i have a lot of feelings for these two you don't understand

  • what she says: I'm okay
  • what she means: Can I say my shit? Can I say my shit? I've got lots of shit to say. I've got lots of shit to say. I can't fit my hand inside a Pringle can, I have a huge amount of trouble fitting my hand inside of a Pringle can. I can get my hand like four inches into the can but then I have to tilt the can into my mouth but then a bunch of crumbs have accumulated at the bottom of the can so they all go spilling onto my face. What I'm trying to say is the diameter of Pringle cans is way too small. I'll say it again. The diameter of Pringle cans is way too small. Two radiuses of a Pringle can is way too small. If you feel me, put your hands up, Come on! If you feel me, put your hands up! Look at all these hands that are way too big to fit inside of a Pringle can! Your hands are too big to fit inside a Pringle can, your hands are too big to fit inside a Pringle can. You think you can, I know you can't, you think you can. Pringles! Listen to the people, I am sure ninety percent of the complaint letters you get are about the width of your cans?! Just... make them wider?! I've overdone the Pringles thing, sorry. I want to have a daughter. I want to have a daughter so I can finally have someone around the house who can fit their hands in the Pringle can. Yes, I'm still on the Pringle cans thing! Yeah! I'll move on, alright? But that is priority número uno. I don't go to the gym because I'm self-conscious about my body but I'm self-conscious about my body cause I don't go to the gym. Irony can be so painful. That's a Catch-22. Let's do this! I went to Chipotle, I went to Chipotle, got myself a chicken burrito. I went down the line and I got all these ingredients and at the end of the line the guy tried to wrap the burrito but half of the shit inside the burrito spilled out. He still wrapped it. I was like, dude you should have warned me! You're a burrito expert, you should have told me halfway through: "Hey, man. You might be reaching maximum burrito capacity here" Do you fucking think I want a messy burrito? No one wants a messy burrito! The whole appeal of the burrito is that all of the ingredients are contained within the confines of the tortilla. I wouldn't have gotten half of the shit if I knew it wasn't gonna fit in the burrito! Alright? Look I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew it wouldn't fit! I wouldn't have got half of it! Like, I'm okay with small mistakes, if you've got no more chicken I'll take pork. But I'll blow my dad before I eat a burrito with a fork. I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew they wouldn't fit. Man, I wouldn't have got half of it, like half of it, like, half of it, like, half of it, like half of it right now,I think it's time I think it's time, I think that we break this down. I can sit here and pretend like my biggest problems are pringle cans, and burritos. The truth is, my biggest problem's you. I want to please you but I want to stay true to myself. I want to give you the night out that you deserve but I want to say what I think and not care what you think about it. Part of me loves you, part of me hates you, part of me needs you, part of me fears you. And I don't think that I can handle this right now, handle this right now. I don't think that I can handle this right now. I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now. Look at them, they're just staring at me like, "come and watch the skinny kid with a steadily declining mental health and laugh as he attempts to give you what he cannot give himself." I don't think that I can handle this right now, I don't think that I can handle this right now. They don't even know the half of this right now, they don't even know the half of it. But I know I'm not a doctor, I'm a pussy, I put on a silly show so I should probably just shut up and do my job so here I go. I wouldn't have got the lettuce if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the cheese if I knew it wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got the peppers if I knew they wouldn't fit, I wouldn't have got half. You can tell them anything if you just make it funny, make it rhyme and if they still don't understand you then you run it one more time. I don't think that I can handle this right now (Haa!) I don't think that I can handle this right now (Hoo!) If you think that I can handle this right now (Haa!) Right now (Haa!) Now, handle this right, handle this right, handle this right now.Thank you, good night! I hope you're happy.

anonymous asked:

(so I sent this before, but I don't think it send correctly.) I'm writing an IronPanther one shot, and I'm trying to describe T'Challa in a way that isn't fetishizing. Do you have any tips for ways I can describe him that is very appreciative of the way he looks without being hella creepy? What are some dos and don'ts?

Hi!  Thanks for your question :)  It’s very responsible of you to be mindful of this issue.  I’ll try to cover the bases, but I’m not a person of color, so this is only based on reading and research…


Writing Characters of Color: Dos and Don’ts

First things first: I would suggest to anyone writing characters of color that you should follow @writingwithcolor.  It’s my absolute favorite blog on the topic of diverse writing, and includes plenty of resources for most races and cultures.  I’ll probably link you to a couple of their posts in this guide, so keep an eye out!  So here we go…

Do: Make their race clear.

In fact, clearly designate the race of all characters!  Even if a majority of your characters are white, you should state this in their description – otherwise, you’re painting the image that white is Baseline and Normal, while black/brown/beige are Divergent and Strange.  Understand that many readers will assume White Until Proven Otherwise.  This means that if you shy away from stating a character’s color in the fear of offending PoC readers, you’re actually just erasing the character’s race altogether.  (Personal note: obviously your readers will know what color T’Challa is, so this is a point for the future.)

Don’t: Use descriptors that make me hungry.

“Chocolate,” “caramel,” “coffee,” “brown sugar,” “cinnamon,” “honey” – you get the idea.  Anything that could also be used to describe my dessert is probably a terrible idea.  Not only is this not at all how white characters are described, which is unfair, but the reduction of adult, three-dimensional people to grocery items has racially-aggressive roots.  This is where I’m gonna link you to Writing With Color’s guide on how (and how not) to describe characters of color.

Do: Familiarize yourself with the harmful stereotypes.

This means a little research, no matter what race you’re writing.  A lot of the racist mistakes made in literature/fanfiction come from a place of ignorance, sometimes willfully.  People avoid learning the dirty past of racial representation in media, because they’re afraid they’ll subconsciously absorb them.  It’s a weird complex and I advise you, and all writers, to take the time to glance over the most offensive stereotypes for people of color, women, LGBT, trans/nonbinary, autistic, mentally ill, and disabled people.  This will not only keep you from hurting anyone, but it also makes your writing more unpredictable and interesting!  Plus, it makes you not-one-of-those-douchebags-who-write-two-dimensional-exotic-chocolate-brown-mistresses and all that 👍

Don’t: Desexualize your characters.

This is a common mistake that can come from good intentions.  You’re try so hard not to fetishize a character of color and then it reduces them to a non-sexual, non-attractive broom in the corner.  Characters of color – all characters really – god, especially women – should be three-dimensional and fully developed people, who are not sold to readers on their looks and sexual appeal.  BUT this doesn’t mean you should exclude all sexuality in writing.  T’Challa, for example, is a damn handsome man – you can’t possibly write him and ignore how nice he looks!  So don’t be afraid to describe him physically.  You can describe his eyes and his lips and his muscles and we will read happily.  Go ahead and talk about how smooth and warm and rich his skin is.  As long as sexuality is described through a lens of admiration, rather than objectification – and as long as their sexuality exists in accompaniment to their full, developed personality, and not instead of it – then there’s nothing wrong with making a character bangin’ hot.  So do it.  And lastly…

Do: Consider collaborating with a beta-reader.

