Summary: After Cas is rejected by his homophobic parents, his roommate Dean invites him to stay for the holidays with him and his family. He never expected it to turn into this.
“They don’t want me anymore.”
Dean blinks in surprise, looking up to see his freshman roommate standing in the doorway, antiquated cellphone in his hands. To his surprise, the kid looks to be on the verge of crying, which is strange – Dean’s joked with his friends about how emotionless Cas appears to be. Or rather, had appeared to be, up till now.
“Cas, you alright there, buddy?” Dean asks, chair screeching as he pulls away from his desk. He’d been trying to finish his research paper for his physiology class, but whatever Cas’s problem is seems to be more pressing.
“They don’t want me,” Cas repeats, swallowing wetly. “My parents. They say don’t want me to come home for Christmas break, and they don’t want me contacting my siblings anymore.”
Dean blinks comprehensively. “What? Why the hell not?”
“They, ‘still love me,’” Cas snuffles, rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his ever-present beige trench coat with one arm and making quotey fingers with the other. “But they ‘don’t approve of my lifestyle.’”
Oh. Oh, so that’s what this is about.
Dean hasn’t known Cas for all that long, and he doesn’t know a whole lot about him: just that he’s a bio major with plans to become a doctor (Dean himself is going into nursing), he’s cute (though he’d never, ever tell Cas that), not a little weird, and yeah, if the time he’d come home to find him making out with Crowley (the poncy British upperclassman from accounting who Dean already loathes with a passion) he is into guys.
2x05 coda because Alec Lightwood is a soft boy who deserves soft things.
“You’ll blow up the very ground you stand on to make something right.”
Alec’s eyes refocus on him for a second - sad, angry - before he quickly looks away with a tiny sigh, fingers moving to hold his injured hand again.
Magnus inhales, wishing there was more that he could do, more that he could say. A universe of power at his fingertips and yet in this second, armed with nothing but words to offer comfort, he’s feeling utterly helpless.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he adds softly, hoping he’s not going to spook Alec into leaving. “Want to come inside?” he asks carefully. “Get a drink?"
Heal that hand, he thinks fiercely, letting his eyes roam the bloody knuckles and biting his tongue. Not yet.
Alec doesn’t reply but he looks up again, silently stubborn, probably mentally weighing his options. He’s not leaving though and Magnus will take it as a win coming from a man who’d rather let himself drown than call out for help to the people standing on the shore.
"I…” Alec closes his eyes, shaking his head angrily. “I don’t know what-,” he stops himself, tightening his hold on his hand, fingers digging into the already bruised flesh.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Magnus offers, taking a tiny step forward before stopping himself. He can’t stop looking at the place where Alec’s fingernails are still gripping his wrist. “Please come inside?” he asks.
Alec inhales sharply before nodding. “Okay,” he agrees solemnly, reaching beside himself to grab his bow and jacket.
“Let me,” Magnus interrupts, putting a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Just go inside, make yourself comfortable.”
Alec nods, getting up and starting to walk towards the apartment, head bowed and shoulders tensed. Magnus doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so subdued and he hates the way he’s trying to make himself look smaller, like Alec can’t even bear to even take so much space right now. He shakes his head, tired and frustrated after a long and difficult day, before dismissively disappearing Alec’s things into the guest bedroom.
When he walks back into his apartment, it takes Magnus a second to locate Alec. He startles a little when he can’t find him into the living room and it’s only when he enters the kitchen that he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For a moment there, Magnus feared he had driven him away but here he is, sitting on a stool, elbows on the kitchen island, head bowed and fingers tangled in his hair.
Magnus doesn’t say anything when he enters the kitchen, simply presses a comforting hand on Alec’s shoulder for a second before walking to his pantry, busying himself with the mechanics of making them something to drink and choosing to forget magic for a second, hoping the precious minutes it takes him will allow Alec a bit of privacy in mourning.
“Here,” Magnus whispers, pushing a red mug towards Alec five minutes later.
Alec gives his hot chocolate a surprised look before raising one eyebrow towards Magnus, silently expressing his incredulity at the choice of beverage.
“Unless you want something a little stronger,” Magnus teases, wiggling his fingers.
Alec smiles softly, a tiny thing in the corner of his mouth and he looks soft like this, upset still, but like he’s slowly starting to let himself feel comfortable. Magnus tries not to let it affect him too much but he can feel his heart skip a beat when Alec takes a small gulp before clearing his throat.
“Actually,” he starts shyly, “it’s perfect.”
“Good,” Magnus smiles, grabbing his own mug and walking around the island to sit on the stool next to Alec’s.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, Magnus drinking his tea slowly until he can feel Alec’s body starting to relax next to his, then he waits a little bit longer after that.
“Think you’ve hurt yourself enough for tonight?” he finally asks casually, letting his hand fall next to Alec’s, pinkie brushing against his wrist, blue sparks warmly licking at his skin. It’s taking everything for him to stop himself from healing it straight away, but Magnus knows the power of choices.
“I… I wasn’t-” Alec babbles, trying to justify himself for a second before deflating. He gulps. “Yes,” he admits timidly, turning his hand on the counter, offering it palm up to Magnus, surrendering himself to his care.
Magnus gives Alec’s profile a long look, trying to find any traces of uncertainty, before letting his fingers softly trail up Alec’s hand, healing the wounds as he goes along. When he reaches the wrist, Magnus allows himself to continue the caress, enjoying the way Alec shivers when he reaches his elbow, smiling softly in the corner of his mouth when he notices a blush appearing on the shadowhunter’s face.
“There,” he says happily when Alec raises his arm and starts slowly wiggling his fingers, “better, no?”
Alec tightens his fingers into a fist before licking his lower lip and looking back at Magnus. “Yes,” he replies shyly with a small chuckle. He still sounds sad, devastated really, but Magnus supposes there’s not much else to be done right now. He needs time to heal, to forgive himself.
Alec hesitates for a second before letting his hand fall on top of Magnus’, tangling their fingers for a moment. “Thank you,” he adds sincerely.
“Anytime Alexander,” Magnus replies with more confidence than he possesses, feeling overwhelmed at the fierce protectiveness that surges through his body. “You’re always welcome here.”
“Tony.” Bucky stepped into the lab, waiting until the doors closed behind him before speaking. “Tony?”
“Bucky.” Tony was sitting at his computer, looking pale and anxious and Bucky moved a few steps closer, wings lifting in concern, stopping only when Tony put a hand up. “I need you to–shit.” He took a deep breath in, blowing it out slowly before he could talk again.
