I was twenty but as long as y’don’t leave your dirty underwear in the living room, I think we’ll get along just swell.”

With Niall’s help, Y/N had finished moving out by the end of that same week. 

They did the brunt of the job while Harry was busy at work, though there was an awkward instance when he unexpectedly came home early on the last day of moving. 

Luckily enough, Niall had been the one retrieving the last couple of items so Y/N was saved from the ordeal. 

The two men had contemplated each other, Niall standing with the cardboard box tucked beneath his arm while Harry stood parallel to him stiffly, keys grasped tightly in his fist. Harry didn’t know how much Niall knew of what had happened, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth, so he had remained silent until the blue-eyed boy finally spoke up first. 

“Mate, I don’t know what happened between you two or why, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this torn up before.” 

Harry had sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in forlorn agreement at Niall’s comment. This was Y/N’s indirect way of telling him that the reason behind their breakup was meant to be kept a secret amongst their friend group. It was one last act of kindness towards him on her part because both of them knew that if word got out on what had happened, everyone would likely turn on Harry and shun him out. Y/N didn’t want that for him— despite everything, she found herself genuinely wishing him the best because she still loved him. A part of her always would, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it. 

The last thing she needed was to cling onto bitterness and make him suffer; it would be counterproductive considering her end goal was to move on. The whole situation would stay hidden and hopefully everything would eventually blow over. 

Avoiding each other proved trickier than expected in the beginning, but it gradually became routine amidst their everyday lives. 

Y/N avoided grocery shopping at Harry’s favorite market and he proceeded to change the coffee shop he went to every morning before work, well aware that it was the one she fancied the most due to the specific brand of creamer they carried. Y/N insisted on the second closest movie theatre whenever she went out with her friends for a film, knowing that Harry liked the one closest to Niall’s apartment because it was smaller, more homey, and did free refills on popcorn and drinks. Harry started frequenting the gas station near the twenty-four hour gym instead of the one near Y/N’s place of work and started doing his early morning jogs at the park on the opposite side of town, which wasn’t too bad considering it was only about a ten minute drive. Y/N stopped going to art museums all together— they were mainly Harry’s thing, either way. 

When it came down to their friends, they did the best they could. Whenever there would be a plan to go out for lunch, dinner, drinking, or any other event, they made sure to invite one and not the other, alternating turns. It kept the situation fair, though birthday parties were much more complicated. Staying on opposite ends of the club or flat would have to do. 

No one ever questioned the breakup too thoroughly, thankfully. All Y/N told them was that it ended really badly and that what was best was that they stayed clear of each other. Harry stuck to whatever he learned Y/N had said, brushing off the occasional curiosity thrown his way with a tired, “I’d rather not talk about it, yeah?” 

They were grateful to all of their friends for not pushing for details too much and respecting their privacy. Family members were harder to shake off, but both managed to keep things under wraps with the right amount of sternness. 

///

Three weeks and four days had gone by, according to Harry’s calendar, and things were remaining seemingly civil. That is, until Harry had a bit too much to drink on the fifth day and ended up drunk calling Y/N as he sat on the floor of his kitchen, eating from what he was sure was an expired box of Cheerios while counting floor tiles and wondering why the fuck he even liked tequila in the first place. 

The phone had rung three times and then the line abruptly cut off, sending Harry right to voicemail. 

“Hey, this is Y/N! Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone right now, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

His eyes had immediately begun to water as her voice crackled through the speaker of his phone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard it and he hates that he had almost forgotten its gentle trill. The bright chime of her words were so different than the last time he’d heard her speak— her tone was easy and good-natured rather than dismal and hurt and he missed when she would regard him that way. Now, it was directed at a random person on the other end of her phone line who she might not even know and for some reason, that made his stomach twist. 

The Cheerios had started to taste funny so he opened the cabinet across from his spot on the ground and chucked them in the bin. He had then leaned back against the wall of the kitchen island, head repeatedly thunking against the polished hardwood as he redialed her number and waited, tiny hiccups plucking at his vocal chords and shuddering his shoulders without consent.

This time, it had rang only once before cutting off, meaning that she knew it was him and that she was actively delicining.

But Harry’s stubborn and insistent— which admittedly are some of his worst traits— and the fact that he had been shit-faced had fueled these characteristics. He’d continued to call her another four times before the line was finally picked up. 

His voice had filled with enamored relief as he quickly sat up, a weak smile starting to spread his cracked lips. “Y/N, hi, I—”

“Harry, you gotta cut this shit out, man.” 

It wasn’t Y/N. The person speaking had a much deeper voice with a smooth, raspy undercurrent covered in a heavy Irish accent. Their tone held a stern yet concerned edge.

“This isn’t good for either of you. You’ve got to try and move on, H.” 

It was Niall and he was on Y/N’s phone and Harry could feel himself about to vomit. 

He had forced himself to speak, clutching his stomach with one hand as if it would keep the bile from rising. His words came out slurred and numb, tongue feeling heavy and unbelievably large in his mouth. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s asleep and you should be, too. It’s three in the morning.” 

Harry’s brows had cinched down angrily over his lashes. Somehow, in his muddled brain, he was able to form a coherent train of thought about the current situation. If Y/N was asleep, that meant her phone had probably been on a nightstand beside her bed or splayed across her duvet or even on the floor considering she had a habit of twisting and turning too much. If Niall had picked it up, it meant he had to be in close proximity to her. It meant he had been in her room, possibly in her bed...

Harry’s throat burned as acid rose from his stomach. 

“I wanna talk to—”

He was cut off by the alcohol he’d had earlier resurfacing and splattering across the off-white kitchen tiles he’d been counting. 

The spluttering noises filtered through the phone crystal clear, much to his friend’s disgust.

“Jesus, Harry, just get yourself together, will you?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Niall’s voice had come through again, gentler and less annoyed. “Do you need me to come over and help?” 

“No.” Harry had blurted out with panic evident in his demeanor. He’d wiped at his soiled mouth with the sleeve of his black Nike jumper, staring hollowly as the mess before him traveled across the cracks of his floor. An all too familiar swelling had started to fill his tear ducts. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.” 

Apparently, it had been the third time he’d drunk-called in the span of two weeks, though he didn’t remember the first two times. He did remember this third time though— the stench stuck to his sweatshirt for a while. 

///

The next month that followed that cursed Friday night had been significantly better for Harry. 

He went out with friends and actually had fun more times than not, as long as he didn’t let his mind wander to what Y/N could be doing since she wasn’t with the group. Slowly but surely, he began to mend. 

The movies had always been his and Y/N’s favorite date idea so the first couple of times he’d gone out to see a film after the breakup had been tough, but he’d powered through the rough patches. Their favored seats at the very back of the cinema had gradually just become exactly that— seats. He was eventually able to enter a theatre without even as much as a glance to the last row. When Harry would go out to eat, he relearned not to order in excess anymore since he wouldn’t be needing those extra fries or two extra beef tacos or those couple buffalo wings she used to pick at religiously. Going out for drinks was easier on his wallet now that he could drink both of the two-for-one Happy Hour shots, the only issue being that sometimes he’d forget and order the next round while he had a perfectly untouched whiskey shot right there. He had sworn off tequila— he could still feel the way it had seared his throat, somehow manifesting an aftertaste of honeyed cereal.

Niall usually went out with the rest of the gang, but not as much as he used to and that bothered Harry extremely— bothered him to the point where he’d get the overwhelming urge to tear his hair out if he allowed himself to amble in his head too much. He hated being the jealous type, especially when he was no longer entitled to it. Especially not when Niall was such a nice best friend, willingly present for him on the nights where things went downhill and he needed someone to pick him off the ground— literally— and tell him that he would be alright.

The days Niall missed out were spent with Y/N and it wasn’t a secret. Harry had heard about how much closer they’d gotten recently through conversations that would happen across the other side of the booth, when his friends thought he wasn’t paying attention or that he was too sloshed to be properly present. He wasn’t, though. He was hyper-aware of every anecdote and syllable exchanged and it would make his mouth go sour. 

One night, he had drummed up enough courage to ask Niall outright about Y/N. They’d been out bowling and the Irish brunette had been standing off to the side waiting his turn, sipping on a pint and cackling his ass off every time Adam rolled the ball into the sideline gutters. 

Harry had been standing next to him for a while, leaning back against the machine that redispensed the bowling balls, taking tiny gulps of his third white rum margarita. The liquor filled his tummy with a certain type of empty warmth that numbed his better judgement and before he could talk himself out of it, the words were escaping his lips in a low, sheepish tone. 

“How’s Y/N?”

Niall had paused mid-sip, his entire body going rigid for a second as he kept the rim of his large glass perched at his lips. He had then pulled back from his beer, licking the froth off his Cupid’s Bow and craning his neck to acknowledge the green-eyed boy directly. 

“She’s doin’ good. Treading through the bills and tryin’ t’fill the rest with thrills, like we all do.” 

Despite the light nature of his response, Niall’s accent had been heavier and Harry’s not sure if it was due to the alcohol or the tension-packed subject of conversation. Probably both. 

Harry had nodded his head slowly— casually— and taken an ice cube into his mouth, cracking it with his teeth in the way Y/N used to scold him for. He had stared intently at the condensation gathering around the tips of his warm fingers for a few heartbeats before looking back up at Niall with aching curiosity. 

“Is she happy?”

The Irish bloke had opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking over what he had been about to say. That teeny fraction of time filled Harry with enough nerve-grating suspense to that he was sure he’d pop a blood vessel.

Niall had cleared his throat softly, sighing tiredly through his nose. “She’s better than she was right after the split.” 

Harry hates that Y/N’s doing better. He knows how petty and selfish it comes off, but he can’t help it. If she’s doing better without him, it means she might never need him again— it means he’s replaceable to her. He can hardly fathom that thought without the backs of his eyes prickling. 

Harry had swallowed thickly, nose stinging and jaw clenching. “Is she seeing anyone?” 

Niall tilted his cup against his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the beer, grateful for its help in making this talk way easier. He’d given Harry a sympathetic slink of his head. “I don’t think that’s the type of question you should be asking, Har. One day, you might not like the answer you get.”

Harry’s fingers had tightened around the stout cylindrical glass in his grasp, rings biting into his skin. His voice came out strained but unwavering. “Is she?”

His friend’s blue eyes had flitted across different points of his face, sussing out Harry’s attitude and whether he could be convinced to back down on this specific topic. 