You said in your previous ask that this was one of your first attempts at writing characters of color, so I’d suggest that if you feel nervous about it, partner up with a beta-reader who has enough experience to keep you in check.  It’s our responsibility as writers (especially for white, privileged writers such as myself) to learn to look at ourselves and assess whether or not we’ve crossed the line.  Having someone beta-read for you will show you the critical thinking process to go through, so eventually, you’ll be able to do it without thinking about it!  Maybe a few people here would be interested in a betaship.


Those are my top Dos and Don’ts, but as always, this is limited to my experience.  Be sure to check out @writingwithcolor and do your research – and remember that no matter how much research you do, you’re bound to make a mistake or two.  If it happens and a reader points it out to you, don’t beat yourself up about it or get defensive.  Just apologize, correct the mistake, and move on.

Thanks again, and good luck :)  Happy writing!


If you need advice on general writing or NaNoWriMo, you should maybe ask me!

anonymous asked:

no but like you do know that even though tony realized that bucky was innocent he still tried to murder him and would have if steve hadn't been there to stop him? the russos confirmed it. i just don't get it how someone can claim to love a character but still support the person who almost murdered said character in cold blood and still hasn't shown any indication that he's sorry for his actions.

Okay, I’m glad you asked this because it gives me a reason to explain my feelings about the Act 3 fight in Civil War. Heads up for anyone reading this that this is gonna be a pretty long post with a lot of visual evidence. 

There’s several major points to the final fight scene:

  1. Had the fight continued, would Tony have killed Bucky?
  2. Understanding Tony’s reaction both from the perspective of grief and also from the perspective of trauma.
  3. Is this fight really about Bucky?

To fully understand the final scene, I think we have to look at all three of these. First and foremost - would Tony have actually killed Bucky?

So, the first several minutes of the fight, Tony hits Steve, knocking to the floor, and restrains him. His attention is clearly focused on Bucky who he engages in a fight. The fight continues for several seconds/minutes, until this important moment:

Tony: Do you even remember them?
Bucky: I remember all of them.

Here, Tony has Bucky in a chokehold. Cap is incapacitated somewhere else. Tony could easily snap Bucky’s neck right here, yet he pauses and asks him about his parents. Tony then flies down, still holding Bucky and Cap intercepts them mid-air:

Several things to point out: if Tony was about to kill Bucky, why didn’t he do it just then? They all fall down, Bucky falling onto another platform, Tony and Steve falling to the floor, with Steve rolling forwards. This is an important moment - from here on now the action switches. Tony’s attention is now fixed on Steve solely, not Bucky. The two begin to fight.

Bucky joins in and we have the well known Bucky, Steve and Tony choreography. Then Tony shoots a repulsor beam at Steve, knocking him back, and Bucky attacks Tony, attempts to rip out the reactor at which point Tony’s reactor fires a repulsor beam and Bucky’s arm is ripped off from the blast.

Despite this, Tony doesn’t attempt to use his repulsor, despite having an arm free:

Instead he tries to pry Bucky’s arm away from the reactor. But Bucky is too strong. I’ve rewatched the scene several times and Tony doesn’t actually fire a repulsor with his arm. Instead the reactor begins to glow:

Before it shoots out a beam:

This is also important as it means the reactor has a failsafe in the case of someone trying to remove it. 

If Tony wanted to hurt Bucky why didn’t he fire a repulsor from his arm straight into Bucky’s face? Why did he attempt to simply pry Bucky’s hand away? I don’t think he intentionally tried to shoot Bucky’s arm off, instead the reactor has a failsafe and released a repulsor and since Bucky had his arm on the reactor it hit him straight in the arm, causing it to be ripped off from the force.

Once Bucky loses his arm, then Tony hits him with a repulsor in the back which yes, I admit wasn’t necessary and was awful. At this point Cap gets up and we get this iconic shot:

Steve and Tony begin to fight and Steve has the upper hand, Tony is cornered against the wall and has no way of fighting against Steve:

At this point Tony has FRIDAY analyse Cap’s fight pattern and use it against him. Which leads to this point of the fight:

Tony punches Steve several times while he kneels, Bucky’s body behind him. Then he grabs him, and tosses him away from Bucky:

Tony: Stay down. Final warning.

The camera pans to a wide shot, and this, this moment is visually INTEGRAL to this entire fight. Wide shots are intended to show the audience the entire scene, they focus on everything as a whole, revealing to the audience what is going on.

That’s why this shot is so important. Bucky is on the floor, incapable of protecting himself. Steve is several feet away from Bucky and Tony is in between the two. Tony could easily turn around and kill Bucky - so why doesn’t he? The camera pans to this, revealing to us that Bucky (and Steve) are completely vulnurable - note even the visual difference between Tony, standing up, and Bucky and Steve, both on the floor. Here, Tony is solely in control. Yet he issues Cap a warning, and completely ignores Bucky.

This also majorly answers the third point as it keys the audience in completely that at the core, this is not a fight about Bucky. It solidifies the idea that this is not a fight between Bucky and Tony, but a fight between Steve and Tony. 

Bucky attempts to intervene as Tony raises his reactor - presumably to hurt Cap - at which point Tony kicks him in the face. Steve lifts Tony and throws him to the floor where he begins to hit him over and over. He rips off Tony’s helmet and raises the shield. Close shots prevent us from seeing what is going on, until we see this:

Visually we expect Steve to kill Tony. He doesn’t. Again, this is very important to the narrative as it mirrors Tony’s attempt to kill Bucky. 

Tony attacks Bucky. 

Steve attacks Tony.

Tony looks like he might kill Bucky. We never find out if he really would as the fight shifts, but it seems he wouldn’t have actually gone through it.

Steve looks like he is about to kill Tony. He doesn’t.

The two practically mirror each other - the difference is we actually see Steve on the verge of killing Tony, only for him to choose not to. The audience knows then, that no matter how hurt or angry they are, no matter how broken, how furious, how much they fight each other, that ultimately at heart, they are not people who would kill each other - at least in my personal opinion. Steve’s attempt to kill Tony, only for him not to, parallels Tony’s attempt to kill Bucky, only to choose not to - in my personal opinion. 

I know that I’ve mainly focused on the first and third point. The second point is also important, in understanding Tony’s reaction. Firstly, someone seeing someone’s murder is highly unsettling to any human being. Tony seeing his parents murdered, hearing them being murdered, is very much the equivalent of someone being exposed to footage of a shooting - it is highly traumatic to witness that type of violence, no matter what it is, and many people actually have to get therapy for this. 

Tony’s reaction is also heightened though because what he is witnessing is not strangers, but his own parents being murdered - he is shown his father’s face being caved in, and his mother begging for her husband as she is strangled to death. So not only is Tony exposed to something extremely violent, upsetting and triggering, but it is also done on a personal level to him. Does that mean what he did was right? No. Attacking Bucky was completely wrong, of course. But is it understandable? Yes, in my personal opinion. 