“Mission report. December 19th, 1991.”
“Tony.” Bucky jerked back a step. “What are you doing? Why would you–”
“Mission report.” Tony repeated. “December 19th 1991. Please.”
Okay my Darlings!! I
have received so so so so many asks, Im compiling them into one long post.
This post does not do
the movie justice. So I implore you to please go see the movie. It is a
I also apologise if I have
any details wrong – this movie is one big warm happy summer blur in my head.
these are all going to contain various spoilers, so if you have a question
please message me privately – more than happy to give you a spoiler free answer
– or answer a question that I haven’t been asked yet.
silence followed. The two of them just breathed into the phone.
you mean ‘she is not at my place’?” Phil eventually asked his best friend,
trying to remain calm.
just isn’t. Why is she not at home?” Dan wanted to know, confusion noticeable
in his voice.
know, okay? I thought she’d be at yours. Do you think she just left?” Phil was
by now enormously worried and Dan could tell.
After Phil had hung up he immediately called
his sister. It rang a few times and then it went to voice mail. He didn’t leave
a message instead he just tried to ring her again. Once again no luck.
have probably picked up if she weren’t cuddled up on the sofa in her best
friend’s living room. The two of them always have girl’s nights whenever one of
them feels down. So they watched a Zac Efron movie while eating ice cream at
nearly 1 am. Shortly before they turned on the TV, Y/N told Sam everything that
had happened and she ensured her that the whole dating Dan thing will surely work
out in the end. Meanwhile her phone was in her bag in Sam’s room, out of reach
and unable to hear.
called her like 5 times and she didn’t pick up!”
have the time to even say hello. His sister had never done something like that
be at your house in 10 minutes.”
Sam earlier that night, Dan came to rescue his best friend. Phil was already
waiting in the drive way although it was freezing outside. He immediately
jumped into the car when it arrived.
drive through the neighbourhood.” Phil suggested, again without greeting his
best friend, there wasn’t enough time for that.
started driving while Phil hectically stared out of the window and got excited
whenever he thought to see somebody move in the dark, but the shadows he saw
were just cats.
all your fault” Phil mumbled and Dan couldn’t believe his ears.
just kissed her.”
Phil breathed in frustration. “It’s not your fault at all.” He then added
silent again in the car, both of them weren’t in the mood to listen to music in
a situation like this.
voice was so quiet that it was barely audible.
“I was way
too rude to you and Y/N. I don’t know why I overreacted like that.” he admitted
and could feel a little part of the weight on his shoulders vanish.
little sister it’s completely normal to feel the need to protect her.” Dan
tried to cheer his best friend up, he was just glad that he was insightful.
“I think I
was just shocked to see you two like that. I know that you are not a bad guy
but I- I still got so angry at you. I thought you were just sneaking around
with her behind my back for fun, but I noticed that she means a lot to you.”
Phil couldn’t stop explaining himself and apologizing.
It was all
his fault that they had to drive through the whole neighbourhood to search for
his sister and he knew that and it crushed him. At first, he thought Dan was
the bad guy in this story, but it was actually him. The awareness of that put
his stomach in a twist and he fiddled with his hands out of worry.
really like Y/N.” Dan calmly declared and he meant it.
have told you about my feelings for her earlier.”
shouldn’t have freaked out.”
driving around the block for more than half an hour Phil had nearly lost all
his hope. He leaned his head against the cold class of the car window. His eyes
still didn’t leave the pavement.
best friend answered. One could tell that Dan was curious by now.
and my sister start dating, promise me to not forget about me.”
Dan thought he was joking but he realized that Phil was being serious.
“Phiiilll, why would we ever do that?”
know, I’m gonna be the third wheel and you two will only hang out with each
other. Without me.”
afraid to finally put his fear into words. It was true, he was afraid of losing
both his sister and his best friend and they were the two most important people
in his life.
gonna change, we could just hang out together. It’s not like we are just gonna
forget you, Phil.”
Phil took a
deep breath and felt that he had calmed down a bit now and he felt a lot
think we should give up and drive-“ before he was able to finish his sentence
he got interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. It was so loud that it
nearly made him jump.
nearly shouted when he saw the caller ID and immediately picked up.
are you not sleeping?” Y/n asked she sounded confused and tired.
How am I supposed to sleep when you just ran away?”
I am at Sam’s house.”
house. Of course! Phil felt stupid for not thinking about that earlier, she’d
always go there for girl’s nights.
“I was so
worried about you.” Phil admitted instead of being angry at her. He had already
caused enough trouble today and it was not her fault for needing a nice chat
with her best friend after all the horrible things he had said.
Phil and I
had a long talk after all that happened that night. He sincerely apologized for
the way he acted and we went back to normal.
lose Howell!” I shouted as I pressed play on my controller and started the
We were sat
in the living room in front of the TV and played video games. At first Dan,
Phil and I all played against each other and the best two got into the finale.
Dan wasn’t wrong when he said that I’m better at this game than my brother.
“Never in a
million years, Little Lester.”
I rolled my
eyes at the nickname but had to grin like a fool anyway.
After a few
minutes, it turned out that I was clearly the better player.
never understand how you can be so good at this?” Dan sighed, annoyed that he
was going to bitterly lose against me.
had the best teacher.” I explained while high fiving my elder brother.
Phil had a
huge smile on his face while Dan fake pouted.
be that confident of your victory, baby.”
“You are so
far behind, it is nearly impossible for you to win.” I grinned amused.
be so sure about that either.” Dan said with a smirk and I knew something was
In the matter
of a second he had taken the controller out of my hand and started tickling me
with his huge hands.
immediately started laughing so hard that I didn’t make a sound anymore. I
tried to push him away from me put he had lifted me onto his lap and wouldn’t
let go no matter how hard I kicked him with my feet.
manged to croak in between heavy breaths in desperate need of air.
“Say I am
the best boyfriend in the world and also the best at any video game.” Dan
suggested grinning widely. He stopped tickling me for a second so I could take
I shook my
head no, teasing him.
attacked me with his large hands again, tickling my sides. I squirmed under his
touch and felt how my face got red because of the lack of oxygen.
“OKAy! I- I’ll
say it. Anything just please stop!” I squealed, giving in.
satisfied and actually stopped. “Let me hear it then.” He said cockily.
“I am the
best boyfriend in the world and also the best at any video game.” I giggled and
Phil who had to witness the whole scene started cracking up.