When it was obvious he wouldn’t budge, Niall sighed heavily once again, this time through his lips. “She’s not, no.”

Harry can’t quite place a name to the flood of emotions that had crashed into him like a tidal wave. The closest he can relate the experience to is breaking the surface of an ocean of suffocating uninformed doubt, instead filling his lungs with illogical optimism and stunned relief. 

There was hope for them, even if the sliver was fine as a hair. 

Harry had found himself drawing closer to Niall, eyes doe-like and pleading, the neon lights of the bowling alley washing his face out with bright purples and drunken blues. “I wanna see her.”

“You can’t.” The objection had been quick and authoritative, causing Harry to blink as if he’d just been smacked between the eyes.

“Why?” It was a stupid question— he knew why. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of them.

“Because you’re only going to set yourself back. And even though you might not be thinking of the consequences it could have, I am, and I’m not going to let you hurt her or yourself more than you already have.”

And that’s when Harry realized that Niall knew. He’d heard the whole story.

The guilt-ridden young man had broken eye contact, looking down at his scuffed heeled boots. “You know.” 

“She told me a while back.” Niall’s confirmation had hung across Harry’s shoulders like a lead jacket. “You fucked up, mate. Bad.”

A weak, remorseful, “I know.” was all he could muster. 

“She knows you didn’t mean it, but I don’t know if you can come back from this, H.”

Harry repeated his previous phrase, but this time, it had been heavy with a form of undignified recognition. He was slowly coming to terms with the crushing possibility that he might never get her back. 

He’d downed the last of his drink, feeling it reluctantly settle into his stomach. He had then locked gazes with Niall once again, his own conflicted and needy, which in turn caused his friend’s to mold into one of deep worry and pity. 

“Will you just...Will you tell her that I love her so much. That I love her to the point where it’s pathetic. And that I’m so fucking sorry. That a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of her and that I’d give fucking anything to earn her trust again...And that I found her Sherpa jumper under the bed and washed it in case she wants it back.” 

Niall had snorted lightly, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s ability to be so unintentionally pure even under the most stressful circumstances. He’d tossed an arm across the jade-eyed boy’s loaded shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was very obviously needed. 

The reluctance had melted out of Harry in less than a breath, his arms wrapping around Niall’s torso, face pressing into the shorter man’s broad left shoulder. The tears he was holding back were evident in his quaking voice. “I miss her.”

Niall had remained silent for a while, not wanting to push any more boundaries. 

He had made due with running his palm across the expanse of Harry’s back in soothing circles, only speaking up when he felt his mate’s tears seeping into his knitted sweater. 

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah? You’re gonna get through this.” 

Niall wasn’t entirely sure if his words were the truth. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for his best friend, so he comforted him to the best of his ability and prayed that whatever happened in the couple’s future would bring them closure. 

Harry had gotten home that night feeling deflated and more regretful than ever. The emotional exhaustion had fused into his muscles and joints and he’d ended up collapsing on the couch, too depleted to take the walk down the corridor that led to his bedroom. 

His sleep was restless and worthless, as it tended to be of late, but it beat having to sulk consciously. The pain was less sharp and his sorrows were covered in a hazy fog that somehow made everything bearable. He slept well into the afternoon and awoke with a mean kink in his neck and a dull thumping in the back of his skull— karma, obviously, for his lack of self-care and shitty drinking habits. Nothing coffee couldn’t fix.

///

As it turns out, Niall had struggled some to pass on Harry’s message to the intended party. 

Y/N had been sitting on the couch when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, snuggled cozily in a Friends blanket Niall had gotten last Christmas in a game of White Elephant. She had been so focused on an episode of Master Chef that she hadn’t even heard him unlock the door. 

Y/N had momentarily glanced away from her show when she saw Niall enter the living room through her peripheral vision, watching as he toed off his rusty brown Clarks boots, kicking them into the corner beside the television stand. “How was bowling?”

“It was good! Mitch beat me by two points but, frankly, I think he cheated while I went to refill my pint.”

Y/N had scoffed in amusement, taking a sip of the chamomile tea in her Mickey Mouse mug, shaking her head distractedly. “Can you even cheat in bowling?”

Niall had shrugged his navy blue peacoat of his shoulders, draping it over the backrest of the worn recliner that was perpendicular to the couch she was currently inhabiting. He’d arched his eyebrows challengingly. “Obviously there has to be a way ‘cause I never lose. And especially never to Mitch and his shitty hand-eye coordination.”

Y/N had set down her mug in the small hole created by her crossed legs, the warmth of the drink radiating through the ceramic cup and seeping through her cloud-patterned pajama pants, heating her inner thighs soothingly. Her expression had then matched up to his, brows raised tauntingly. “Or maybe you were just off your game.”

Niall had slumped into the old recliner, sighing heavily as it creaked and extended. The Irish bloke had snuggled deeper into the cushioning of the seat, absentmindedly wiggling his toes in their rainbow polka-dotted socks before giving his housemate a pointed look. “Maybe you should shut up and go back to watching random people make squash noodles.” 

“Actually, it’s eggplant ravioli.”

“Actually, that sounds like arse.” 

A round of bubbly laughter had belted out of Y/N and it had been contagious, the same type of giggling escaping from Niall’s lips. Then, comfortable silence had fallen over the two as they centered their attention back onto the cooking show. 

Niall hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic. There was no real proper segway into conversations about exes— he didn’t want to upset Y/N with the sudden intrusion on her healing process. But he had made a promise to Harry. 

Aside from the obvious negative factors, mentioning him would also give Niall insight into how she was currently feeling about the entire situation. He’d be able to accurately gauge what her emotions had resolved on the matter and therefore be able to give Harry a solid response on whether he had any chance left for reconciliation. He’d be able to confidently tell him whether hanging on was worth it or if letting go was the best choice. 

Though Niall and Y/N had been living together for almost two months, she hadn’t started opening up to him fully about the breakup until three weeks in. And even with the whole story laid out bare for him to examine, Y/N shared very little of her mending path with him until they were five weeks in. For a while, her version of “opening up” was simply telling him what had occurred and he’d had to fill in the rest of the mental and emotional blanks himself. 

It had not been hard to come to the conclusion that she had been feeling like utter shit right after it happened— insecurity was awfully present as well as the haunting weight of thinking she wasn’t enough. Though Harry had put those worries to rest the day they had separated, they still lingered in her subconscious, constantly poking and prodding and picking at the membrane of recovery she had developed around her heart.

Y/N had felt numb for days after she had ended things. Boiling anger had created a buffer for the pain that was dwelling just under the surface and it had powered her for about three weeks. Then, at four in the morning on a random Thursday, her real emotions had burst through the fine cracks that had been webbing themselves into that unstable wall of rage. 

She’d had a dream about him that was actually a memory. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the scene as it had been one of many alike— they had been cuddling on the couch. But for some reason, it cracked something inside her. 

It had been scarily vivid to the point where she could feel the ridges of Harry’s finger pads tenderly passing over the skin of her exposed arm as she had laid between his legs, her head nestled into his strong chest, ear drums thumping with the sound of his relaxed heartbeat. She could feel his breathing, pectoral muscles rising and falling with penetrating inhales that had fallen into rhythm with her own. There had been faint movement above her and a sudden warmth had erupted across her forehead, his lips flushing caringly between her brows. The heated glow had washed down her temples and nose like syrup, vignetting her mind with a feathery, sleepy haze. It dripped over her tingling cheeks and buzzing ears, running down her neck and infusing into her chest, calming her from the inside out. He had whispered something unintelligible against her skin, his deep voice warbled as if he was talking underwater. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, the mellow, pleasant tone of his voice was enough to lull her. She had never felt happier, more fulfilled, and more at peace than at that moment. 

Harry had always been the one factor that could drown out the static of her troubles with the simplest caress of his touch. He could make any problem sink away just by cupping her jaw and thumbing over her cheekbones. Could make the end of the world creak to a stop just by knitting his mouth to her’s. Could melt away any obstacle by brushing his palm over the dip of her spine. He had always been there, and at the time, it had felt like he always would be. Through that assured remedy of relief, she had been able to live her life one step at a time, bracing even the worst moments with a clear mind and strengthened energy, all because he stood behind her— with his warm hands and consoling aura— every inch of the way. 

Y/N didn’t have that anymore and though she pushed it down and claimed it didn’t phase her, she was falling apart inside. 

It was only a matter of time before it came rushing out all at once. 

She had jerked awake from the dream as if she’d been stabbed, face wet with tears, her pillowcase dampened to the point where she would have to replace it. The breakdown that followed hadn’t included any screaming or slamming or stomping; it had been quiet and concise, much like Harry’s on the day she had left. 

She’d laid on her side, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees to her chest, drawing into her body as if it could keep all of her feelings from spilling out. Heavy tears had swelled her already bloodshot eyes, her entire face stinging as fresh sheens of water washed down the dried saltiness of the ones prior. Her nose had run so badly she’d had to resort to using an old t-shirt as a tissue. The sounds that had escaped her were low and broken— cracked, stuttery whimpers with no real words behind them. The noises were just another outlet for the aching to seep out; her eyes just weren’t enough. 

Her back had hunched over as she constricted into herself even further, burying her face into her sopping pillow, feeling hot tears soak into the saturated fabric. She could barely breathe that way and it helped calm her down some— no air meant no sobbing. No sobbing meant she was on the way to picking the pieces back up to put herself together again.

It took her awhile to come to her bearings. Her body had stopped shaking but the tears didn’t seem to want to go away. It irritated her that she couldn’t control this— she hated not being able to do anything other than just drown in it. 

Without meaning to, she had released a gut-wrenching growl of frustration that tapered off into another round of heart-breaking sobbing. Her stomach throbbed, the pain so deep it was almost palpable. 

Y/N had hoped the pillow would muffle it enough not to wake Niall, unaware that he was already up. He’d awoken on his own, making a trip to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He’d been sipping at it slowly, mind still stuck in a meaningless dream, when the sudden noise had echoed down the hall that led to Y/N’s room. 

Niall rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, irises grey with sleep. He had blinked a few times, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass down carefully onto the marble counter, trying to limit any sound interference as his ears strained to listen for any more crying. He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t imagining it in a half-unconscious stupor. 

But no, it was very much real. If he focused enough, he could just barely hear the soft sobbing coming from his friend’s bedroom. He had a good guess on what it was about.