Your parent’s death is not something you get over. Now I understand that the difference is that Bucky was brainwashed and made to do what he did. I understand that Bucky is as much a victim as Maria or Howard in this situation completely. But grief and trauma don’t work logically - Tony does not have the time to process what he just saw, he lashes out. 

And in the end, despite the fact that he has the chance to kill Bucky, he doesn’t. His focus shifts to Steve.

As to what the writers/directors say, I don’t particularly trust what the writers or the producers say - they are the same people who thought it was normal to have Steve kiss Sharon only 48 hours after Peggy died, so their opinion is not something I trust. Plus, that perspective clashes with the perspective of the stunt choreographer (I think) who says that Tony aims to incapacitate, not harm, throughout the movie.

I don’t in any way think that what Tony did was “right” - but I understand why he did it. If we can understand Steve for nearly trying to kill Tony, if we can understand T’Challa for several times attempting to kill Bucky (note that T’Challa specifically stated that he “will kill Bucky himself”, so there is no doubt as to his intentions), then we can understand Tony’s attempt too. If you decide to continue to dislike Tony for attempting to kill Bucky, then I hope you are prepared to dislike T’Challa too.

[Note: Please do not comment on this post as to how Tony and T’Challa’s cases differ. Canon facts are that T’Challa, like Tony, also attempts to kill Bucky and states his intentions himself: “I’ll kill him myself, Ms. Romanoff”. What he does is premeditated.]

omgchulbulipandey  asked:

I feel like Derek must be legitimately confused when people don't find Stiles attractive. Like Scott will forever remain a mystery to him cuz SCOTT YOU GREW UP WITH HIM WHY DONT YOU WANNA HAVE SEX WITH HIM????

I kind of get the feeling Derek would be relieved more than anything no one has “taken Stiles off the market” before they can sort out their shit than anything else. 

Like, Derek is aware people find Stiles a lot to take (he knows he did, in the beginning) but he is also convinced the moment Stiles escapes to college he’s going to be scooped up by at least a dozen amazing people in his first year and he’ll have missed his chance for good, whatever his “chance” is supposed to be. Stiles is under appreciated in Beacon Hills and Derek sort of, maybe relies on that after he moves away; as he and Stiles grow closer, sending e-mails and postcards back and forth; as Derek realises, fuck, what he was sure would fade in time has only grown stronger. Because how could Derek possibly compare to someone who hasn’t got his emotional baggage? Someone without the tragic back story. Someone who can actually communicate with Stiles in a way he’s always needed, but never quite gotten. 

And Derek hates it, hates the first night Stiles kisses him, the day before his college graduation - tentative and scared - and his first thought is thank god no one ever saw in you what I see. It’s a pretty ugly thought but Derek is certain he never would have stood a chance otherwise. He doesn’t understand how people don’t think Stiles is a great catch, especially now he’s matured; is often baffled (and irrationally angry) whenever someone leaves Stiles’ bed after a one night stand that Stiles had hoped would be something more. He doesn’t get why people don’t fall in love with him the moment they get to know him, even if his sense of humour is astoundingly bad and makes Derek want to punch the nearest wall sometimes.  

He doesn’t get it because Stiles is beautiful. And not just in the way he stands or sleeps or smiles, but in the way he gestures erratically with his hands; in the way he makes those awful, inappropriate jokes at two in the afternoon as he shovels pie in his mouth and laughs, all by himself, despite every shitty thing that’s happened to him. He’s beautiful when he’s tired and sometimes when Derek watches him charge - scared but loyal to the end - at the next fucked up thing that comes their way, he has to remember to hide the fact he can’t fucking breathe beneath a well timed scowl. 

Stiles Stilinski is a mystery to Derek because he’s the most infuriating asshole he’s ever met, and yet if it turned out Stiles was some kind of supernatural creature with angel blood he wouldn’t be surprised because Stiles makes the darkness seem not only bearable, but beautiful. 

anonymous asked:

Can someone help me understand the Ace Spectrum, please? I'm trying to make sense of... things and I'm so confused I don't know what to do.

Of course!

So, the place where I think most of us get confused on our ace identity journey is with separating out types of attraction, and also separating out attraction from sex drive. So let’s talk about those two things:

There are many kinds of attraction, but we’re going to talk about these: sexual, romantic, aesthetic, and sensual. The idea of the split attraction model is that you don’t have to be attracted to someone in more than one of the ways above at the same time to still experience real and powerful attraction of a specific kind. For most allosexual (non-ace spectrum) folks, they tend to experience all four modes of attraction at the same time, and in particular sexual, aesthetic, and sensual attraction are so deeply tied together that they may not realize they’re actually three separate things. In ace folks, those modes of attraction are often not experienced at the same time, and one of them (sexual attraction) may not ever be experienced at all.

Romantic attraction is, well, someone you’re romantically attracted to. You want to spend your time with them, you think about them when they’re gone, they inspire poetry in you, etc etc.

Sexual attraction is basically when you see a person and think, Wow, I’d hit that. This is the kind of attraction people on the ace spectrum either don’t experience at all or don’t experience as often/broadly as allosexual folks, so we’ll come back to this one in a bit.

Aesthetic attraction is when something hits you just right in the beauty department and you want to look at it for a while. In my own personal experience with both myself and my ace friends, this type of attraction is often (but by all means not always or in everyone) hyper-powered in aces. I’m ace, and lemme tell you, there are people I could stare at forever. But I have never once in my entire life looked at one of those people and thought Wow I’d climb them like a tree. Just never happened, probably never will, because I don’t actually experience sexual attraction.

This particular kind of attraction often trips up people who are struggling to understand asexuality, to which I’d suggest this amazing example I’ve seen floating round the interwebs: You ever go out hiking, and you come to the top of a mountain and you see this breathtaking view of other mountains and valleys stretched out for miles before you, and it’s so incredibly beautiful that you just sit right down and stare at it for a while, and maybe you decide to take an early lunch so you can enjoy the view some more because it’s that lovely. But do you at any point want to bang the mountains? No, you do not. (I mean, if you do, we’re not judging, but let’s assume for most folks the answer is no :-p) And that is the difference between aesthetic and sexual attraction.

Sensual attraction is when you see a person and want to touch or hug or cuddle them in a non-sexual way. Some aces don’t experience this at all. Others experience it quite a lot. Still others experience it somewhere in the middle. For some aces it’s tied exclusively to romantic attraction. For others it’s tied to affection in general (familial, platonic, romantic, etc.). For others, it’s tied to aesthetic attraction. There are all kinds of reasons you might experience sensual attraction, but it’s important to remember that it doesn’t have to be tied to sexual attraction in any way.

So, that’s the split attraction model. To make a personal example, I experience aesthetic attraction roughly every 0.4 seconds, romantic and sensual attraction very rarely (and not always together), and sexual attraction literally never (I’m all the way on the far end of the ace spectrum). And my aesthetic attractions don’t necessarily line up with my romantic or sensual attractions, and vice versa. But aces are many and varied and beautiful, and everyone’s going to experience these attractions differently.