Really, Y/N?” Dan sighed annoyed but he was still smiling.
like you don’t love them, Dan.” I chuckled proud of myself.
do love you.”
help but blush at his words. He was just too cheesy and cute.
leaned in for a kiss. Our lips met. They slowly moved against each other. I ran
my hands though his brown hair as his tongue brushed my –
when I am here.” Phil complained and acted like he had to cover his eyes.
Bit of a wish fulfillment question, but what is the impact of a dragon being born and bonding? Like say to Baelor Breakspear Or Rhaella Targaryen? Or baby!Rhaenys Targaryen? (Mostly I want the dragon to burn anyone who looks at them cross-eyed and Conqueror-wannabe Daemon seeing his trueborn half Dornish nephew get a dragon kills me).
This ask is officially older than dirt. Nevertheless.
There are a few variables here that could leave a print on the Targrayen dynasty and change the entire narrative, the most important of which is how the dragons hatched and if that process could be repeated. The return of the dragons in canon was due to a one-off magical event that aligned several factors that are almost impossible to replicate but while Rhaella’s dragon could very well hatch as a result of whatever magic was done at Summerhall, making for another magical event that can not be replicated, Baelor Breakspear did not encounter any such magical event to attribute a dragon hatching to. The relevance here lies with the possibility of finding a viable way to hatch dragons and how that could change the entire narrative irrevocably. There’s also the question of how only one egg hatched during whatever attempt took place, the question of the person of the king whose reign witnesses that miraculous return and what is bound to be vastly different reactions personally and politically.
Putting that aside for now, a dragon means changes on two fronts: the political and the magical. For Baelor, the political angle is intrinsically tied with the Blackfyre rebellions. The first thing that springs to mind here is how difficult it would be for Daemon to sell his Daeron Falseborn narrative with his brother’s line possessing such a visible sign of legitimacy. Mind you Daemon’s narrative was that Daeron II was the bastard son of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys, both Valyrian-blooded on both sides and thus entirely capable of producing a dragon-riding line because dragons don’t care about bastardy), but for better or for worse, dragons were seen as a sign of legitimacy as we’ve seen in how the dragon-riding ability of Rhaenyra’s Velaryon sons were used as argument for their legitimacy. Certainly, it would be exceptionally difficult for Daemon to argue that Daeron had usurped the throne when it’s his line that was blessed by the return of the dragons, or so the people might say. Indeed, Baelor’s possession of a dragon after a few decades of them dying and after several kings attempted everything from sorcery to prayer could be regarded as a sign of the gods to proof Daeron’s right to the throne, in the same way that the gods have proven Queen Naerys’ innocence of charges of infidelity and treason, disappointing Aegon IV’s ardent efforts to discredit and disinherit Daeron by casting shadow on Queen Naerys’ fidelity. That the gods exonerated Naerys and then bestowed the ultimate sign of Targaryen-ness on Daeron’s line is a hard public narrative to argue against. Politically, the sword Blackfyre had such weight in painting Daemon as the heir to the Conqueror’s kingdom, so imagine what an actual living dragon would do to frame Daeron’s line as the true heirs to the dragon-riding legacy of the Targaryens. Daemon might bear the sword but Baelor held the most visible sign of Targaryen-ness there was, one that is
tied with the forming of the monarchy and the throne Daemon was trying to claim since it was dragons that formed Aegon the Conqueror’s kingdom. Any half-effective PR campaign from the crown could directly tie Baelor Breakspear, already a hailed warrior known for his chivalry and martial prowess, to his dragon-riding ancestors in the eyes of the nobility. As far as symbol politics go, strike one for Team Red Dragon.
You blink tiredly up at the golden-haired God beside
you, vision far too blurry to make sense of your surroundings. You feel as
though you’re seeing a mermaid swimming about, but you are far too disoriented
to actually comprehend it.
The warm hand encasing yours tugs you forward lightly,
toward what appears to be a circular room, fitted with panes of glass, so that
you can see the deep blue of the sea around you. Taehyung chuckles at your
muffled gasp of surprise, pushing you gently down onto the bed. Your eyes widen
as you noiselessly question him, making him tilt his head to the side in
confusion, before the expression clears and he shakes his head vigorously.
“I want you to rest,” He explains, smiling at you,
“You must be tired, after all.”
Then, almost as if on cue, your eyelids feel droopy,
weighing heavily against your will, and you just manage a nod, before your head
hits the pillow and you black out.
The sun was just barely coming up, pinpricks of light stealing in from the edges of the curtains when Peter’s full heat finally hit, and he went from mewling softly as Wade touched him to crying out, digging his heels into the bed to shove his hips into the air, thrusting helplessly into Wade’s loose grasp. He was swearing, sweating, tearing at the sheets, rubbing his thighs together as slick started flowing.
“Pete.” a growl ripped from Wade’s throat. “Omega.” He could feel the change in the air, as the easy lines of contentment, pleasure, gentle between them ratcheted up to need, desperate, more.
“Yes.” Peter moaned. “Alpha. Yes.” he was already starting to slur a little as the heat took him, dragging his fingers through his hair and down his face, trying to muffle his moans behind his hand.
“God dammit.” Wade ran his hands up Peter’s chest, resting over his racing heart before moving back down, not stopping the restless motion of his hips, just pressing lightly so Peter had something to thrust up against, nearly biting his tongue off when one of those long legs hooked around his waist, urging him down against the omega. “Wish I could see you.” he muttered and Peter nodded.
“Alpha, want to see you too. Want to see you and taste you and–fuck fuck—” Peter wrapped his other leg around Wade’s waist and tightened them, canting his hips and forcing Wade down against him.
From her beginnings as a country artist to her reign as a global pop star, Taylor Swift has become one of the defining artists of this century – and that’s in large part thanks to her masterful song craft. Each era of the singer-songwriter’s career has included intricate, instantly memorable musical moments that it’s difficult to narrow down the best of the best to just 15. Yet these songs represent Taylor at the top of her game, whether it be through an extended heartbreak anthem or hilarious declaration of independence.
Here are Billboard’s picks for the 15 best Taylor Swift songs, from her self-titled debut through 1989.
15. Taylor Swift, “New Romantics”
A bonus track off 1989 that out-popped the bubblegum pizzazz of most of the standard track list, “New Romantics” finds Swift gliding alongside gooey ‘80s synths before pogoing on the chorus with a slew of declarative statements. “Heartbreak is the national anthem – we sing it proudly,” she states, making “New Romantics” a spiritual cousin to the “miserable and magical” time she had on “22.”