He’d stood still for a moment, mulling over what he should do. His first instinct had been to go in and comfort her, but with more thought, he wondered if it would be better not to meddle in her grieving out of respect for her privacy. He knows that if he were crying over a bad breakup, he’d want to be left alone. But he also knows that shouldering a burden like the one she’d faced could put anyone in a really dark place; he wasn’t just going to stand around and let her crash and burn. 

Niall had wandered down the corridor attentively, footsteps light as to not startle Y/N. He’d turned to knob to the door with immense care, pushing it open with his shoulder and peeking in. 

The crying had stopped abruptly, which gave away that she knew he was there. He couldn’t see much in the dark room— the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the curtains didn’t do much for the fact that he was lacking his glasses— but he could see the silhouette of Y/N’s body curled up under the duvet, trembling ever so slightly with the effort of keeping in her sobbing. 

Her housemate had cleared his throat to get rid of the gravel in his dormant voice, as well as to fully alert her of his presence. His words had still come out in a raspy croak, but at least they were understandable. “You alright in here?” 

Y/N had sniffled feverishly, desperate to put out a collected facade. She hated when people saw her so vulnerable without her anticipating it. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.” 

Her voice had cracked near the end of her response, giving away that she wasn’t good at all. The air had been silent for a moment, then Niall’s muddled footsteps thudded against the thick carpet.

Y/N could feel him standing behind her, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, the soft scent of his ocean-scented deodorant tickling her itching nose. “Are you sure?”

There had been no response other than the comforter tightening around her frame. Her hair was splayed across her face in a wild, matted mess, keeping him from being able to read her features. 

Niall had sighed heavily and then the bed had dipped with his weight, sheets shifting and springs squeaking as he settled into place beside her, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. 

More silence followed, Y/N refusing to budge. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this considering he was still friends with Harry; she didn’t want to split him down the middle or force him to take care of her alongside her ex. She knew Niall too well, certain that he had been offering help to Harry, too. She’d heard him answer the array of drunken phone calls on her behalf so she wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma. She’d heard him leaving the house at unintelligible hours only to return smelling like Harry’s favorite vanilla cinnamon candle. She’d even found one of Harry’s t-shirts (which she had gotten him herself) in the laundry basket, which had probably been lent to Niall after an alcohol-related accident. 

Niall was too kind for his own good— too caring. Y/N had learned a lot about him in the time they had lived together and the one characteristic that stood out more than anything was his savior complex— his default setting to provide love and assurance to anyone that needed it, no matter the stress it put on himself. She didn’t want to take unfair advantage of that. 

Her friend’s voice had torn her out of her guilt trip, loaded with adamant concern. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this room until I know you’re genuinely better so stop being stubborn and let me help.” 

She’d jerked suddenly when she felt his large hand coast up her back. His touch was gentle and nurturing, squeezing her shoulder expectantly. It wasn’t hard for her to let go into him. 

Y/N had turned towards Niall, hand ducking out from beneath the duvet cocoon she’d swaddled herself in, moving her hair out of her splotchy face. Their eyes had locked and she’d immediately felt the remaining anguish flush out of her system. 

The look on his face was so kind and protective and it made her feel safer than she had in the last couple of weeks. Even in the limited lighting, she could see his eyes were glossy with the genuine desire to help her heal, inviting her to share her problems with him, silently promising that they could shoulder the weight of it together. She didn’t have to fight this on her own. 

Y/N had spent the rest of the night in Niall’s arms, crying into his chest and utterly drenching his Eagles t-shirt, though he didn’t complain once. He had kept his lips pressed to the top of her head, running his warm palm up and down her shuddering back and telling her that she shouldn’t bottle up her feelings— that it didn’t make her weak to show them, that openly sorting through them with someone else would make it less scary, and most importantly, that it was “okay not to be okay all the time.” 

For the next month or so, Y/N and Niall’s heart-to-hearts had been a real breakthrough for her. All of her undealt fear and self-doubt no longer badgered her anymore— it was almost all gone. She hadn’t felt this emotionally liberated since before the split and she could feel the shards of her heart welding themselves back together, ushering her into a more healthy, serene state of mind. She was on the road to her old self again and the relief it brought was otherworldly. 

It could be seen physically, too. The bags under her eyes had faded and her face carried a certain rejuvenated glow that it had lacked for weeks. Her smile and laughter were buoyant and loud again, not hindered by any inner conflict anymore whatsoever. When she went out with her friends, she didn’t find herself mentally checking out in the middle of conversations or movies or drinks like she had plenty of times before. She actively participated and engaged in events instead of just going through the motions and it felt so fucking good to get a taste of actual joy for the first time in so long. Things were looking up, and though she still had that hole in her chest that only Harry could fill, she was learning to deal with it in a beneficial and independent manner. It was okay not to be okay all the time. 

///

All of these instances had scattered across Niall’s eyes, whirling around in his skull as he sat back in the old recliner, trying to decide if he should pass on Harry’s bowling alley message onto Y/N. He knew she was doing way better, but he didn’t know if hearing from Harry would break her all over again. He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want the sheer sound of his name to send her into a self-destructive spiral for the rest of her life— she had to learn to cope with him being mentioned regularly because it was bound to start happening again. People couldn’t walk on eggshells around both of them forever. 

And Niall also needed to know where she stood on her relationship to the British boy— whether she was willing to give it another shot or whether it was best to tell Harry to move on completely. They were adults, after all, so questions needed to be answered and ties needed to be either tightened or severed for good.

“Harry was there.” 

“I know, Niall. That’s the reason I wasn’t.” 

Her tone had taken him by surprise. It had been jokeful and amused, holding no obvious resentment he could detect. It’d been a good start to the Ex Talk, if Niall had ever seen one, as long as it didn’t turn into her using humor as a deflecting mechanism. 

“He asked about you.”

Y/N’s hands had tightened around her mug, crossed legs shifting her weight. She had broken away from the television screen, meeting Niall’s cautiously hesitant gaze. Her eyes had held an emotion that he couldn’t quite place— it was mostly blank, but it held a smidge of something he could only think to refer to as pained curiosity. 

When she’d spoken again, it had been soft and fragile. “What’d he say?” 

Niall had leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping onto his parted knees as his fingers sifted together, chin resting on his knuckles. His voice had been as cautious and hesitant as the look in his sky blue irises. “He said to tell you that he misses you and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’d do anything to earn your trust again, that a day doesn’t go by that he doesn’t think about you, and that he loves you so much ‘to the point where it’s pathetic.’ His exact words.” 

Y/N had been quiet for a while afterward, the TV droning on in the background with chefs running around kitchens, cursing about food burning and incorrect ingredients. Niall hadn’t pushed her on an answer; he’d simply sat back with his hands flat across his belly, allowing her all the time she needed to process the speech. 

When she finally spoke up again, her voice had been taut, strained by the heaviness of the message she’d received. “Anything else?”

Niall had intentionally left the lightest part of the conversation for the end, hoping it would provide her with some form of ease, as minimal as it would be. “Yeah, he said you left your Sherpa jumper at his place and was wondering if you wanted it back. If I were you, I’d say yes. Fleece sweaters are fuck-you-in-the-arse expensive.” 

His comment had the intended affect, his heart fluttering with relief as he watched Y/N’s face break into a huge grin, eyes crinkling as airy laughter bounced all around her. Some of the tension in her body remained, but most of it had dissipated out. A fraction is better than none. 

Y/N had managed to talk through her giggles. “Yeah, I think I would like my sweater back, actually.” 

“Great!” Niall had clapped his hands together once, head wobbling in a jerky shake for silly emphasis. He’d pushed his palms against the armrests of the recliner, catapulting himself onto his feet and pointing at Y/N playfully. “I’ll get that sorted for you, then. Now, if you need me, I’m gonna be in my room, passed out on my bed for the next twelve hours, neck-deep in a beer coma. Feel free to check if I’m breathing every now and then, yeah? Got a dentist appointment next week that I’d hate to be dead for.” 

Y/N had sat on Harry’s words for the next week or so. They hadn’t spurred her into a meltdown (as she’s sure Niall had worried they would), but they did loiter in the back of her mind, keeping her awake past appropriate hours by playing her heart strings like a violin. 

There was one part of the message specifically that took up a chunk of her sleep more than the others, scattering inside her head and running along the crevices of her brain, the meaning behind it stirring the pit of her stomach into a hollowed frenzy: I love you so much to the point where it’s pathetic.

That one measly sentence carried so much baggage to unpack.

Harry’s choice of words were transparent on how he was dealing in the aftermath of the split. 

Y/N knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was— it had been obvious in the way he had put her on a pedestal for the entirety of their relationship, constantly showering her with all different types of affection to let her know how much he cherished her. It ranged from the simplest gestures— like keeping her favorite chocolates stocked inside the pantry at all times— to extravagant actions— like randomly buying her an expensive necklace she’d stared at for a bit too long at the mall. He was always aware of her, always going out of his way to show her how much he loved her, and she had never felt more appreciated than when she was with him. 

When it came to expressing that love verbally, Harry only ever connected it to words that carried positive connotations. Words like, “truly,” “madly,” “deeply,” “immensely,” “entirely,” and “wholeheartedly.” He wanted her to know that when he thought of her, any negativity was immediately expelled from his mind; she could always make him happy, no matter what. 

This being taken into consideration, one can understand why Y/N had been utterly baffled when Niall had told her that he’d referred to his love for her as “pathetic.” It gave her insight into just how hard he was taking the breakup— hard enough to the point where he was so desperate to get her back that he felt pathetic. This told her that he loved her so much he was willing to admit that it was sad and pitiful, especially since he was a grown man, and especially because they’d been split for just over two months. That span of time is long enough for a person to at least start moving on; long enough for someone to sever themselves from that stage of hopelessly clinging to what once was and to look forward to what the future could bring. 

But instead, Harry had allowed himself to regress back into a lapse of needy pining, pleading with Niall— and in public, no less— to tell her that he missed her so much it was embarrassing; that he cared for her to the extent that it was humiliating; that he loved her to the point where it was miserable. He wanted her to know that what he had done had been tearing at him nonstop since it happened, that it would likely haunt him for years to come, and that he would never forgive himself for it. 