The other thing I wanted to talk about is how sexual attraction =/= sex drive. Folks struggling to identify on the ace spectrum often think they’re not “allowed” to be ace because they masturbate, or they watch porn, or they’re experiencing sexual attraction to their current partner. But here’s the thing: all of those experiences are 100% valid and do not make you any less ace.

First, remember that asexuality, like all sexualities, is a spectrum. So you may be all the way on one end of the spectrum like me (never experiences sexual attraction under any circumstance), or you may be demisexual (only experiences sexual attraction with someone to whom you’ve formed a deep emotional relationship) gray ace (only experiences sexual attraction rarely, for reasons that may or may not involve emotional connection). Both of those orientations are valid asexual identities that involve sexual attraction, and experiencing sexual attraction in those ways does not invalidate your identity on the ace spectrum.

Second, it’s important to remember that sex drive doesn’t actually have to be tied in any way to sexual attraction. Think about the human body like a machine. Just because you’re ace doesn’t mean the pipes don’t still work, you know? You can still experience arousal, you can still enjoy orgasm, you can still enjoy porn, you can even still enjoy sex with other people. None of those things means you experience sexual attraction to the person(s) you’re watching or with. Many aces have extremely active sex drives. Many aces have robust solo sex lives. Many aces read or watch porn to get off (check out autochorissexual; it’s an identity many aces feel at home with, including me). And there are endless valid reasons why an ace person might have sex with someone (you want the emotional intimacy, you’re horny, it makes your partner happy and you don’t mind it at all, you’re wildly in love and want to express it physically, you’re sensually attracted and want the physical closeness, you want to get/get someone pregnant, it just plain feels good, etc. etc. etc.), not one of which need involve sexual attraction to the person you’re sleeping with. Of course, if you’re gray ace or demisexual, you may very well experience a deep sexual attraction to the person you’re with. The point is, aces can and do have sex drives, masturbate, watch porn, and have sex with other people. Although I feel it’s also important to point out here that it’s perfectly okay not to do any of these things; some aces are sex repulsed and/or touch-averse and that is 100% valid too.

Okay so this answer is getting crazy long now, and I feel like I’ve covered the general bases, so I’m going to wrap up. But if you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask! Half the staff here is ace and we’re always happy to talk about it, either in broad strokes or via our own personal experiences.

I Don't Wanna Live Forever [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: I Don’t Wanna Live Forever
Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader
Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen
Requested: no
Summary: Your family takes an annual trip to the mountains with the Murphy family every year to unwind over the winter break–that being said, Connor Murphy isn’t the sweet kid he used to be, and you’d rather be anywhere else than sharing a room with him for two weeks. However, between your parents, a line of accidents, and a mapless trip in the woods seem determined to bring you together–if you can make it out alive.
Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | Mentions of drugs, abuse, alcohol, panic attacks, sex trafficking, sex, blood, hospitals | First person reader | face paced/vignette style | not proof read | tenses may change
A/N: Here’s that long ass thing I’ve been working on for weeks and just finished a few minutes ago, ayy. Based entirely off the “Connor hated skiing” line. This is long af with no read more option, sorry :/ Here we go! (THANKS FOR 500+ FOLLOWERS ♡♡♡)


Connor Murphy was a lot of things.

He was stubborn–I’d never seen him admit he was wrong, but I’d definitely seen him throw scrabble pieces across the wooden floor of the cabin, leaving Zoe to scramble red-faced to collect them as he stomped up the oak steps to his room, echoing around the house.

He was annoying–I’d told him once I wasn’t crazy about Iron Maiden, which resulted in the album being on blast for the entirety of the time he drove Zoe and I around the mall in the family’s silver minivan.

He was stoic. He was impatient. He was angry.

I’d begged my parents not to go cabins for winter break. I’d begged them to pick a different mountain range if we were so dead set on skiing. But Mr. Murphy and my mother were business associates, and the last thing she wanted to do was make them feel like we were no longer on good terms–especially because of Connor.

“Larry’s been having an awfully hard time with Connor, sweetheart, you have to understand,” my mother crooned in our rental car, fixing her lip liner as she drove, my father keeping a white knuckled grip on the Jesus handle above his head. “He’s not doing very well in school and he’s been throwing tantrums at home. Poor Cynthia is at her wits end. They’re lucky to have that sweet Zoe, she’s so talented and smart. Poor Connor is jealous and acting out, just try not to rally him up, alright, dear?”

I didn’t dignify her with a response, mostly because I knew she wouldn’t like what I had to say anyway, but also because I knew she wouldn’t care to listen, either. I sighed loudly, watching the snow flurry softly outside the window. It wasn’t fair–here I was in the middle of something so remarkably beautiful, and I’d be shoved in a minivan with the Murphy kids and stuck in the valley town’s 1970s mall with crappy t-shirts and a vape store that Connor would spend all day in.

The cabin was huge, up with a view of the town below, nearly three stories made of solid, stripped oak, in the middle of a winding road with a four percent grade. Half the cabin was supported on beams which plummeted down the mountain face. I’d be lucky to stand on the deck without vomiting, let alone being able to venture into the hot tub.

The Murphy’s minivan was already in the drive, trunk shut, meaning they’d unpacked and I’d be left with whatever miniscule space they’d left for me in the loft area.

“Remember to be nice, sweetheart,” my mother crooned again, fluffing her hair in the mirror and giving me an enthusiastic smile in the rearview. “It’s important! They’re practically family.”

Geez, I was lucky to not have Connor Murphy for a cousin.

Slinging my backpack over my arm and exiting the rental car, I took the liberty to stretch, despite the cold air that stung my cheeks and the snow that fluttered down into my hair. This may very well be the last moment of solitude I had for the entirety of the week, and I was going to revel in it.

A movement caught my eye, suddenly, and I lowered myself off my tiptoes to glance up at the second story window–a curtain fluttered shut. It was most likely Zoe or Connor checking out the commotion that was my father and mother bickering over who carried what into the house, and shutting it once they’d realized I caught them. Feeling vaguely uneasy, I turned just as Larry Murphy, bundled in a parka, burst out of the house to take two suitcases from my father.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

——

Cynthia Murphy made me stand by the kitchen counter as she was stocking the cabinet with neon colored cardboard boxes containing various sugary, pink cereals with marshmallows and prizes inside. The Murphy kids were both picky eaters, I remembered quickly, Connor more so than Zoe.

Mrs. Murphy kept playing with my hair, crowing about how much longer it looked (despite the fact I’d cut it since the last time I’d seen her) and how pretty and grown up I’d become, asking me the usually annoying adult questions (“Any thoughts on schools yet? Oh, Connor can’t decide either! Do you know what you’re going to major in? That’s alright, you’ll figure it out soon!”) It would’ve been annoying, I decided, if and only if she didn’t look so sad all the time, the purple bruising under her eyes visible still underneath the layers of makeup. My mother could say whatever she liked about Cynthia Murphy where her wifely duties were concerned–Mrs. Murphy tried to be a good mother (re: tried, period), and that was more than enough to pass her in my book.