14. Taylor Swift, “Fearless”
A song like the Fearless title track demonstrated why, even as a teenager, Swift’s songwriting was miles ahead of her country contemporaries. The lyrics include several Swiftian hallmarks – dancing with a romantic partner in the parking lot becomes dancing with a romantic partner “in a storm in my best dress”! – but that opening line, “There’s something ‘bout the way/ The street looks when it’s just rained/ There’s a glow off the pavement,” effortlessly creates a sense of whimsy and romance that not many artists can pull off.
13. Taylor Swift, “Mine”
The lead single from Speak Now, Swift’s follow-up to the Grammy-winning Fearless, is more muted than its predecessor’s “You Belong With Me”and “Love Story,” and understandably so: It’s a song about not just finding love but maintaining it when the meet-cute has drifted into the past. When that final chorus hits and reaffirms the caring at the heart of this Taylor Swift song, though, it’s one of her most moving moments to date.
12. Taylor Swift, “Tim McGraw”
Taylor Swift sure has come a long way from the first track on her first album, huh? Although “Tim McGraw” sounds nothing like her pop stylings, the charming debut features the same type of vocal resonance and clever wordplay that have become calling cards for Swift. Plus, the fact that she pulled off the line “When you think Tim McGraw/ I hope you think of me,” and then proceeded to become even bigger than Tim McGraw, is something to marvel at.
11. Taylor Swift feat. The Civil Wars, “Safe and Sound”
The bad news is that one of the very best Taylor Swift songs, the dark, devastated “Safe and Sound,” is not featured on any Taylor Swift album. The good news is that we live in a playlist-friendly culture, and that this collaboration with The Civil Wars for the first Hunger Games soundtrack can be included in any mournful collection of your choosing. A song about protection amidst terror, “Safe and Sound” features Swift’s voice at its most shattered, her best efforts pummeled by the marching drums outside her door.
10. Taylor Swift, “Our Song”
What if Swift had resisted the allure of pop music and committed to a lifetime of fiddle-filled country jams? We’ll never know the answer, but “Our Song” is a gloriously twangy testament to what Taylor once was, before her lyrical ability to find music in everyday life was translated to a different genre. Here, the bubbly words give way to the lush arrangement, which encapsulates the exuberance of first experiencing the world with a romantic partner.
9. Taylor Swift, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”
Years after its release, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” remains bitingly funny, an eye-roll of a pop song about a boy who just doesn’t get it through his thick skull that it’s time to move on. Swift deftly balanced sarcasm with the sincerity of the hook and nails one of her first pronounced attempts at mainstream pop (which became her first single to hit No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart).
8. Taylor Swift, “Teardrops on My Guitar”
Poor Drew: The object of Taylor’s affection in “Teardrops on My Guitar” has a soon-to-be superstar longing for him and he’s totally unaware. The standout from Swift’s debut LP boasts the type of nuanced songwriting that would eventually make Swift a sensation, and while the “I secretly like him but he likes her and he’ll never know how much I like him” dynamic is repeated throughout her catalog, “Teardrops” captures that resignation within a handful of striking images, most notably the title phrase.
7. Taylor Swift, “Blank Space”
There aren’t too many pop songs that turn on a dime in the middle of the second verse, but just as her unhinged character in the “Blank Space” video unravels midway through, so does Swift at the song’s center, diving into self-deprecation and mocking her well-documented romantic history outside of music. “Blank Space” works as far more than satire, though: snappy and uncluttered, it’s a fantastic sing-along dotted with quotable moments (“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend,” “Boys only want love if it’s torture”).
6. Taylor Swift, “Love Story”
It takes guts to name a song something as bold and straightforward as “Love Story,” but Swift’s breakthrough single makes good on the “story” part of the equation by unfolding a modern-day parable that somehow never slips over the edge into full-on cheese. Perhaps it’s the earnestness of Swift’s performance as a heroine searching for an escape route with her Prince Charming and finally realizing that reality can make room for their tale. Out of the millions of love stories in the history of pop music, “Love Story” stands out.
5. Taylor Swift, “Mean”
Simply put, a pitch-perfect rebuke of bullying. The Speak Now single posits that living well is indeed the best revenge, as Swift bashes her early detractor by predicting that her future is bright, while their future only contains minor victories (and a huge helping of meanness). Swift sings “Mean” in first person, but it’s not really for her – this is a song for people who feel belittled and beaten down by others, who look to someone like Swift for uplift and assurance. “Mean” is designed to shout along with cathartically, and it succeeds.
4. Taylor Swift, “State of Grace”
A bulldozer of an opening to Red, “State of Grace” is Swift’s most sonically towering track ever recorded; it’s a good thing that its author headlines arenas, because no small room could contain this song’s might. Instead of relying on lyrical detail, Swift stacks guitar lines upon propulsive drums and lets the whole thing rip; instead of opting for a wordy chorus, the hook here echoes with conciseness: “I never saw you coming/ And I’ll never be the same.” At nearly five minutes in length, “State of Grace” stays exhilarating start-to-finish and will be one of Swift’s most enduring non-singles ever.
3. Taylor Swift, “Dear John”
One of the (many) reasons any man should think twice about screwing over Taylor Swift: She is capable of penning a visceral, eviscerating takedown as potent as any hip-hop diss track. “Dear John,” a mangling of ex-beau John Mayer, is nearly seven minutes of simmering anger – but it never feels exploitative or unyielding, instead exploring the feeling of being taken advantage of and punctuating each chorus with a sorrowful “I should’ve known.” Swift uses “Dear John” to turn the gut-punch of being led astray into a clenched fist and declaration of survival. “I took your matches before fire could catch me,” Swift spits at her beloved-turned-enemy. And we, the listeners, simply get to sit back and watch the fireworks.
2. Taylor Swift, “Style”
“Style” is all about the details: the hints of the guitar lick in the verses, the echoing vocals of “out! of! style!” on the chorus, the tension in Swift’s voice when she debates telling her guy that it’s time to leave, the way “James Dean/daydream” and “red lip/classic” are perfect rhymes positioned on top of each other, the release of the “take me hooooome” on the bridge. On an album filled with very good-to-terrific pop songs, “Style” is the most finely manicured, the most well-produced, the most fully realized – and still, the most affecting. Decades from now, musical anthropologists will study how pop could be this perfect.