All of these confessions weren’t any different than what he had told her the day they had broken up— they were the same bullets he’d hit when he was sitting before her, teary-eyed and distressed, begging her to give him another chance. However, for a reason unbeknownst to her, they penetrated deeper this time, slamming her square in the chest like someone had punched through her ribs, squeezing her heart with their fist.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally let go of the splintering anger she’d been clutching onto from that day, which had likely blinded her from absorbing the rawness behind Harry’s apology. Maybe it was that she’d had weeks to work through all of her jumbled emotions, finally untangling herself from the bitterness that had been clouding her mind for what felt like ages. Maybe it was just the simple notion that she fucking missed him— missed him more than her pride would ever let her admit. 

Missed the way his nose would scrunch up in distaste when he didn’t agree with something, the way the edges of his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, missed his boyish giggling and how it would go up in pitch when he laughed too hard. She missed the way his dimples would carve into his cheeks when he smirked, the way the little mole under the left corner of his lips would jolt with the slightest motion of his mouth, and the way his large, warm hands would feel as he would knot their fingers together, his thumb caressing over the tops of her knuckles. 

Y/N missed the way her head would sink into his chest when she would hug him, his arms cradling her against his body while he played with the ends of her hair. She missed the small group of freckles at the base of his neck— missed tracing them with her lips while he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into spontaneous giggles at the feathery sensation. She missed the way he smelled, like mandarin shampoo and musky, spiced deodorant and his ocean salt cologne and that stupid fucking candle.

Y/N had remained on the fence for a few days about what to do, mentally jotting down the pros and cons of reaching out to Harry to make amends. The defining moment had been the day she’d gotten her sweater back. 

///

Niall had gone out with Harry to see a movie, returning home with the Sherpa jumper hung across one of his forearms, tucked into his elbow. He’d held it out for her between his thumbs and index fingers, flapping it back and forth triumphantly, eyebrows arched with dramatic glee as a huge goofy grin buckled his cheeks. “Look at what we have here, then!” 

He’d tossed it towards her on his way to the kitchen, belting out a cocky, “You’re welcome!” over his shoulder before disappearing behind the archway. 

The minute Y/N had caught the hoodie in her arms, the scent hit her like a bus. It invaded her nostrils without permission, sending a sharp ache through her chest. 

It was perfectly faint since Harry’s smell never tended to be overpowering— he had a very light hand when it came to cologne, well aware that too much could be agitating. That being said, the brand he used was potent even when dispensed in small amounts, so it’s salty sea aroma usually lasted through a couple of washes. He had probably nonchalantly chucked the jumper into the laundry with his clothes, which had resulted in the smell being strung through every single thread of the fabric. 

Beneath the initial layer of his cologne laid the softer scent of the vanilla cinnamon candle that she knew too well. It was tender and homey, just the right ratio of sugar and spice, its cozy undercurrent enveloping her in familiarity. 

It launched her into a round of fleeting flashbacks. 

The fractions in time consisted of a winter day spent snuggled on the sofa under thick blankets, half-empty mugs of hot cocoa discarded on the coffee table and a Netflix show drawling on aimlessly in the background. Not a single soul had paid attention to the screen; Y/N was too busy straddling Harry’s lap, planting wet, sloppy kisses down his throat as he dangled his head over the side of the armrest, hands gripping her hips needily as she rocked against the bulge in his sweatpants, a dreamy, pleasure-drunken smile adorning his swollen lips. Low hisses and weak whimpers had resonated from deep in his chest, rolling off his tongue as his mouth had absentmindedly fallen open at the warmth growing between her thighs. Her fingers had twisted into the loose curls along the back of his skull while she’d gasped his name all breathy and whiney along the underside of his jaw, working herself against him at a desperate pace, his palms trailing underneath her pajama bottoms to grope at her ass. 

Harry’s voice had been distant and echoey in the memory, but it made her cheeks sizzle nonetheless. “God, I love you so fucking much. Could spend the rest of my life between your thighs...Could spend the rest of it anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Another flashback had shuffled forward like a deck of cards. This one was of a foggy, rainy evening spent napping soundly in their bed, limbs tangled messily with their bodies half-naked, her heated lips pressed to the lulled pulse that throbbed beneath Harry’s flushed neck. His hand had been petting over her mussed up hair, mouth pressed lovingly to the ridges between her brows, smoothing them out in order to defuse whatever was troubling her in her dreams. 

She’d awoken, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep, her mind partially conscious as she had taken in a long inhale, blowing it out through her nose. Harry had run the pad of his thumb over her lashes gently, helping her get rid of the blurriness that had taken her under. She had blinked up at him drowsily, a watery smile spreading her buzzing lips. Harry hadn’t said a single word and he didn’t have to— he’d just stared down at her over the tops of his lightly colored cheeks, the right edge of his mouth flicking upwards in endearment, his bright jade irises glossy with fondness. He didn’t have to say a single word because his expression silently told her everything she needed to know. 

Y/N had snapped out of the memories in the blink of an eye, a sudden tickling sensation bristling down her cheeks. She’d reached up to touch her face in confusion, the tips of her fingers coming back wet, the water glinting cruelly under the dim lighting of the living room. Her brows had furrowed in objection, both at her tears and at being so abruptly yanked out of moments in her life when she had been the happiest. Her body reacted out of instinct, desperately searching for a trace of him to clasp onto, her hands fumbling to bring the flouncy material of the sweater to her nose. 

She’d taken a saturated breath in, the pleasant odor hugging her trembling frame and kissing her heart. The tears had then started flowing freely across her waterline and down the bridge of her nose. They had seeped into the fleece hoodie and she’d immediately jerked back from it, not wanting the treasured item to suffer the same fate as most of her pillowcases. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her have to wash it— she refused to let the comforting aroma leave her. 

Y/N spent the next three days in that jumper, only taking it off to shower. She wore it religiously, taking it to work, to the superstore when she went grocery shopping with Niall, to lunch with a friend, to a doctor's appointment she barely paid attention to, and even to bed. In the span of seventy-two hours, she had developed an addiction to the scent that was woven into the fluffy article of clothing, needing to have it around her at all times in order to function properly. 

It was sad, really. It was just a smell and she knew it would eventually fade away, but she just couldn’t help herself from wanting to be wrapped in it every second of the day. It reminded her of a time in her life when everything seemed flawless— where there wasn’t a gaping hole in the center of her chest that could only be filled by the one person who had accidentally hurt her beyond compare. 

Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the flood of memories that the stupid hoodie had fished out from the corner of her subconscious, where she had shoved them with the intent of never looking back. They loitered her dreams, broadcasting over the inside of her eyelids for hours on end, dissolving away when her alarm blared beside her ear, leaving her with a hollow feeling toiling at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how long she could deal with it, but her sanity was starting to wear thin, cautioning her that she had to do something or else she’d go absolutely mad. 

On the night of the fourth day, Y/N finally cracked. 

///

Two months and thirteen days. 

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up. 

It is currently 11:43 PM, meaning that in a meer seventeen minutes, it would be two months and fourteen days since the split. 

Harry is laying in bed, as far away from his digital clock as possible, watching a random Christmas movie that Netflix had recommended, one hand buried in a bowl of kettle corn that he’d already refilled twice as the other holds his phone an acceptable distance above his face. 

The movie is cliche, if he’s being honest; something about Santa Claus dying and passing on the torch to his dead-beat son that didn’t want it, so it ended up going to his overly-perky younger sister instead. The twist was supposed to be that a woman had never been Santa Claus, but he could see that ending coming from a mile away, what with her natural ability to get along with kids and the fact that she dressed like a literal Elf on the Shelf. It’s heart-warming in the way that all Christmas films are and it had the witty humor one would expect it to, alongside a cute furry animal sidekick that people couldn’t help falling in love with. 

But it just didn’t really impress him. The message is sweet, the execution could’ve been better. 

Yet, he only deemed it fair that he finish the movie. He’s already three-fourths of the way done and though the intended surprise was obvious, he might as well see it through. 

In the middle of the climax scene where the young woman was putting on the Santa suit for the first time, his phone dings with a chime he hadn’t heard in too long— two months, thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-four minutes, to be exact. 

Harry had been so startled he’d dropped his phone on his face.

“Ow! Fucking hell!” 

He sits up in one quick, stiff motion, the hand knuckle-deep in the popcorn bowl flying up and knocking the dish upside down, the sticky kernels rolling across his disheveled duvet. The sleek black device falls into his lap, nose pulsing in pain as it had taken most of the heat, his caramel-coated hand rubbing messily along his flannel pajama pants to try and get rid of the stickiness. He then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to stifle some of the stinging, bumbling to get his smartphone into the palm of his clean hand. 

The screen lights up with a text message and Harry blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it in some type of pain-induced hallucination. 

But no, the message is very much real and it’s authenticity sends him into a dull stupor for a minute. He comes back to when the phone vibrates with another ring, alerting him for the second and last time that the person he wanted to talk to the most had actually reached out to him; it was in his best interest not to keep her waiting.

Y/N: Hey, are you free to talk tomorrow?

27 with klaine, I’m begging

#27 - Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

I’ve actually had two anons request this one, so I’m making this a part 2 of my last prompt, with coworkers!klaine - per popular demand ;-)

read the first part here

-

Blaine can’t remember how they got here.

The vague logistics are obvious - he knows they left the bar together, remembers the cab ride from the way Kurt’s palm felt like a searing brand where it rested heavy on Blaine’s upper thigh, but the rest of it has blurred together, entirely unimportant.

It’s all pointless when it’s led him to Kurt’s apartment, on Kurt’s couch, on Kurt’s lap, kissing him.

More than kissing him, actually: fingers of one hand knotted in Kurt’s slightly sweat-dampened hair, other hand rucking up Kurt’s sweater and searching out his skin, soft and smooth and irresistible, alternating sucking Kurt’s bottom lip into his mouth and then his top one, rocking his hips down slowly, infuriatingly slowly, somehow holding himself back enough to allow the heat to build instead of rushing through it.

And he feels Kurt underneath him, too, the way Kurt’s fingers shakily unbuttoned Blaine’s cardigan moments ago and shoved it off his shoulders without so much as breaking their kiss, the way he now has his hands on Blaine’s ass, encouraging him along to ride the undulating waves of the friction they’re creating together, already so much but nowhere near enough.

They’ve barely spoken since they kissed - in fact, it had been an unspoken agreement to leave and to share a cab and for Blaine to come up to Kurt’s apartment, and it’s odd, really, how certain of all of it Blaine had been.

How certain of all of it he still is.