In the background, my parents were settling into the second master bedroom, Larry Murphy yelling at the bottom of the stairs to announce our arrival. I could do without the annual reunion, awkward questions about school. The Murphy kids were tolerable–Zoe definitely more so–but it didn’t mean they had to force us together so artificially.

Zoe skimpered down the stairs first, her soft moccasin boots barely making any sound on the stairs–I was surprised to find her long legs bare, her thighs peeking out beneath a pretty pink chiffon dress, covered by what I hoped to be a faux fur parka. Her pretty auburn hair was curled, pulled back with a polka dot headband I could recognize from her childhood. She was wearing eyeliner, and cotton candy flavored lip gloss I remembered sharing when we were thirteen.

It was such a stark contrast from how I remembered her before. The last I’d seen her she’d been gawky and fifteen with a mouth full of metal and a bra full of kleenex. She was practically grown now, and beautiful–it made me feel slightly subpar in my own blue jeans and blue sweater. Regardless, she smiled brightly and skipped over to me, opening her arms to wrap them around my neck.

“It’s so good to see you!” She exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek that shocked me, as well as some others–Larry Murphy’s horrified expression was priceless, and I was convinced Connor put her up to it–but I just laughed and hugged her tightly before letting her go.

“You look so pretty,” I told her with a wry grin, and she just tossed the expression back, nodding with a, “So do you!”

“It’s so good to see you girls are still so close,” my mother tittered, beginning to uncork a glass of wine–we didn’t drink much at my house, but the Murphy’s, I knew, did, and my mother certainly wasn’t going to let that go to waste. “Where’s that sweet boy of yours?”

Larry Murphy at the bottom of the stairs, banging on the oak walls, yelling out, “Connor!” was enough to make both the Murphy women flinch visibly. Zoe still had her arm around my waist as we stared up at the ceiling above us, waiting for the squeak of sneakers on the polished wood.

“Don’t yell.”

Zoe jumped away from me as if she’d been burned, pressing herself against the countertop as if to make herself invisible. Mrs. Murphy, her hand clutched to her chest after the initial nose, fought hard to smile believably. I, myself, had jumped at the unexpected sound–Connor Murphy’s curt tenor clear across the room, no where near the stairs, instead standing the doorway were we had just come from. I couldn't  quite make out his frame from here–there was a line of bodies blocking my view, my parents, Mrs. Murphy, and Zoe all formed a human barrier that constructed the divide between Connor and I. Fine by me.

“There you are!” Mrs. Murphy chirped, clearly still nervous, visibly by her shaking voice and hands, fluffing her hair to give her something to do. “You didn’t miss much, Connor, they’ve just arrived.”

My mother said something unintelligent in way of greeting, to which Conner didn’t reply, just shut the door carefully behind him to keep out the cold air. I couldn’t see his face from here, but I could make out that he was much too still for a teenage boy, much too quiet.

“–You remember her, don’t you, Connor?”

My throat closed up as the Red Sea parted, everyone’s heads turning to look between the two of us.

He didn’t move from the doormat–boots  caked in snow, as if he’d gone for a walk, and the bottoms of his skinny jeans were muddy and slick looking. Still, he didn’t shiver, which was slightly unnerving. He was skinnier than I remembered, like he hadn’t been eating, and his face was all angles. He slouched, his pink mouth which was mottled red from the cold was set in a heavy frown. His eyes, which were scanning somewhere around my waist and hadn’t come anywhere near making eye contact since he’d seen me, had blown pupils. Drugs. He was doing drugs in the middle of the afternoon.

He hadn’t cut his hair since I’d seen him last, brown curls poking out of the bottom of a black sock toboggan with a soft pompom on top. It could’ve been funny, I supposed, his rough puberty finishing to leave him left over with this, something akin to a drugged out vogue model who listened to way too much 2008 Fall Out Boy, if he didn’t seem so…unnervingly somber for someone who clearly wasn’t sober. Geez, this kid was a school shooter in the making.

I glanced back up to find him finally staring at my face, shooting an uncomfortable alertness down my spine. His eyebrows were crooked in vague amusement that didn’t seem to reach his mouth, and I felt my face heat up under his scrutiny. If he was trying to intimidate me, it wouldn’t work. I wasn’t scared of boys like him.

“Yeah, I remember her,” he grinned mirthlessly, stuffing his hands into the gut pocket of his hoodie, giving me a nod that, while meant to appease our parents, also felt like a vague threat. I didn’t smile back.

“Great! Wanna show her the room?”

Connor grinned crookedly. “Follow me, kid.”

——

The upstairs layout was just like I remembered  it–Two rooms, one main one in the first entrance with a king bed tucked in the corner, a TV and a few gaming systems with some furniture in the front, a bathroom with two doors which lead through to the other room, which held the fold out couch and television I was accustomed to using.

The Murphy kids already had their belongs strewn about the room–Zoe’s stuff animals and princess blankets eclipsing most of the bed and an ancient Nintendo DS on the table with SpongeBob stickers on the cover that I’m sure belonged to Connor–and it left me very little room to maneuver through.

Connor was silent as he lead me up, as if I didn’t know the way, but surprised me by stopping in front of the king bed, holding out his arms to signal me.

“Your room, my lady.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “This–this is your bed.”

“Not this year. Dad’s decided it’s a little too Flowers In the Attic for Zoe and I to share a bed this year–I’m on the pull out and you girls get to have your fun.” He shot me a bitter smile to let me know he wasn’t thrilled about having the pull-out–he shouldn’t be, the thing was total garbage–but surely he’d enjoy the privacy of it?

“I don’t care to take the pull-out,” I told him, keeping my bag on my shoulder despite the fact it was beginning to be painfully heavy. “If you wanna–”

“Don’t have a choice,” he said, already turning toward the bathroom to walk to his half of the loft. “The bed’s yours.”

——

So, Connor Murphy had turned out to be a total dick. It should’ve unsurprising information, I knew, but part of me still remembered him as a charismatic kid I was, at one point, friends with. Back when the three of us all slept in the king bed, before any of us ever had a zit, when we’d fall asleep in the floor watching early 1990s Pokémon episodes, because Larry Murphy didn’t like them watching it.

Even the Connor I remembered at fourteen, gangly and silent and shy with close-cropped hair felt better than this. I was past uncomfortable, sitting stiffly between he and Zoe on one of the couches in the living room. There was a faux fur blanket hanging behind us, shedding hairs onto Connor’s black jacket, which would’ve been funny if he wasn’t picking at his nails with a slightly rusted pocket knife–I notice he’d painted them, which I oddly admired. I’d kissed a boy earlier this year who painted his nails, and his palms were always soft when he’d reach up to cup my cheeks. It softened Connor in my head, just slightly.