1. Taylor Swift, “You Belong With Me”
Throughout the twists and turns of her career, Swift has changed sounds, collaborators, personas and approaches, but has not – and perhaps will never – eclipse the magnificence of “You Belong With Me.” Credit the song’s simplicity, echoing the thematic concept of “Teardrops on My Guitar” but amplifying the high school heartache and polishing the hook so that it never floats back down after leaving the ground. There are so many things to love within “You Belong With Me,” from the high heels/sneakers dichotomy to that double handclap during the bridge, but more than anything, it’s quintessential Taylor, the ultra-relatable protagonist who can sum up complex feelings in a vocal run or quick turn-of-phrase. “You Belong With Me” has been her defining song for years, and that’s because it’s her best.
Summary: Gong Yoo knows shit about courting women.
Rated: explicit, mentions of toys and bondage
Ok, I know everybody is losing their shit over Goblin (AND I AM AS WELL), but I’ve always loved him, and today I realised that he has no English porn online, and the state of his fanfiction is even worse than Jongdae’s so… Say hello to Gong Yoo, he is here to stay. Along EXO.
Special thanks to @hidaulie for French translation, and for research on suits, which somehow lead to maddening spam of photos of Gong Yoo wearing suits.
This job is
everything you could have dreamed about. Every job you could manage while being
a senior at the University is a good job, but the one that has satisfactory
pay, social that you can’t really complain about, and it’s moderately easy?
It’s a needle found in the stack of hay, really.
And on top
of that it’s one that you put on your LinkedIn resume and it would actually
give you some kind of experience.
[[request prompt(s): Can I request a Drabble? I’d love if you wrote one for Peter in which he helps the reader through her insecurities because she doesn’t think she’s pretty due to scars from something like acne or something like that. + hey!!! congrats on 1000 followers! I was wondering if you can do a drabble with Peter Parker? like the reader has acne marks and sometimes she gets self-conscious about it, and when peter notices this, he just starts kissing her all over her face or some fluff like that??]]
I really wanted to do this prompt(s) and finally had the time to write it ♡
Maybe hunk taking care of really sick Keith? If you'd rather do shiro I'm all for that too but Keith and hunk is a favorite friend combo for me (love your stuff as always!!!)
There’s a weight crushing his chest, hot and thick and cloying like smog. He struggles to breathe past it, oxygen clogging in his lungs with every choked inhale.
His throbbing head lolls against the chilly floor, too woozy to try and lift it up. A tingling shiver starts at the base of his spine and travels up in one convulsive, rolling shudder. His stomach squirms, protesting the jarring movement as he wraps his arms a little tighter around himself, curling his limbs into a ball. His body feels like it’s been turned into a gigantic block of solid ice.
He needs to get up. Needs to get dressed and go outside. They’ll wonder where he is, soon. Probably come looking for him. Won’t they? Will they care?
He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the bathroom floor, doesn’t even remember stumbling out of bed. An hour, maybe? At any rate, he’s wallowed long enough. If he can’t accomplish the simple task of getting his body under control how the hell is he supposed to be the leader of jack-shit?
There’s that word again. It’s been tumbling around the recesses of his mind for weeks now. Always present, taunting him with its inevitability. He needs Shiro. Needs to ask him what to do.
But of course that’s impossible, isn’t it?
Three goddamn weeks and he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around their new reality. This nightmare he can’t seem to wake from.
He slams his fist against the tile, frustrated tears trickling down his cheeks as he hauls his uncooperative limbs into a sitting position. He sways as the floor tilts beneath him, but he refuses to fall. He blinks away the tears and inhales a deep, shuddering breath. Good. Making progress.
Then his lungs sputter, choking on the oxygen and he clutches at his throat, coughing and wheezing and hacking up a mouthful of something that makes him gag. He groans aloud, swiping the back of his hand beneath his leaking nose. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit.
Gritting his teeth, he reaches up to grip the edge of the metal sink; forcing his legs underneath him takes far more effort than it ought to. It’s slow going but eventually he’s hovering over the basin, weak but finally upright.
His fingers tremble as he cups a handful of water; the droplets turn lukewarm the moment they touch his skin. His reflection wavers in the small mirror, gray and distorted; fleeting because he ducks his head and shuts his eyes tight so he doesn’t have to look.
The anger resurfaces; coiling low in the pit of his stomach and working its way up until his vision flickers blood-red. It’s familiar; comforting in a twisted way. He needs the rage. Needs it to push himself forward like he needs the air in his lungs. He braces his weight against the wall, panting through another surge of dizziness.
He’s thirsty. He wants to go back to the faucet for a drink but the claustrophobia is waiting for him. The kitchen, then. No mirrors in there.
He’s standing in the middle of the mess-hall, uncertain of how he made it downstairs. He can feel a bruise forming just below his kneecap but can’t remember when he fell. He doesn’t bother trying to find a cup. Instead, he staggers over to the sink, fumbling blindly with the handle and dipping his head to gulp down mouthfuls of the icy water. The liquid splashes all over his face, down his chest and onto the floor. He doesn’t care, just keeps lapping at the stream until he can’t hold anymore.
He jumps at the unexpected voice, wincing as a light switches on. He spins around and straightens, ignoring the nauseating shimmer of the walls surrounding him, making it difficult to keep his balance. He’d been freezing only moments ago; now his clothes feel damp and clammy with sweat.
“What are you doing up so early?” Hunk is still in his pajama pants and robe; hair disheveled and sticking up in all the wrong directions. He gives Keith an odd look, reaching up to rub his eye with the heel of his hand.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith rasps, feeling an uncomfortable tickle crawl up the back of his throat. He coughs in his mouth a few times, as quietly as possible.
“You too, huh?” Hunk offers a sympathetic smile and starts digging through a cabinet, producing a tin can. “I was gonna make some tea.”
It’s an obvious invitation but Keith is barely paying attention. It’s a little difficult to hear through the high-pitched buzzing in his ears and the gurgling in his stomach. The water isn’t settling; in hindsight, maybe he should have gulped a little slower.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Hunk suggests, eyes narrowing with obvious concern. He’s frowning, now.
“We’re scheduled for training in an hour,” Keith murmurs, throat bobbing with a few convulsive swallows. “I don’…don’t have time for tea.” For some reason that strikes him as funny and he lets out a snort of laughter.
Keith doesn’t think he can even make it to the chair. The room’s spinning too fast to move away from the sink, anyway. He feels himself tilting forward, watches as the floor rushes up to meet him and then a pair of strong arms hauling him back up just before he smashes his face open.
“Keith,” Hunk says right next to his ear; his voice is low and gentle. “Come sit down.”
And he really doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
Hunk helps him over to one of the chairs and Keith immediately slumps over the table, pillowing his head in his arms.