But he’s certain, too, that he needs more, and he’s pretty sure Kurt does, too, from the way he throws his head back against the couch cushions with a shaky breath of a moan when Blaine begins to mouth across Kurt’s jawline and down his neck, taking his time sucking slow, purposeful kisses everywhere he can reach, on every bit of skin that’s exposed. 

If he were completely sober, Blaine would be reveling in the fact that he’s even being allowed to do this, that he’s learned the softness of Kurt’s lips and the salty-sweet taste of his skin, that he’s beginning to learn the way Kurt sounds when he moans and the feeling of Kurt’s cock hard and pressed against his own, even through their pants.

But he’s not sober - he’s not entirely wasted, plenty coherent enough to know what he’s doing and that he wants this and that Kurt wants it, too, but he’s drunk enough to be able to put the wonder and amazement and every other thought out of his mind and focus on this, on figuring out how to make Kurt feel good and actually making it happen.

The rest will come later.

So Blaine pulls back enough to look at Kurt, lifting slightly up on his knees on either side of Kurt’s lap and pressing Kurt further into the back of the couch, leaning their foreheads together, their breathing coming hot and ragged between them - and Kurt looks incredible like this, cheeks flushed from booze and heat and desire, eyes dark and lust-blown with only a ring of dark blue left visible around his pupils, mouth kissed red and swollen and god, what Blaine wouldn’t do to see those lips wrapped around-

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes out in a stuttered exhale, his hands sliding up to rest on Blaine’s bare chest, up under his undershirt, and Blaine realizes he’s just been staring, realizes he’s gone still, realizes that Kurt is nearly trembling underneath him, and Blaine needs to-

He needs to do something.

In as fluid of a motion as he can manage, Blaine pushes himself up off of the couch and up off of Kurt, instead sliding down onto the floor in front of him, gently pressing at both of Kurt’s knees to encourage his legs to part - and he can’t help but feel a tiny thrill at the way they fall open so readily, at the way he can hear the hitch of Kurt’s breath and possibly even a soft whimper, too.

There’s no way to describe how it makes Blaine feel other than powerful, like he’s in control of giving this to Kurt, of taking him apart in hopes of putting him back together, and Kurt is letting him do it, trusting him to.

The powerful feeling persists through his uncoordinated efforts to unlace Kurt’s boots and pull them off, then the sloppy awkwardness of their joint maneuver in getting Kurt’s pants off, too, and then-

And then Kurt’s fingers are twisting in Blaine’s curls, pulling him closer as he leans in to ghost his mouth along the outline of Kurt’s cock straining in his underwear, sucking briefly at the head of it, reveling in the taste as well as the moan that it elicits, low from Kurt’s throat.

Again, if Blaine were sober, he’d want to take his time - draw it out, strip Kurt naked and kiss and savor every part of him, and as much as he still wants that, hopes he’ll have another chance to do it, maybe, someday, he’s far too impatient, the anticipation of months of possibly-mutual stolen glances built up for far too long.

There’s no hope of waiting another second.

And so Blaine reaches to hook his thumb under Kurt’s waistband and tug his underwear long enough to free his cock, to wrap his hand around the length of it, then wasting no time taking it into his mouth.

The weight of Kurt on his tongue, the feeling of his lips stretching around him is incredible, turning Blaine on beyond belief as he sinks as far down as he can manage, and he can’t help but moan at the combination of all of it, nearly overwhelming his senses.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this, not just been intimate with someone but ached so desperately to give. He’s a thousand times more focused on Kurt’s release than his own, and though he’s achingly hard and feels himself straining against the fly of his pants, it doesn’t matter - all that matters is the way Kurt reacts when Blaine swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, the way Kurt moans when Blaine takes him in deeper, the way Kurt begins to tremble underneath him, fingers digging more insistently into Blaine’s curls. 

But by the time Kurt is shifting restlessly and panting and moaning underneath Blaine’s hands and his mouth, Blaine is becoming more desperate, too - he reaches down to unbutton and unzip his pants, shoving them down past his hips far enough to slip his hand under his briefs and jerk himself off, too, not caring that it’s his own touch because it’s still connected, still in rhythm with what he’s giving Kurt, still on the path to the pleasure and the heat and the release that they’re searching for together.

“Blaine, I’m- Stop, I-”

Kurt sounds completely and utterly undone, and when Blaine pulls off to look up at him, he looks it, too - debauched and lost in the feeling of all of it, and Blaine did that, Blaine made him this way.

And Blaine needs to pull him through it.

He makes the split decision to push up off of the floor and climb back onto Kurt’s lap, one hand pressed into the couch cushion beside Kurt’s head, knees once again straddling his lap, taking another moment to look at him, to breathe him in and look and memorize just in case, before he leans their foreheads together and reaches down to grasp Kurt’s cock in his hand again, intent on bringing him over the edge.

Even untouched, Blaine is too wound up to properly kiss Kurt while he does it, instead staying impossibly close as their breaths mix hot and heady between them, as he pays attention to Kurt’s soft noises and whimpers to know when he has the right grip, the right touch, as he feels Kurt’s hips bucking up underneath him with an intensity that proves he’s right there at it, close, almost.

When he feels Kurt’s hand snake between their bodies to find Blaine’s cock, too, wrapping around it with surprisingly sure, steady fingers, Blaine is done for, too.

It takes only a handful of strokes for him to come, spilling hot over Kurt’s fist as his orgasm sparks through him like a firework, bright and bold and in pure technicolor, leaving him shaking and breathless and collapsing against Kurt’s body, just in time for him to feel Kurt come, too, and Blaine is close enough to feel it ripple through Kurt’s body, only letting go of Kurt’s cock to clutch him nearer, pressing as close as he can possibly get.

“Oh my god,” Kurt laughs shakily once they’ve begun to come down from it, and Blaine hums in agreement, pressing slower, gentler kisses to Kurt’s jaw, as if it can soothe him, help him, ease him back out of it.

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, feeling like he should, as he musters all of his energy to lift up enough to look at Kurt, feeling weak and boneless but just needing to check, needing to be sure.

“So okay,” Kurt breathes, rocking up enough to capture Blaine’s lips in a kiss, softer and sweeter than any they’d shared before, making Blaine’s toes curl at the tenderness of it and of the weight it holds - a silent affirmation that this isn’t it, that they can be more, that this is just the beginning.

And Blaine allows himself to sink into it, reveling in the feeling instead of being afraid by it, instead of questioning it, only pulling away when it’s turned into a press of their smiles more than anything else.

Of course, there’s one more thing.

“Did you- Did you really already know who I was?” The question comes out sounding tentative, but Blaine is suddenly desperate to know, slightly afraid of the answer, unsure of what it means either way. 

Kurt smiles slowly, lazily, shifting to lay down on the couch and tugging Blaine down along with him, pulling him close.

“Blaine Anderson,” he murmurs, and Blaine has never loved his name more, has never heard it quite like this, like the beginnings of the melody of a soft, sweet song that only Kurt knows how to sing. “I did a project with Tina, back a couple months ago. She talks about you a lot.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, a breathless, genuine giggle bubbling up and out of his chest, and he tucks his face into Kurt’s neck just because he can - just because he can.

“I didn’t know yours until I overheard it tonight,” Blaine admits softly, feeling silly and oblivious for it, for not having known, for not having thought to ask Tina long ago. “But I... I’ve been seeing you around the building for months now, and I just... There’s something about you.”

Kurt lets out a soft, happy hum, trailing his fingers up and down Blaine’s back, tracing small, weaving patterns along the path.

“Something good, I hope.”

Lifting his head up, Blaine feels no hesitation in pressing his lips to Kurt’s in a slow, languid kiss, whispering the words into it when he speaks.

“Better than I ever could have expected.”

Could you write Mineta comforting his girlfriend who’s crying because she had a really hard day?

Angst and comfort, already?! Sign me up!! There wasn’t a character given, so I assumed it was a reader-insert, but you didn’t say that either. However, I did spend a lot of time thinking so let’s roll with it. This was pretty difficult to do, I’ve never actually written reader inserts before, and I had to cut it short because I felt like it was getting too long and I wouldn’t be able to finish it, but I hope this is more than good enough!

Together, Always

Minoru Mineta was particularly excitable today.

On the Hero Course students' path to the professional stage, they’d finally reached work studies. Now that they had their provisional licenses, the fledglings would soon be off to work under Pro Hero’s wing.

The short boy was no exception, working at Team Lurkers with Mt. Lady, Kamui, and Edgeshot. You, on the other hand, ended up catching the eye of Miruko, becoming the first intern she’d ever taken in, after so confidently refusing team-ups of any kind.

Getting fantastic news like that, you and your boyfriend were quick to celebrate your success. Mineta couldn’t pick you up and swing you around like a “normal boyfriend” would, his words, not yours—but, he could treat you to dinner at a Western-style restaurant, have some fun at the arcade, and give a couple of congratulatory kisses.

You felt so loved, having such a supportive person by your side. In your opinion, you thought they should be celebrating both of their achievements, especially since they were both amazing.

However…

“I don’t mind (F/N), really! Gettin’ to see ya so happy is the best reward ever for me!”

Said Mineta without a stutter, his round cheeks flushed pink. Staring into your (E/C) eyes and holding his head with a hand, the boy was elated and relaxed.

For being so awkward and sometimes childish, that guy could say some really touching things. As an extra reward for that romantic one-liner, you suddenly kissed him. It was so entertaining to see the boy so stunned, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he cutely puffed his cheeks.

And so, your date continued without a trouble in the world. Heading to bead, the both of you were excited to give it your all in a new environment. You wouldn’t be able to see him for a bit, of course, but in the meantime, both of you would be working the hardest towards improvement.

Besides, once you and Mineta returned to the dorms for school days—sharing unique experiences together was at the top of the agenda.

With those cheerful thoughts in mind, the couple departed from U.A. in the early morning…

“Cya, (F/N)! Break a leg! I love you!!”

“Good luck, Minoru!! I love you too!”

…not before sharing one last hug and kiss, though.

However, the next morning was not a bright one for you.

Your first day working with Miruko had left you crushed.

It started so positively, feeling so much honor from working with such an esteemed hero and learning from her—but you were quickly overcome with pressure when it came to actual work, making simple mistakes you knew not to, but still did. Miruko had even had to get hurt to cover for you, and while she was okay and didn’t mind, more focused on your safety, the guilt still stuck and stayed with you for the rest of the day.

That day ended disappointingly before you even knew it.