He was careful, I saw, to stay on his side of the couch, leaning into the apex of the arm and the back of the couch rather  than flush with me, his thin legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle to avoid me. I appreciated it, but it didn’t stop me from leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, sitting on the edge of the cushion. I could still feel warmth radiating from him–it was late, and I was tired with a full stomach. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall right into him, and he’d never let me live that down.

Zoe practically was asleep, leaning forward as well with her head on my shoulder. Cynthia had let her have nearly two glasses of wine at dinner–not enough to get her drunk, but it didn’t change the fact Zoe was still lithe and young, and easily tipsy.

We’d all gone into town for a very awkward dinner–I was just thankful to be placed between my father and Zoe, in a position on the opposite end of the table from Connor, who was stuck in between Larry and Cynthia, looking as if he were in a permanent time out.

Now we were gathered around the coffee table in the cabin, the seven of us hunched over a tiny photo album that I couldn’t really make out from here. There were fuzzy polaroids of us as children, looking nothing like we did now. Connor and I at six, soaked from romping in a sprinkler. Zoe and Connor sharing a chocolate icecream cone, their faces covered in the brown spatter.

“You were all so small,” Mrs. Murphy crowed with a choked voice, covering half her face with her hand in a faux attempt to eclipse the emotion. “Oh, I miss it. You kids used to spend so much time together! Now we only get together for break, and Zoe is so busy there’s hardly enough time for her to spend quality time with her sweet brother.”

Zoe snorted loudly, earning a glare from Mr. Murphy I was positive I wasn’t supposed to see. I snuck a glance at Connor, whose face betrayed no emotion, just staring blankly ahead in the direction of the album. From his position, I was positive he couldn’t see more than the chipped leather cover of the book. Even if he leaned forward, he wouldn’t have been able to see much.

My mother and Mrs. Murphy went out in loud voices in a seamless attempt to pretend the seemingly secret interaction had taken place, so, while the focus was shifted, I turned my attention to Connor.

He didn’t cock an eyebrow this time when he caught me staring, instead just furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me, as if he expected me to speak.

“Can you see?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the book.

“I’m fine,” he said immediately–vaguely irritating, I’d admit, but nonetheless understandable. I was sure Cynthia Murphy had spent most of her life making sure Connor was comfortable at all times. Still, this was my olive branch, in an attempt to make this trip a little more tolerable, and Zoe seemed less than likely to console her brother at this point.

“We can change seats, I’m not really looking,” I promised, sitting forward more in my seat to show that I was ready to make the change.

“I’m fi–”

Connor was cut off by a squeal from his mother, who had tossed the book into our laps. It had taken a great deal of squinting, letting my heartbeat slow before I realized she’d been showing us something and not trying to kill some giant bug between us.

The polaroid was grainy, an ivory hue that whitewashed the photo and the years of existence made the picture hard to decipher at first, especially when we were so tired. The time stamp was from the late nineties, glowing yellow in the corner of the frame. I recognized the gilded tub from upstairs that dominated half the bathroom, big enough for three adults easily.

Connor threw to book onto my lap first, like it had scalded him. I should’ve done the same, but it took me a moment. To see, to adjust, to read and understand what was so socially condemning about the photo.

It was Connor, I realized first, small and tanned with bony ribs and chunky fingers and the apples of his cheeks straining against his baby skin. His hair was cropped so short, it looked almost silly. Beside him was me, my hair wild and tangled, curled as if my mother had teased it for dinner. My wide eyes were blazing, much too big for my face, and I was grinning with wet lips at the camera.

We were in the tub, surrounded by big pink bubbles.

We were very, very naked.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal–not really, unless you counted the fact that if this had been printed, our parents would be arrested for child porn. I was mostly covered, sitting beside Connor, my shoulders hunched forward. But Connor was standing, meaning the camera got a very decent view of–

“What the fuck, Mom!” He screaming, standing and ripping the book off my lap. Cynthia’s tittering died immediately, the hands covering her laughed instead covered her horrified face.

This was how it started, I realized.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he growled, tossing the book across the room, banging against the wooden wall with a heavy whomp.  

“That’s enough, Connor,” Larry Murphy growled low in his throat. Cynthia’s head was downcast, her eyes wide and wet. I recognized the emotion immediately–she shut down with conflict the same way Connor did.

“You don’t get to laugh at me for shits and giggles this whole trip,” Connor said, already lunging up the stairs, his hands shaking. “If I wanted to feel shitty, I’d have a conversation with you.”

So much for having a quiet trip.
——
Zoe wasn’t quiet in her gossip about Connor–his door was fashioned shut, I saw, and I doubt he’d come out for the rest of the night. I was positive he could hear his sister’s loud comments from our room.

“Sorry, he’s such an ass,” Zoe groaned, stretching on the bed, her little lilac nightgown shifting across her thighs. “I think his high is wearing off or something–don’t let it bug you. You don’t have to be nice to him, by the way. I’m not gonna let him hurt you.”

I shrugged, noncommittal. “We were friends once. I’m not gonna be mean, he’s never done anything to me.”

Zoe snorted. “You didn’t just see that? He’s a monster, and it gets worse.”

“He just has a temper. Everyone gets like that sometimes.”

I wasn’t sure why I was defending Connor–half because I didn’t want Zoe to tell Connor I disliked him, then he’d actively terrorize me–half because I had no idea why Connor Murphy was so pissed off. It was just a picture. Yeah, embarrassing, I’ll admit I wasn’t too thrilled about eighteen year old Connor Murphy seeing my nipples, and I’ll admit he definitely had the worst end of the stick.

“He loses his shit like that all the time,” Zoe said. “It’s not just a temper.”

“He’s your brother, Zoe,” I reminded gently, brushing out my hair in the bathroom mirror. “Can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“He’s no brother of mine,” she whispered, rolling over on the bed and clicking off the light.

——

The next few days passed as the usually did–the adults going places without us, albeit romantic and boring, and leaving the three of us to wander about the town below the mountain crests. It was Zoe’s turn to pick the day’s activity, and she’d chosen the mall.

The place was all dark oak, and hadn’t been remodeled since the late seventies at the earliest. Zoe was chipper, balancing a bag of organic soap and bath bombs on her lap that she’d bought at a local shop, pouring over the cheese fries between us on a plastic red tray.

Connor had also been well-behaved since his outburst several days ago, albeit quiet. He’d separated from us the second we’d arrived, holed out in some record store. Zoe was thrilled to be rid of him, and very vocal about it. I was bored out of my mind.

“Don’t look now,” Zoe said brightly, despite her face suddenly shifting into a mask of disinterest. She bit down on her lip, covered in a pink glitter lipgloss she’d applied much too liberally, and pulled on her pretty auburn braid. “There’s some boys two tables behind us checking you out.”

I felt my face get hot. “You’re lying.”

“Nuh-uh,” Zoe said, leaning into take a sip of her milkshake, biting down on the straw–the look on her face told me she’d got their attention.