“I don’t think training’s on the agenda for you this morning. You look like hell.”
“Jus’ a cold,” Keith slurs, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’ll be fine.” He means it, too. He has every intention of powering through what promises to be a grueling morning.
Hunk crouches down beside his chair. Keith watches with vague curiosity as Hunk rests one hand on his back and the other brushes underneath Keith’s bangs. Hunk’s large hand feels cool against his forehead. Even so, Keith feels the need to shrug Hunk off before he gets too comfortable up there.
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s definitely more than a cold,” Hunk obligingly pulls his hand away from his forehead but lets the other hover over Keith’s back. Keith coughs into his crossed arms and feels Hunk’s hand stroke up and down a few times. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it.
“So this is why you didn’t show up at dinner, huh? You’ve been feeling lousy since last night?”
“I was tired,” Keith insists. It’s harder to focus.
“You’re sick. I mean, you’re practically cooking in your own skin, dude,” Hunk rises from his crouch and crosses his arms.
“Jus’ need to sleep it off,” Keith insists, pushing up from the table. His stomach lurches with the unexpected movement and he muffles a wet hiccup into his fist. “You can’t tell the others.”
“Keith,” Hunk sits down beside him. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs. When he glances back, his eyes are unnervingly intense; full of a profound sadness that Keith recognizes as buried grief. “It’s okay. No one’s going to think any less of you because you need to take a day off. You don’t have to prove anything to us. You know that, right?”
The gentle sincerity, the goddamn earnestness makes Keith want to scream. He raises his head, swallows hard and glares back, fists vibrating against the table.
“I have everything to prove,” he growls, gripping the edges of the metal, trying to hold on to his reeling world.
Hunk shakes his head, resting his chin in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment.
“You know who you sound like,” he says quietly, a fond smile forming at the corners of his lips.
“Don’t,” Keith spits, shaking with fury. But the damage has been done. “Don’t talk about him like he’s…like -”
Keith slaps a hand over his mouth, shoving away from the table and tripping over his own feet in his haste to make it to the sink. His shoulders roll with a deep gag and all at once the water comes gushing back up, splattering violently into the metallic basin. He retches a few more times but there isn’t anything left to throw up. He must’ve emptied out his stomach when he first woke up. He doesn’t remember doing that, either.
Keith coughs and spits, resenting the tears that manage to slip free. Suddenly, he realizes he’s no longer holding his own weight. Hunk has one arm wrapped around his waist, the other supports Keith’s back as his body shudders through the aftershock and he struggles to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry,” Hunk whispers when Keith’s calmed down a bit. He sounds devastated. “I didn’t mean for -“
“Don’t. Please,” Keith pants, slumping against the broad chest. “It’s not your fault. ‘M just…really fucked up right now. Everything’s so f-fucked up.”
He doesn’t mean for his words to get tangled in a choked sob but Hunk immediately pulls him close, hugging him from behind and holding him steady. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
After a few minutes, Keith wipes viciously at his bleary eyes and hangs his head. Hunk peers down, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles against Keith’s shoulder, silently asking if he’s all right; if he’s ready.
“Don’t tell Lance,” Keith hiccups, finally glancing up. “I think I’d have to abandon ship.”
Hunk smiles softly, readjusting his grip around Keith’s waist and easing the sick boy’s arm over his own shoulders.
“Yeah, you’re definitely getting funnier.”
“Not kidding,” Keith slurs, feeling himself being lifted up as if he weighs nothing at all. That’s strange because his head feels so heavy he’s afraid it might just roll right off his shoulders. He thinks maybe he passed out since one minute they’re in the kitchen and the next Hunk’s easing him down into bed, tucking his aching body into the warm blankets.
“You don’t need to prove anything right now, Keith,” Hunk’s voice is surprisingly soothing, fingers brushing lightly through the damp strands of Keith’s hair. “Just sleep. We can handle things for a while.”
Once again, Keith doesn’t have a choice in the matter.
Last month, I had to put down my 16-year-old cat due to cancer. Today I found out that we can't afford the possible treatment for my other cat, who is 15, and we have to consider euthanizing him within the next few days if his blood work comes back with bad news. These are my childhood cats whom I've had since I was 6 and I'm heartbroken. Could I have some Pangur and Grim snuggle pictures to help me get through the day?
I’m so sorry, that’s devastating. it sounds like they’ve both had long, full lives, but it always hurts to lose family members.
Hello! Could you perhaps write something about Aaron getting his phone back after prison and finding a message (or messages) from Robert, maybe not really meant for him but that Robert needed to talk to someone and didn't think to delete? (I know you wrote a drabble of Robert leaving a message, this could follow that or not, as you choose) I've been reading through your stories, and they're wonderful! I love some of the domestic moments (Paddy pushing Aaron in the muddy river is a favorite!)
thank you lovely, thats so kind! and aaahh i love this idea, i hope you enjoy.
It had been a long day, and Aaron was exhausted. He’d managed a quick, five minute shower, wanting to wash the last of prison from his skin before he went to bed, so his hair was damp against his forehead as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his heart racing as his felt the familiar softness of their mattress underneath his hands.
Six weeks. It had been six weeks since he’d been at home, since he’d slept in his own bed, since he’d had a good nights sleep. Aaron couldn’t wait to close his eyes, and just sleep - but he wanted to wait for Robert, to say goodnight to his husband properly.
He could hear Robert in the bathroom, their bedroom door cracked slightly open, the sound of the water running filling the upstairs hallway. Aaron turned his focus to his bedside locker, too tired to think too much about Robert, and the shower, and how gloriously naked his husband was right that minute.
Noticing his phone, Aaron realised he hadn’t so much as turned it on all day, having completely forgotten about it. He’d gotten used to not having it, he supposed.
Turning it on, Aaron couldn’t help but smile as he noticed Robert had charged it for him, the little battery sign in the corner flashing green. It took a few seconds for notifications to flood through, Facebook notifications and football scores, and a whole rake of phonecalls - from Robert?
Aaron raised an eyebrow, wondering why his husband had been calling his mobile while Aaron had been inside, knowing there was no way he’d hear the messages. He dialled the number for his voicemail, waiting patiently for the 47 unread messages he had to play.
“I miss you, Aaron. You’ve only been gone three days, and I miss you so much it hurts to think about it. I’ve spent nearly every day of this past year with you, and even when you were in France, I got to call you, see your face every single day. Not being near you, not being able to kiss you goodnight - it’s awful. I miss you, and I can’t wait for you to come home.”