And now you sat on your bed, silently sobbing as you remembered the tiniest of stumbles—and it hurt your heart every time. You felt so hopeless, knowing you’d have to return, what if a civilian got hurt due to your hesitation? Would be the end there?

Mineta had gone all out to celebrate, and you’d blown all his support to bits with failure. How would you be able to face him? Seeing him was the thing you wanted least right now. As much you loved him, you just didn’t want to risk the pain.

Yet, timing still decided to curse you, and have Minoru Mineta enter the room. While your tears continued to fall.

“(F/N)!! Haven’t seen ya all day, well it’s the mornin’, so g’mornin’, but…how’s it…goin…”

His voice trailed off as he further began to understand your state, and his contended tone started to mute. You rushed to rub away your tears and mask the hurt you showed him.

“…(F/N)? What’s wrong?”

No, no, no. You didn’t want this.

Your hands hid your face. You didn’t want him to be concerned—you didn’t want him to witness your weakness. It was likely futile, it was likely futile, but…you had to put those forming anxieties in Mineta to rest.

“N-nothing…it’s nothing. Just something I gotta…take care of later…”

The words struggle to come out. ‘What does that even mean?’, you asked yourself. Even coming up with a coherent excuse was too difficult in this state.

And worst of all, it failed to fool him, as you heard his footsteps come closer and closer. His small hands came to touch yours, pulling them away from your face with barely any trouble. Underneath your desperation, there was no resistance to back it up. He could see your face now—which had been stricken with new tears you’d not even felt fall. You couldn’t bring yourself to look.

A small gasp came out, and in response, more sobs began to spill, with your state now exposed.

But, Mineta didn’t say a word after. Until…

“(F/N)…”

…he let go of your hands and climbed onto your lap, wrapping his short arms around your back and pushing himself towards you. A warm hug without words, yes, but this warm gesture communicated feelings that some part of you had wanted to hear.

You can cry…

Take ya time, (F/N)…

It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay…

I’m here for ya…

You’re not alone…

He was like a shining light, destroying the darkness…the guilt, the shame, the regrets buried in your heart. You wanted to touch that light, just for a second.

Shakily…shakily, your arms wrapped around Mineta, bringing him closer to you, it was as if you’d become one. You could hear the faint sound of a smile, relieved that his one act was able to reach your heart, after feeling so afraid of how to respond.

This was just the start, though.

When you were finished, he planned to ask all about yesterday, as it was obvious that something had happened at her internship that had left her lonely and hurt. There was a chance they might try to hide it again, but he would get to the bottom of it, no matter what. And by the time he figured it out, he’d give the best pep talk he could think of, and make them believe it.

Regardless of what happened today, it was no sign of incompetence.

Mineta still believed in you. That you could stand again, that you could take another step forward—and that would never, ever change.

However, they could just take things slow, for now.

Stay together for just a bit longer…your boyfriend sticking by you all the way, as you let out your emotions...appreciating the fact that no matter what the world hurled at them…

…the one they loved would always be here with them.

How is Zoe's comic racist? (sorry don't mean to question you, genuinely curious) Also, I admit I was also sucked into the salt fic whirlpool, but quickly left after I realized how toxic it was being. Could you also elaborate on GalahadWilder, if it isn't too uncomfortable for you? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, or ask uncomfortable questions.

I can’t point out everything off the top of my head but the racism (along with everything else but that’s not the focus) is a large part of what made me throw my hands up and write this. And I won’t be answering any more asks about any of this because I just want to get it out there so people know (because of how many people genuinely don’t see it) and then go back to trying to forget that this shit ever existed, rather than dragging out some new fandom drama. Also keep in mind that while I’m West Asian/Arab, I’m also white-passing so if I get anything wrong, I appreciate call-outs. (Also I finally got my laptop charger today so I can snip my posts again 😭)

Her treatment of Max in ‘Gamer’.

It’s not unique to her; it’s a very common salter thing to utterly tear into Max for being a “sexist jerk” and daring to underestimate princess Marinette because she’s a girl. Never mind that they canonically aren’t close friends because of Chloé’s bullying, so Max probably had no idea that Marinette’s liked video games all this time, where Adrien is the new boy so it’s just one more thing to learn about him.

It’s especially heinous compared to how the other classmates are treated far more leniently for their own mistakes - they still get salted on but Max, aka the Black boy, always seems to get singled out and held to higher standards. Just look at ‘Chameleon’ and how the other classmates are mildly to moderately attacked by salters but Max gets utterly ripped to shreds because he “should know better”. (Never mind that just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s good at human interaction. They just want to attack him).

It also angers me because people like Nathaniel and Ivan are absolved of what they do as akumas (like kidnapping others and literally forcing someone to go on a date with them) because they couldn’t help it, yet Max is literally held responsible for what he did when akumatised (because he dared to go after Princess Marinette) and even for daring to get akumatised in the first place. Both these things just make him a sore loser, apparently.

So SL ‘Gamer’ was the final straw for me, especially with how she characterised Max as a smug arsehole, and it made me so angry that I just exploded to my friends, but I didn’t know how to directly call it out without looking like a petty bitch.

Here’s a post I made about salters and ‘Gamer’ if you’re interested in a more coherent and in-depth thing about it.

Alya’s treatment throughout the whole thing.

In canon, she’s an enthusiastic and passionate girl who sometimes gets carried away and goes too far and who idolises Ladybug because Ladybug stands against evil. Here? She’s treated as the butt of the joke for being so starry-eyed over superheroes that she idolises Scarlet Lady while Marinette mocks her behind her back. Never mind her iconic line of “all that is needed for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing” and this is why she loves Majestia in the first place. Never mind that she loves Ladybug because Ladybug is kind and passionate and strong and creative. Canon Alya wouldn’t want a bar of Scarlet Lady, who just sits around complaining, and yet SL!Alya worships her because...why? Running joke? The only Black girl in the series is treated as a gag to be made fun of by someone who’s supposed to be her best friend, just for the audience’s amusement. Marinette’s probably meant to look funny and relatable here, but she just looks like a major bitch to her new friend. Alya’s flaws are basically blown up and exaggerated for comedic effect, while Marinette in contrast is airbrushed to perfection, with no flaws and no anxiety that was only alleviated in canon by - guess what - being Ladybug.

It’s like Zoe wants to stick to canon while adding her own little “fun” twists for humour, like making Marinette snarky and perfect (which just makes her look like an utter bitch) and in the case of Alya, it does her so dirty that even Lila is more sympathetic. LILA. After SL humiliates Lila, Alya looks doubtful but buys some bullshit excuse so that she can continue to be the Scar-worshipping idiot. And then in the aftermath, her concern isn’t for Lila, the girl who was humiliated and bullied by a literal superhero and then ended up sick. No, she’s angry because...Lila lied on her blog. The blog that doesn’t have nearly as much recognition as in canon because SL would never validate her, unlike Ladybug. So her passion for her blog is exaggerated to imply that she’d say that a girl deserves to be bullied and sick because she told a few lies (since at this point, Alya doesn’t know about any possible malice on Lila’s part, just as in canon. All that’s known is the lying for attention).

It’s horrible hypocrisy, where Alya is held to higher standards than the other (white) characters and when she fails to meet those standards, she’s torn into. She’s not afforded any sympathy for being hurt that Lila lied to her; in fact, she’s demonised for feeling hurt, especially because of the running joke that her blog is focused on someone so horrible and she doesn’t see that. Lila is presented as the sympathetic one here. LILA. Just because Alya dared to believe her in canon.

Also, how she’s constantly trying to either tease Marinette for having a crush or insist that Marinette’s only doing what she does because of a crush...even though according to this ‘verse’s canon, Marinette is too good to make mistakes and do obsessive stuff over a crush, which is why canon Alya thinks this about her in the first place. That didn’t just come out of nowhere in the show purely for “woe is Marinette, her best friend doubts her”.

Like in the first part of ‘Gamer’, where she’s accusing Marinette of only entering the tournament to flirt with Adrien while Marinette so “coolly and calmly” rebuts her...why? By the ‘verse’s own logic, Marinette isn’t a flustered mess around Adrien. The only purpose of this scene is to glorify Marinette and her amazing calmness while making Alya look like a nosy idiot who dares to doubt her best friend. The logic of the ‘verse and of canon clash really jarringly in moments like this, and it becomes clear that the only purpose of these moments is to make Marinette look better at the expense of others. Most often her best friend, who’s an utter idiot for not seeing Scarlet Lady’s true nature and just can’t keep her nose out of Marinette’s business and so comes to wrong conclusions. Why are Marinette and Alya even friends in this ‘verse? SL!Marinette’s been nothing but condescending towards Alya most of the time.

Uh, and also the way she occasionally whitewashes Alya. Just look at the SL headers. She literally made Alya, aka a Black girl who’s one of the good guys, lighter than Lila, aka a white girl who’s one of the bad guys and not even that tanned in canon. Why do people make one of the villains darker and often whitewash one of the heroes? It’s not that hard to figure out.

(Also the way she really played into the aggressive Black girl stereotype in ‘Horrificator’ over a minor argument, even physically threatening Nino. Why? Literally why did she have to go full-on aggressive instead of just looking angry and scolding him or something?)

This all might not be conscious on Zoe’s part but the way Alya is treated is still disgusting, especially if you’re operating on internalised salt from other aspects of the salty fandom. I’ve seen her claims that she’s trying to help Alya improve and she’s not being salty but...even if she’s not being consciously salty, her salt is definitely still leaking over it and part of that salt includes racism. I also don’t see how making Alya a joke and exaggerating her flaws is helping her to improve when there was plenty to go off in canon but, well, that might just be me.

Even Marinette, who’s pretty much treated as white for 99% of it.

Marinette, aka the girl who’s only made visibly “Asian/Other” in SL ‘Reflekta’ with her Chinese-inspired Black Cat suit and name which is a one-off, while her permanent Bee outfit is just the bland tight suit that salters criticise Ladybug for having and her name is just Marigold. It comes across as using “Asianness” as a costume and it really didn’t sit right with me at first, but it took me a while to tease out why exactly this made me feel ick.

There’s nothing wrong with touching more on Marinette’s heritage and expanding on it in ways that the show doesn’t, especially because this is a big sticking point for salters, but again...it’s only a one-off. A costume. There aren’t casual hints sprinkled throughout the comic that just normally establish Marinette as half-Chinese, aside from like a page or two in ‘Timebreaker’ showing Sabine’s outfit. It’s another ‘Kung Food’ where it’s slammed into one episode and shoved into our faces that Marinette Is Chinese and it’s really jarring and unpleasant.