“How old are they?” I hissed. The last thing we needed were some creeps following us around the mall–this was how sex trafficking started. Surely Zoe knew that this was a huge red flag.

It was clear from her overzealous wave she didn’t.

I felt a hand on the back of my chair before I saw them–to Zoe’s credit, they were pretty. Both in thick denim blue jeans, both in letterman jackets over white tee-shirts. One was tall, skinny, with pretty dark skin and hair cropped close to his head. The other was a little thicker, pale and short, in badly need from a shave. They were smiling brightly at the two of us in a way that was less awestruck and more closely resembled a triumphant conquest.

“Hello, ladies,” the shorter man greeted, grinning like a shark between Zoe and I. His hair was dark, curling around his temples–handsome, maybe my age, maybe ten years older. It was impossible to tell. There were lines around his eyes that either indicated he smiled too much or was simply older. “What are two cute girls like you doing inside on a day like this–the ski lift is just a walk down the road.”

“We’re here shopping with our brother,” I said immediately, giving a grin. The taller boy quirked his eyebrows at me–his eyes, I noticed, were dark with tawny flecks hidden in them.

“That’s cool,” he said to me, switching places so that the other boy could be closer to Zoe. They both pulled chairs up to our table, facing us. My stomach pinched uncomfortably. “Where’s he at?”

“Nike,” I lied, seeing the sign from the distance and knowing very well that Hot Topic, while probably true, didn’t exactly invoke fear.

“Ah,” he said with a grin, his eyes glancing down at my bare arm with a grin. With two slim fingers, he reached forward to pluck at my woven bracelet Zoe had made me a few nights ago, my name in block letter strung across the twine. His hands were uncomfortably hot, and I drew my arm back into my lap. “Aren’t you cold?” He nodded to my bare arms. I’d left my flannel with Connor, who was sitting on a bench at the time–I hoped he remembered to grab it. I was just wearing a striped cotton tee right now, and my arm had broken out in a case of goosebumps, though I wasn’t sure it was from the cold.

“I’m fine,” I said, careful not to meet his gaze. He was pretty, and if I wasn’t careful, I might end up going somewhere with this guy.

“You know,” he began, and I could hear his grin turn predatory. “You’re very pretty.”

A jolt shot down my spine–I wasn’t pretty, not really, which terrified me. I could hear what the other boy was whispering to Zoe, but I could tell that all the stars were gone from her eyes. She looked pale, panicked. These weren’t the kind of boys we needed to hanging around with.

“I know,” I said quickly. “We really need to call our brother–”

“I think he can wait long enough for me to get your number, right?”

Across the table Zoe laughed, too loudly, pushing back and standing from her chair. She was grinning at the dark haired boy, beckoning her to follow with a jerk of her chin.

“Zoe–”

“We’re gonna run to get some coffee, okay? Connor should be back soon, don’t wait up.”

She didn’t meet my heavy glare for long, and didn’t turn around when I yelled her name. I watched in silent horror as the boy put his hand flush with her lower back.

I was alone.

The panic crept onto the back of my neck long before his thin fingers did. He smelled like cinnamon, strongly, like he’d done one too many sprays with his cologne that morning. When I turned to face him, his tawny eyes were asking.

“Is this the part where you say you’ve got a boyfriend?” He grinned, his teeth blindingly bright in his tan face. He was so close I could see the threads on the collar of his letterman jacket–it looked soft.

There was a possibility, I realized, that they weren’t dangerous. That I was just being paranoid–Zoe wasn’t stupid, and she wouldn’t go off with a strange boy unless she was sure it was safe. Still, they were definitely in college.

And boy, were they pretty.

“I do have a boyfriend, actually,” I said, lifting my chin to meet his gaze so he wouldn’t think I was lying. There was a small voice in the back of my head, screaming, raised on her tip toes that I should just take this plunge–let him hold my hand or kiss him or whatever he wanted to do, because this was a shitty trip and I deserved to be as reckless as the Murphy kids were allowed. I didn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t.

Besides, you know, the obvious.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend?” He asked, biting back a smirk. I felt the voice in the back of my head get sucker punched by my ego. So, he didn’t think I was pretty after all. Which meant he was dangerous.

Which meant Zoe was in trouble.

“Yes,” I growled, standing, yelping a bit when his hand snaked up to grab at my wrist, nearly breaking my bracelet and keeping me bent over the table.

“Let go,” I hissed–the food court was nearly deserted, and the family in the corner was carefully avoiding my eyes. I wasn’t sure I had the voice to scream.

“I don’t believe you have a boyfriend.”

“Let go, or I’ll scream,” I warned, yanking on my arm. He let go immediately, holding his hand high above his head, which I knew was meant as a gesture of calm, but instead looked an awful lot like he intended to strike me.

“Where’s your boyfriend, then?” He taunted loudly, thrilled to see no one in the court coming to my aid. I felt sick, the panic rising in my chest. Where was Zoe? She was in trouble. I was in trouble. I was going to have to scream–

“He’s right here.”

My arm flailed, immediately cocking back in an attempt to elbow in the stomach whoever had wrapped their arm around my neck, their other spidery hand snaking just slightly under the hem of my t-shirt to splay across my hip, finger tips barely brushing my skin above my jeans. The arms were strong, vice like, pressing me against a hard body, and suddenly I felt limp, panic leaving me as I realized whose familiar smell I was enveloped in.

Hair grazed across my cheekbone, and I could make out the dark locks if I looked out the corner of my eye, and I nearly yelped when I felt lips press chastely against my temple.

I couldn’t make out much of the boy anymore, my eyes level with Connor’s adams apple from where he was pressing me against him.

“Babe,” Connor said cooly, calmly, making my knees knock against his. “Who’s this?”

“H-he’s leaving,” I managed to stutter out, barely a whisper, my voice hoarse. I sounded terrified. No wonder this ass in the letterman jacket hadn’t be intimated by me, I sounded about as frightening as a kitten. Connor pressed his fingers against the nape of my neck, tilting my head against his jugular so that I couldn’t see anything but the pale column of his throat and his dark hair. It was getting difficult to breathe–I felt sick. He moved his hand to wrap around my waist, yanking me tightly to him.

“You heard her,” Connor said, again stoic–half of me wished I could see his face, but the other half knew it would be terrifying. Connor’s temper was legendary and destructive–to see him so angry wouldn’t make the fist in my gut unclench. “Go. Take your friend with you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then two. I couldn’t hear much but my own shaky breathing, warm and wet against Connor’s neck, his hair making the space much too hot. I wasn’t aware I had knotted my fingers into his shirt until he started walking, dragging my stumbling form forward with him. He was going fast, too fast for me to keep up, and my chest could only rise so far before deflating painfully.

“You gotta breathe,” he grunted, one of his arms still around me. His face felt hot against me.