Robert sounded absolutely devastated on the phone, an edge to his voice that Aaron recognised as the older man trying to hold back tears.
“You’re going to think it was stupid, me ringing your voicemail just to feel like I have someone to talk to, but the truth is, without you around, I’m lonely. I don’t have any friends, besides you,” Robert said in his next message. “I’m sitting on the couch, watching Top Gear, and all I want, in this whole entire world, is for you to be here next to me, telling me to shut up so you can focus on the cars. I’ve recorded all the new episodes, by the way, so you can watch them when you’re out. I miss talking to you about stuff like this, whats on telly, how your day went. My days are getting pretty boring, without you.”
Aaron’s heart twisted at Robert’s words, his loneliness obvious now. Aaron didn’t often think about Robert having mates, but his message made Aaron realise just how few and far between those friends were.
“I was in Tesco, and I saw your favourite chocolate was on offer, and I was halfway home before I realised you couldn’t eat it because you’re not here, you’re in prison. I’m pulled in at the side of the road between Hotten and home, and I feel like such an idiot for crying over something so small when you’re going through hell inside.”
“Aaron, I’m scared. I’m scared something is going to happen to you inside, and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to help. I can fix a lot of things, you know? I can sort out a lot, but I just have to sit and wait for the solicitor to sort your appeal, and I hate it. I hate feeling helpless.”
Helpless. That was not a word he’d use to describe Robert Sugden.
“I miss you. Please come home to me soon, Aaron.”
Aaron wished he could have been home sooner.
“I haven’t slept in our bed since you went inside.” Robert admitted tearfully in his next message. “It’s too big, without you in it. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for weeks, but you come home tomorrow, and our lives can start again. God, Aaron, I love you, and I’ve missed you so much. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
Aaron looked up to see Robert walking into their bedroom, towel drying his hair as he kicked the door shut, blocking out the rest of the world. He was speechless, his phone still pressed to his ear.
“Aaron, you okay?” Robert repeated, concerned now. His pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips, drops of water running down his neck, and any other time, Aaron would probably have just jumped him there and then, but he noticed instead - noticed the dark circles under Robert’s eyes, the slump to his shoulders and the even more pale than usual complexion of his skin.
“I listened to your messages.” Aaron said, setting his phone down and standing up, unsure of what to say.
Robert flushed, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry, it was a weird thing to do. I just needed someone to talk to while you were inside, I guess.”
“Robert, I’m so sorry.”
“What have you got to be sorry for, you daft idiot? You did nothing! You were going through hell inside, don’t worry about me.”
“I do though, worry about ya.” Aaron wrapped his arms around Robert’s middle, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to talk to.”
Robert held him close, pressing his lips to the side of Aaron’s head in a soft kiss. “Your voicemail did an okay job.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Aaron reassured, blinking back tears he hadn’t realised were welling in his eyes. “And I’m never leaving ya again.”
Princess and Baby-2 sounds like devastating combos. ;_; plz any chance of future-fic of the two grown-up babies breaking all the hearts, leaving swaths of swooning suitors and uncle Yurio looming in the background menacingly?
ahahaha okay anon here we go with some stuff about the Deadly Duo, Thank God They Don’t Compete in the Same Division, the Katsuki Sibs
Victor fought tooth and nail to get them to be just Katsuki instead of Nikiforov or Katsuki-Nikiforov
The compromise eventually reached (Yuri felt bad about them not getting Victor’s name) is that their given names are Russian and last name is Katsuki
Actually it turns out everybody calls them Princess and Baby to the point that Victor once accidentally called his 22 year old son Baby on live television and Baby just said “Yeah, Papa?”
Princess takes after her grandmother heightwise so she’s like five foot one and a half and Baby takes after his dad, so he’s like five foot eleven
Princess takes after Victor in personality and Yuri’s looks and Baby takes after Victor in looks and Yuri in personality
Victor spent most of Baby’s toddlerhood being SLAINtm by Baby clinging to Yuri and hiding his head shyly in Yuri’s neck
in theory this would be “Princess is SUPER EXTRA and Baby is kind of shy and quiet” and that is mostly true and hilarious because Baby never quite got over the habit of thinking Princess is as big as her personality. So you generally see him pretending he can still hide behind her like he did when he was three and she was six
however the thing people tend to forget about Yuri is that he is the Saltmaster Supreme, King of Hate-To-Losers, and Baby takes after that in spades. Like Yuri, he mostly keeps it in his head. Mostly.
There is a legendary story that says once someone was mean to Princess Katsuki the first time she was in the Jr GPF and she cried and her little brother unfolded himself like an avenging angel and fucking eviscerated the person who dared to make his oneechan cry to the point they dropped out of competition.
“You can’t do that, they won’t let you compete if you’re mean to people,” sighs Yuri. “That’s stupid and I don’t want to win against stupid people,” Baby flares back. Yuri can’t argue.
because neither Victor or Yurio have sibs, Yuri and Mari are held up to Princess and Baby as an example of what they should be to each other. They’re very close.
After they retire from singles skating, they start ice dancing together and break records
I haven’t really thought about their dynamic but I think they’re both betas.
I’m sure they do break hearts, but they don’t really notice cause they’re too busy having fun skating
rebuilt (piece by piece) robert/aaron, liv, chas, vic, adam, paddy, rebecca, chrissie, lawrence
GENRE: dubious consent/consent issues, angst, protective!aaron WORDS: 11,826 SUMMARY: “I’m sorry,” Robert says, in lieu of an answer. “I don’t want you to leave me.”It sounds small, quiet, but Aaron can’t make his voice work, can’t do anything except stare at Robert’s face. “Robert, I need you to tell me. What’s the last thing you remember from that night?”Robert lifts on arm in the approximation of a shrug. “She took the whisky off me. Told me I’d had ‘nough. Told me I was drunk, too. Told her I wanted her, but I lied,” Robert says fast, words tripping over themselves. “I just wanted you, but then she told me I was drunk. Don’t remember much after that.”
it’s finally here! the consent fic.
bear in mind that this fic is extremely cathartic for me and i am a huge robert stan. if you don’t like robert, this is definitely not the place for you and you’re probably not going to want to stick around.
“I’m sorry,” Robert says, quickly, sounding as devastated as he looks.
“Why are you sorry?” Aaron turns, frowning at the death grip Robert has on the mugs. “Robert?”
“I cheated,” Robert says, finally looking up to meet Aaron’s eyes. “I didn’t – it’s not what I wanted, not really.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Aaron tells him, pressing, he needs
Robert to understand. “We’ll talk about that when we’re calmer, when
it’s not right there. Robert, I’m talking about what Rebecca did.”