It just comes across as fetishising, is all. I don’t think it’s something most people would pick up on unless they’re used to being able to see this kind of thing.

Master Fu. Oh, Master Fu.

From an old man who made mistakes but tried as best as he could with the limited knowledge he had, he’s now a bumbling idiot who...put the earrings in Marinette’s bag instead of her room for some reason? To kickstart the plot? Especially because the ring was still in Adrien’s room. It’s very, very contrived.

And then in one of the most recent updates, Zoe has Adrien - a white boy - physically threaten Fu, aka an elderly Asian man. It’s disgusting. I was gobsmacked when I first saw it. And that’s the thing with salters: they tear into Adrien for being a white boy so they can look Enlightened when he hasn’t actually done anything racist, yet they then turn around and perpetuate actual racism in trying to “fix” him

There’s probably more but those are the examples that jump out at me of the racism in SL. There are plenty more problems but...whatever. I’ll be here all day if I try and cover those.

As for the Galahad thing...it’s personal. That original post was as much as I was comfortable revealing.

So... I was kinda disappointed with Buck Begins... NOT ENTIRELY. Just...

Major spoilers ahead. You should definitely watch the episode before reading my complaints... because I have a lot of them, and you shouldn't have the negative thoughts going into it...

But I'm gonna start with the good stuff.

The Buckley Siblings are everything to me. I love their relationship, and watching Buck grow up with Maddie protecting him? *chef's kiss* Perfection.

Buck being a daredevil because it was the only time that he got positive attention from his parents as a child? Absolutely heartbreaking and I hate his parents for *so much* for that.

Maddie doing whatever she could to help her baby brother, even when she was terrified and probably knew how bad it was going to get? I love her with my whole heart.

And I absolutely love the way they highlighted their relationship and how important Maddie is to Buck.

The moment when the team comes in to help Buck and save him and the other person? Cinematic excellence, I applaud them for that scene. His team loves him and will always have his back, and he *knows* that now.

And now for my grievances and where I think they missed the target...

It focused on Maddie too much for a "Buck Begins" episode. I get that she's a huge part of his life and that she would be in the childhood flashbacks, but even once Buck was out on his own, all we got to see were the postcards (with handwriting that did not look At All like Buck's handwriting, might I add) and the one scene of Buck bartending in Peru where he decided to move to LA and become a firefighter.

We already basically got a Maddie Begins episode, when Doug came back and kidnapped her. I didn't need another one. (I love Maddie and I loved the flashbacks, but... it just should have focused more on Buck. It was his episode, after all.)

We should have gotten to actually *see* what Buck did with his life before he made it to LA. They could have shown Maddie receiving a postcard, then done a montage with a shot of Buck writing one of the postcards. That montage focused more on Maddie than it did on Buck, which kind of frustrated me.

And then in present day? They made such a big deal about the family secret, and it just fizzled out. Like it didn't matter anymore. And I honestly don't see them doing much more with it, unless (God forbid) in a later season the Madney baby gets leukemia or something and Buck is a perfect match to save his niece. (Actually I could see them doing that and I would definitely cry. That would maybe give them a pass with this plot thread.)

Then with the factory fire? Idk, it didn't feel intense enough for me. NOT that I wanted Buck to horribly suffer more, but... Eddie being buried alive in his episode was So Much More Intense. Chimney's episode happened while he was literally bleeding nearly to death. I was hoping for more.

And maybe it has something to do with the lack of reaction from the entire team when the building exploded. Not only did we not see Eddie panic, even briefly, about Buck being trapped, we didn't see Bobby or Chimney of Hen panic either! Bobby sees Buck as a son, this is basically canon now. And Chimney and Hen see him as their little brother.

The exploding ladder truck and the tsunami both felt way more intense for Buck than the factory fire in this episode.

And then to top it off, NOBODY GAVE BUCK A HUG AFTER THR FACTORY FIRE! And Eddie and Chimney weren't even there by the ambulance! Like, what the fuck? Yes, Bobby, Athena, and Hen told him what he needed to hear, but they all should have been there! Supporting him! Where were they???

Also, they missed the perfect opportunity to casually make Buck canonically bisexual. Instead of meeting a girl who taught him how to surf, he could have met a guy. Then things didn't work out, just like they didn't with the girl.

UGH, these writers! They're either *really* amazing or *really* miss the important stuff... there was so much potential, and they just wasted it!

Anyway, enough of my ranting. I did enjoy the episode, but it was definitely not the best Begins episode in my opinion.

What are your thoughts? I clearly have too many.

-Quarantine Anon

So I just finished watching. Spoilers beneath the cut

So here’s what I knew going into this- everyone was going wild with theories and ideas and great fics of what was going to play out. Which is great. But I do think it got hyped up because of that.

The flashbacks to the Buckley childhood hurt so much. Margaret seemed to take it out on Evan so much because in her eyes- he failed her by not saving Daniel. BEGONE, Margaret! You can’t put that on your child if your own plan was to use the child to save a sibling and then deem him not deserving of love because of nature and genetics. But Maddie and Buck? I love a pair of siblings while being in agony over the hells they’ve walked through.

The use of ‘So Far’ and the team helping him? Poetic cinema. I felt so many emotions and had a bit of a cry.

I actually liked the postcards. I think if they had gone to film all of what he did, it would have gotten jammed packed. The bartender was stated in canon, so that felt worthy of a flashback (and oh wow, that was not the revelation I needed that I try to know cool things to impress cute people. Buck is not straight, I don’t care what anyone says). Plus, with Covid-19, I bet there would be some filming issues. Also, it felt the ups and downs in Buck’s postcards paralleled Maddie’s injuries from Doug. They were both lost thinking they were living, except they weren’t. It was all about survival. And the worst part is that sometimes, you will lull yourself into a sense that survival=living when that’s not the case. That’s what happened to the Buckleys I think.

We don’t know what’s to come, but the family secret might come up again in therapy. Which they better freaking continue and not drop like the Flash did.

On the factory fire- I think we hyped it up more than we expected. Eddie Begins and Chimney Begins were really serious episodes with their lives on the line. And I think about Buck talking about giving up after he gets out. He wasn’t going into this fire with a clear head. I think he saw himself as the replacement baby still who couldn’t ever live up, who couldn’t do things right. He wouldn’t leave despite ordered because that was showing Saleh he didn’t matter. To Buck, he did. He gets being left behind and in those situations, you’d rather someone else be happier and fine while you take the impact. Like the world would keep turning and everyone would be fine (eventually) after you left it.

The ladder truck and tsunami were physical pain. The factory fire was emotional pain. (which reminds me, I need to make a post about the element symbolism in Begins episodes)

If we didn’t see a hug in the episode, then we write the fic for it. Missing scenes can be created ;) Not to mention they’ve all still got work to get done on the scene. After events like that, I think everyone needed time to process it.

I get bisexual vibes off Buck big time in this episode. And I think there is repression and closeting that comes into play here. Your parents are constantly disappointed in you, so why disappoint them further? Bury it down deep and deeper who you really are. It was the attention-seeking that would work out for him. Also, bisexuality is more than one. You identify as bi and your partner uses she/her? Bi. Partner uses he/his? BI. Partner uses them/they? Still bi. (Also, how much do we know about the postcards he wrote. Maybe he didn’t give her the full story. There’s only so much room in a postcard and she was the one person in the world who still believed in him. Was he afraid to disappoint her?)

Overall, I did enjoy the episode. Eddie Begins always holds a special place in my heart as the first ever episode of 911 I saw enough of to get me interested in the show. The thing is that I can’t pit the Begins episodes against each other. They all show a journey in some way. 

Hopefully this was coherant enough and I’m sorry for my little bisexual rant.

Hi, new follower here. Your writing is amazing! For the smut prompt if you're still doing it: "Could he make you feel as good as I do?" Or "We're... just friends" OR BOTH ily thanks 💜

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry it took me a while to write it, I was focusing on a fic for my other fandom, but here’s a sweet and slightly angsty post ep 6 one shot (am I too late for this??)

Read here or on AO3

“Thank you, thank you very much,” Jaskier says, bowing to the people clapping at him. “It’s been a pleasure singing for you tonight, it truly has, but it’s time for me to rest my voice. One has to take great care of it if he doesn’t want to sound like a frog.” 

Some people laugh, other whine in protest, someone even dares to sound relieved, but Jaskier tilts his head once more and stuffs in his pockets what the audience has thrown at him, be it coin or food. He has sung one of his most popular ballads tonight, but he feels his repertoire is lacking something more adventurous, a song that would make everyone sit on the edge of their seats, enthralling them with incredible perils and great loves. He doesn’t have anything new to sing about, however. The last time he tried to get some new material, it just ended up in a heartbreak. 

He walks to the counter of the tavern where he sits to drink a mug of ale. The bitter taste spreads in his mouth and fills his chest, reinvigorating him after his show. There is nothing better than a good cup of ale after a successful performance. Well, there actually is, or was, but not right now, not anymore. For this evening he has to settle for yet another night spent with a fellow bard, one that is bad both as a singer and in bed. 

As he drinks his beer, he assists at the performance of the man that has taken his place on the stage. No butterflies, no sparkles of excitement light in his chest as he watches the guy he’s been sleeping with for the past couple of nights. He is plain, nothing about him really stands out, no scars or brooding frown, but ever since the dragon accident, Jaskier hasn’t been able to sleep by himself. He needs the company, needs someone to distract him from the hole in his chest and to stop his mind from thinking about the bitter words that broke his heart. 

When the performance thankfully ends - the audience isn’t as enthusiastic about it as when Jaskier was singing - the bard joins the brunet at the counter, ordering something to drink too. 

“Tonight has been a success, hasn't it?” he asks. “People in this village have a fantastic taste.” 

“Do they now?” Jaskier retorts, very much doubting his partner’s judgement. 

“Yes, we’ve been coming here for a few days now, and everyone is still enjoying our songs.” 

“True.” 

Jaskier doesn’t feel like talking right now, doesn't really feel like doing anything but think about the past. The idea of needing new songs has re-opened an old wound not completely healed yet. It has been only a few months since all his hopes and dreams have been crushed, and it’s too soon to move on even for him. 

“I’m heading back,” he says, pushing the stool back and standing up.

“Wait, I’m coming too. I’m done here.” 