Robert frowns, confused. “She didn’t do anything.”
Aaron raises an eyebrow. “She didn’t have sex with you when you were drunk?”
The grip Robert has on the mugs is starting to concern Aaron; his
knuckles are white, his fingers trembling around the porcelain. Robert
swallows. “Yeah, but it wasn’t anything I wasn’t asking for.”
Robert felt like the
walls were closing in on him.
He wasn’t used to
He was used to be in
In check of his
Knowing what to do.
Seeing a way out.
But right now all he
saw was a gun pointed at him and all he felt was the rope around his wrists and
ankles, tieing him to the chair he was sitting on.
“Leave him out of
this,” Robert croaked, “he got nothing to do with this.”
He swallowed hard,
feeling his breathing go heavier and heavier while he watched her walk around
their living room, gun always pointed at him though.
It made him feel sick,
seeing her in the Mill, their home.
“Oh, Robert,” she said
sweetly and stopped right in front of him. “He got everything to do with this.
If it weren’t for him we would be a family now. You, me and James.”
“He’s not even mine,”
“So what?” Rebecca
screeched. “You would have loved him, would have taken him on as your own. I
“Bex,” Robert said,
trying the best to make his voice sound soft, to reason with her. “I hardly
wanted him when I thought he was mine.”
“Noo,” she screamed,
sounding even more hysteric now. “Enough, shut up now. We are gonna be quiet
and wait now. Wait till Aaron gets here.”
Robert was scared, he
was more scared than he ever was in his life. He didn’t know what she had
planned, what she wanted to happen. Would she kill Aaron and make him watch?
Would she kill him?
He immediately knew
which option he’d prefer.
The minutes stretched
Robert watched Rebecca
like a hawk. He wondered how he didn’t see it before, that she was losing it.
Or had she been like this all the time? She didn’t look that different
actually, her hair up in some complicated braid, her clothes colorful and
flowing around her figure.
She had surprised him,
had lingered behind the door when he walked in and had hit him over the head
with the gun. When he came to he had been tied to this chair and she had
started talking about how much she loved him.
He heard Aaron’s car pull up, the cut off of
the engine and his steps on the grovel towards the house.
“Here we go,” Rebecca
said and her smile was manic.
She positioned herself
right in front of the door, gun pointed straight ahead.
Robert saw the door
open but didn’t see Aaron.
“Where’s Robert?” he
asked immediately and Robert thought his chest would explode.
“Don’t be scared, I’m
right here,” Robert said out loud.
“Quiet you,” Rebecca
said, “I need to talk to your husband.” She spat the last word and gestured
with the gun for Aaron to move.
He came in view as
Rebecca directed him to the sofa, away from Robert who was sitting on a chair
right next to the staircase.
“Tell me, Aaron,” she
said, sitting down opposite him. Aaron was tense and scared, Robert could see
it. And seeing Aaron like that made his brain kick in again, he needed a way to
get out of this ropes and get that gun away from Rebecca.
“Tell you what?” Aaron
“Why you?” she asked,
her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, look at you. A mechanic with a
tendency to fuck up, to push away everybody around you. You broke up with him,
for God’s sake, how stupid are you? What does he see in you?”
Aaron bit his lip
hard. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did,” Rebecca said.
“Said he loves you. Which is funny, isn’t it? Because I remember him telling me
how weak you are. “
started, his voice sounded devastated.
“Don’t,” Aaron said
sharply. “It’s okay, it’s what she wants.”
Rebecca laughed and it
cut through Robert like a knife.
“I am the one who
loves him,” Rebecca said, her voice high and shrill. “Me, not you. I always saw
him for who he was. I always loved all of him, every part of him, even bad
parts, even the mean and vile ones. You? You chuck him out at the first sign of
And all of a sudden
Robert knew. He knew exactly what he had to do.
“That’s true,” he said
and Aaron and Rebecca both whirled around to him.
“I never saw it like
that,” he continued. “But you are right, Rebecca. I was blind. You are clearly
the right person for me. Sorry, Aaron.”
Rebecca’s face lit up
like a thousand Christmas trees and Aaron looked more than confused.
“Remember our fight
last week, Aaron?” Robert said and hoped he would catch on. There had been no
fight last week. “You got so mad at me for defending her, called me a /liar/.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron
said. “I remember. So this is it, you have finally made your choice?”
“Yes,” Robert said
sternly and had to look away from Aaron to Rebecca. “Come on, Bex, let Aaron go
and untie me so we can finally be together.”
All it took was a
second, a second where Rebecca lowered her gun and Aaron was on her. He jumped
and pushed her to the ground, got a hold of the gun and pointed it at her this
time, hands shaking.
Rebecca didn’t stop, though,
she searched up and tackled Aaron. He reacted on instinct, pushed her away hard
and she fell, head hitting the table and landing on the ground, lying
“Shit, shit, shit,”
Aaron stammered, letting the gun drop.
“Check her pulse,”
Robert said immediately.
Aaron did, with
shaking fingers and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay,” Robert said,
trying very much to stay calm. “Call the ambulance and the police and then
It took a while for the
ambulance to check Rebecca and taker her with them, handcuffed to the gurney,
and for the police to take their statements. Finally everybody left and Aaron
had accompanied them outside.
When he came back he
settled down next to Robert on the sofa.
“Let me see,” Aaron
said softly and reached for Robert’s wrists.
“It’s fine,” he said,
but Aaron pushed his sleeves up, examined his wrists.
“I’ll be right back,”
Aaron said and got up.
He was back in a
flash, or maybe it took longer, Robert didn’t know. He felt tired and exhausted
and a crushing feeling of guilt weighing him down.
Aaron took his left
wrist back in his hand and he felt something cool, something soothing, and he
saw that Aaron applied cream to the sore spots the rope had left on his arms.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning
his head against Aaron’s shoulder.
“Aaron,” he said after
“Hm?” he asked.
“You know, what I said
earlier….,” he started.
“Of course,” Aaron
said, switching to Robert’s right wrist now. “I know.”
“Thank you,” Robert
said quietly, “for sticking with me and all my vile bits.”
The words from what
Rebecca has said still weighing heavily on him.
“Listen,” Aaron said. “She
has no idea who you are. None, okay?”
“Okay,” Robert said
but didn’t sound convinced.
“I love you, all of
you, forever,” Aaron said and sat the cream back on the table before he wrapped
his arms around him, pulling him closer.