Jaskier shrugs and pays for his ale, taking his lute before heading outside. It’s a beautiful night, the full moon is out, and there’s no need for other sources of light to see the street ahead. Maybe he could sing yet another ballad about it, the great moon in love with the sun, melting under its fiery touch. Jaskier shakes his head; he really has hit the bottom of the barrel if he’s thinking about writing something like that. 

He is walking down the streets to get to his room, his fellow bard chatting away about their show, when a shadow moves in an alley near them. The narrow path is too dark for him to be certain of it, the moonlight struggles to reach it, but Jaskier is almost sure he has seen something move there. A drunkard looking for a place to throw up in, maybe, or a thief ready to steal their hard-earned money. It could be anything really, so Jaskier picks up the pace, not wanting to find out what it actually is. This is not the adventure he needs for his ballad. 

Even his partner is quiet now, and they hurry to the inn, walking down the street illuminated by the moonlight. It is because of that light that Jaskier sees him. He’s leaning against a wall, arms crossed and sword peeking out from behind his shoulder. He knows who he is even before the golden eyes shine in the dark and his figure stands tall in front of him. 

“What’s wrong?” his fellow bard asks when Jaskier stops in the middle of the road. 

“I… I think I forgot something at the tavern,” the brunet mutters, struggling to find enough control to give him a coherent reply. 

The figure moves away from the wall and walks towards him before Jaskier has made a step forward. He is paralysed on the spot, torn between staying and running away. He wants to yell, cry, pretend to be fine, but he can’t do anything, he can just stare as the hooded man now comes into full view. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Jaskier’s friend asks in an accusing tone. 

The newcomer only spares him a glance, but his eyes are soon on Jaskier again. “Who is this?” 

“We’re… just friends.” 

Why is he so reluctant to tell him the truth? 

The man hums, or better, scoffs and the disgusted look on his face is what finally breaks the spell that has turned Jaskier mute. 

“What do you want, Geralt?” he spits out. “I thought you didn’t want me around, and I certainly don’t want to see you right now, so just move along. What I do with my life now is none of your concern.” 

“I want to talk,” Geralt replies, unfazed by Jaskier’s words. 

“You want to talk,” Jaskier snorts. “Well, I don’t want to. Goodbye.”

Jaskier makes a move to walk past him, but Geralt holds his arm. “Please.” 

A hint of remorse finally shines in his eyes under the moonlight, and Jaskier doesn’t find it in himself to push him away anymore. 

“Just five minutes.” 

“Alone,” Geralt says, glancing at the man with them. 

“Go on ahead, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with him,” Jaskier tells his friend. 

“Are you sure? He looks suspicious.” 

“It’s all good, we used to be good friends,” Jaskier says in a bitter tone. 

The bard still examines Geralt, but he then does as Jaskier has told him. 

“This way,” Geralt says once they’re alone. 

Jaskier is still hesitant and hurt, still mad at the witcher for the way he treated him, but he can’t help but give in. Part of him wants to know what he has to say, even hopes for an apology and that’s the only thing that makes his feet move when Geralt walks back into the centre of the village. 

They end up at a different tavern than before, one less crowded and cheerful, and they sit in a corner at the back, away from the rest of the patrons. Geralt doesn't speak for a while, and Jaskier certainly doesn't want to break the silence, so they both drink their beers without uttering a word. 

Geralt hasn’t changed at all, he never really did, so it’s easy for Jaskier’s mind to get lost down memory lane. All those years spent together thrown away like that, all the unspoken feelings between them, the ushered nights, and endless longing. Jaskier hasn’t forgotten any of it, and maybe Geralt hasn’t either, at least that’s what the most hopeful part of Jaskier tells himself. 

“Why are you here, Geralt?” Jaskier finally asks. 

Geralt doesn’t look up from the beer for a few seconds, but when he eventually does, his expression is unreadable. 

“I wanted to know how you were doing.” 

“I’m doing fantastic,” Jaskier scoffs. “Just peachy, I couldn't dream of anything better.” 

“Jaskier.” 

“You yell at me like that and then have the courage to come here to ask how I’m doing? I should have known better than to speak with you again.” 

Jaskier is about to stand up, tired and feeling like an idiot, but Geralt stops him, looking at him with more honest eyes. 

“Stay.” 

“Why are you here?” Jaskier repeats, hurt. 

“I came to see how you were doing.” Jaskier scoffs again, but Geralt is still holding his arm, so he can’t move. “I came to see if your life was better without me, or if it wasn’t.” 

Jaskier frowns in confusion, but when Geralt mimics for him to sit down again, he does it. 

“I think I owe you an apology for what I said,” the witcher surprises him. “I didn’t really mean it, I was mad at the whole ordeal that happened that day.” 

“You still chose to be a dick.” 

“I know, and… I’m sorry, for pushing you away and leaving you behind.” Geralt grips the handle of the mug tighter before adding, “Travelling doesn’t feel the same without you.” 

Jaskier sighs, taking a big gulp from his cup. “So you’re telling me I’ve spent all those nights writing tear-jerking ballads for nothing?” 

“You had the material you needed for your songs.” 

“I want adventures, great loves, and other people’s heartbreak, not my own, it really sucked.” 

Geralt snorts, hiding his smile behind his cup. It’s familiar and comfortable, and Jaskier can’t help the way his heart finally starts beating again. 

“You really broke my heart back there, you know?” he says. 

Geralt stops drinking, looking more sombre. “Not just yours.” 

Jaskier stares at him, doubting his own hearing, but he has seen Geralt’s lips move and the tavern isn’t loud enough for him to have misheard anything. The witcher has really said what he has been dying to hear for so long, and now that he’s sure of it, all his anger is slowly subduing, replaced by a sweet, familiar feeling. 

“Where are you sleeping?” he asks. “Do you have a room?” 

Geralt shakes his head. “I’ve just arrived.” 

“Shit. We can’t use mine either.” 

Geralt’s face darkens at the comment, and he suddenly stands up. “Wait here.” 

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks, but the witcher is already gone. He sees him speak with the owner of the tavern, sliding a few coins in his hand, and then he’s back. 

“We have a room here.” 

“That eager, huh?” Jaskier says, standing up. “Lead the way then.” 

Behind his confidence, there is nervousness and hesitation. It isn’t the first time they end up in bed together, it happened almost regularly when they used to travel together, but Geralt was never this open, never this impatient, and once again Jaskier finds himself wishing for an end to his tormenting yearning. 

They get undressed as soon as the door closes behind them, and then Geralt is pushing Jaskier on the bed, covering him in kisses and bite marks that have the bard moan in less than a minute. He has been without Geralt’s touch for so long that now he just wants to comply and satisfy that hunger that no one has been able to subdue. Only Geralt could fill his heart like that, could put back in its place the missing piece he lost that day on the mountain, and only he has the power to unravel him like this. 

Urgency and care exude from Geralt’s movements, his fingers work fast on Jaskier’s hole and his tongue hungrily laps at his cock, wrapping Jaskier in a wet tightness that has him already beg for more. He whines while pushing down on Geralt’s hand and easily slides on his tongue, feeling so good the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. He runs his hands in Geralt's white hair, he has missed its rough texture, has missed tugging at it while Geralt blows him. 

“Geralt,” he moans, biting his lip. 

The witcher hums and doubles his efforts, taking Jaskier dangerously close to the edge, but just as he feels himself lose control, Geralt moves away and gives him the time to breathe. He doesn’t need time, however, just needs Geralt inside as soon as possible, so he ushers him between his legs and kisses him while Geralt starts to move his hips. 

He feels so good and familiar he almost sobs on his lips. He has undeniably missed all of this, but Geralt has too. He tries to be caring and careful, cold even, but the way he’s holding him is too desperate, too needy, as if trying to make sure he’s actually there. Jaskier reassures him with his kiss and touch, roaming his back and gliding his tongue on his, mapping what he once knew so well and relishing in the intoxicating feeling that is Geralt. 

They don’t waste time before moving in unison, Geralt fucking Jaskier hard and the bard meeting his every thrust. Their mouths still search for each other, but now their kisses are sloppy and messy, saliva dripping down Jaskier’s chin while they both pant in their need. Geralt isn’t gentle nor slow, his fingers are digging in Jaskier’s hips and his teeth often sink into his skin, but that’s how Jaskier likes it; he likes Geralt leaving his mark on him for everyone to see. 

"Could he make you feel as good as I do?" the witcher groans, catching Jaskier off guard. He rarely showed his possessive side in the past, especially since they weren’t a thing, but the rare times he did, it always made Jaskier’s heart race as it’s doing right now. 

“Why? You jealous?” 

Geralt grunts and picks up the pace, hitting Jaskier’s sweet spot with all his force. The movement takes Jaskier's breath away and he loudly moans, throwing his head on the pillow and pulling hard at Geralt’s hair. The witcher presses a kiss on his neck and then sinks his teeth into it. The gesture only makes Jaskier smirk, and confesses what Geralt hasn’t admitted yet. 

It’s only a matter of minutes before Jaskier feels himself close to his orgasm. His hard cock is leaking precum on his stomach and his hole clamps down around Geralt, shivers running up his spine every time he does so. He wraps a hand around his length, thumbing its head and spreading the pearlescent fluid down it before stroking himself. 

Geralt groans, his brows furrow and his hips get faster. He never misses his aim, abusing Jaskier’s prostate to the point it’s uncomfortable, but it’s also so good the bard has a few tears in his eyes. He jerks himself off faster and faster, taking Geralt down for a final kiss as he comes all over himself. Geralt fucks him through it, but as Jaskier twitches around him, his hips stutter and with one last deep thrust, he comes too. 

Afterwards, Jaskier is too tired and sore to move. He hasn’t had such a good fuck in months, and he bathes in the sweet afterglow that settles on him. Geralt isn’t moving either, he’s resting with one arm behind his head, his chest hair sweaty and as soft to the touch as Jaskier remembers. He caress it, twisting it between his fingers before resting his head on top of it. 

Geralt is almost hesitant when he wraps his free arm around the bard’s middle, but Jaskier solves the doubt for him, forcing him to hug him.  

“When are you leaving?” he asks, drawing circles on Geralt’s chest. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I’m coming too?” It comes out more as a question than a statement; Jaskier still hasn’t forgotten the witcher’s words on the mountain. 

“You are. I’m not leaving you behind anymore,” Geralt replies, and this time there is no hesitation, only a promise that he seals with a kiss.