“Z-zoe!” I choked out, realizing I had no idea where she was. She could still be with that boy, be in danger–

“Oh, Christ,” he exclaimed bitterly, letting go and beginning to trudge forward. I was terrified briefly, suddenly overwhelmed with the fact I didn’t know where I was. There was a Game Stop, and a Victoria’s secret, the neon lighting combined with the screaming toddlers and the kissing teens and Connor was leaving

An arm swept up from behind me, leading me just as quickly, mumbling something I couldn’t make out into my ear.

“Zoe!” I grinned, immediately feeling safer, feeling my fear melt away just smidgen in my gut.

“I’m so so sorry I left,” she sobbed. “I went looking for a cop, but I found Connor first and I told him you were in trouble–”

“It’s fine,” I said immediately, surprised that my voice was no longer wet. “Thanks, Zoe.”

I was calm, or, at least calmer by the time we reached the van. Connor was waiting by the passenger side door, which was opened, leaning against a scratch in the silver paint. He wasn’t looking at us, instead appearing to observe the silver snowflakes as they fell.

My reflection in the side mirror revealed my face was red and blotchy, not just from the cold wind. I felt gross–guilty for the fact I hadn’t been able to defend myself and Zoe, guilty for the fact Connor Murphy was the one who had to come to my rescue, and guilty for the fact I’d cried all over him. His zipped up hoodie seemed to have escaped the mess, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel awful. 

He stepped out of the way when I made it close, gesturing for me to get in the passenger side door while glaring at the ground. I was only vaguely surprised, and followed along immediately. Zoe and I almost always rode together in the back. I let Connor shut the door, ignoring the disgusted look Zoe gave as she got into the back.

Connor hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, surprising me with a costume change, reappearing in only a forest green tee. He held out his hoodie to me, balled up in one of his fists without looking at me, before just tossing it into my lap.

“I–”

“I left your flannel in the back. Put that on or you’ll freeze.”

He licked his lips, staring coldly out the front window, before starting the car. I swallowed. Yeah, he definitely hated me.

“Okay.”

——

“You’re sure you’re alright, honey?” My mother asked for the third time. Her hair was tied up, her pink bathrobe covering little of her cleavage and bare legs. She was cradling a wine bottle in her hands, looking at me in faux concern.

I gave her a soft smile. “I’m fine,” I lied. I’d calmed considerately. Connor and Zoe had both agreed I needed to shower to wash off the panicked look on my face–I’d asked them to keep the days happenings a secret. They’d reluctantly agreed.

She gave me a clipped smile. “Maybe you should go to bed early, yeah? That’s what I plan to do.”

I nodded, scratching at my bare leg. I’d taken advantage of Zoe’s absense and changed into boxer shorts and an oversized tee with a kitten on the front–she and Cynthia had headed into town for the night, spending the night at a spa and would be gone for a few days, and my father had taken his annual ‘me time’ and booked a hotel downtown to do his own thing. I think Mr. Murphy went with him, but regardless, he was out of the house. It was just me and my mother.

And Connor. I tried not to think about it. I planned on offering him the big bed tonight, in way of thanking him for today, but we hadn’t spoken much since the incident and I felt…odd. Unsure how to thank him. Unsure why he helped.

I supposed the Murphy men were just gentlemen, even under all that teen angst.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m probably gonna sit out on the balcony and then head to bed.”

She grinned. “Don’t stay out too late, it’s almost down to single digits, dear.”

I just nodded, sliding off the countertop, and slinking upstairs. I was surprised to see Connor sitting on the bed. I grinned.

He looked different, to say the least. He was still without his jacket, wearing only his tee and jeans, and little pair of socks with stars on them, which did seem a little out of character, but I assumed Cynthia bought them. His head perked when he saw me, simply craning his neck, keeping his shoulders bowed forward over his body.

He looked small, I realized. He didn’t look like a boy who punched holes in walls or scared off very big very scary men in shopping mall food courts. He looked like a vogue model with a little too much innocence.

He gave me a grin with no teeth, and it didn’t quite meet his eyes, but I gave him a sheepish smile back.

“Hey,” I greeted, tugging on my top to cover my shorts a little better–Connor Murphy didn’t have any interest in seeing my thighs. Despite all the panic, I’d been playing over and over in my head the comment the boy in the mall had made, incredulous that I had a boyfriend. It was silly to let it sting me, considering he probably wanted to stuff me in a van, but it crippled me nonetheless.

“Hey,” he greeted back, not rising from the bed.  I waited for him to speak again, and when he said nothing, I continued.

“I, uh, meant to say, since Zoe’s gone, you can have the big bed like good old times.”

He frowned. “I don’t need the bed.”

“I don’t either,” I promised, leaning against the banister. “Plus,” I sighed, scratching at the back of my head. “I’m not entirely sure how to thank you for today. I’d probably be selling for a low ball price on the dark web right now, if it wasn’t for you. So, thanks.”

Connor was still frowning. “You’ve had a really rough day. You should take the bed.”

“No,” I insisted, beginning to get frustrated. “I’m really okay, I promise. I can’t give you anything else, take the bed.”

His dark eyebrows knit together quickly, licking his lips again nervously. “I don’t–”

“Plus,” I cut him off again with a curt laugh. “I owe you for your Oscar performance. That was crazy, you know. I can’t believe you fooled him into thinking a guy like you would be with a girl like me.”

His head snapped up. “A guy like me?” He reiterated coldly. I felt my face grow hot.

“You know,” I said quietly.

“Know what?”

“That you’re cool,” I muttered. “And nice looking. And I’m not.”

I was thankful for the warm lighting in the room, concealing my red face. It was already dark out, the blinds drawn tightly. Connor’s fists clenched in the white lace comforter on the bed. I didn’t want him to feel bad for me, and I sort of regretted saying it. Connor had already seen me blubbering today and he didn’t need my shitty teen angst to deal with.

He bit down on his lower lip, staring coldly at the ground before murmuring, “I need a shower. Take the bed.”

I shook my head. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

He just nodded, rising from the bed. “Don’t get too far. It’s cold out.”

Connor shut the bathroom door behind him, and I was left feeling like a total idiot. I could hear the shower running before I left, snagging Connor’s grey jacket from my bed post and sliding it on. I went down the stairs, sliding out the first door to the outside, stepping out onto the first floor balcony. I made a mental note to the shut the blinds later, before walking around to the front of the cabin.

I should’ve been thrilled to be alive, I realized, snorting at how melodramatic that sounded. Still, as I burrowed deeper into Connor’s jacket, watching my thighs turn red from the cold, I realized that I was shrouded in a veil of melancholy I wouldn’t be able to shake off.

I missed Connor. I missed being his friend. I missed him coming over for play dates when we were kids, gauzy fairy wings strapped to our backs, jumping on a trampoline when Zoe was still to young to participate. I missed writing him letters, like a pen pal, despite the fact he only lived on the opposite side of town. Going to different schools hadn’t deterred us, for a while, at least. We had sleepovers every birthday, and Zoe told the best scary stories. I remembered hiding under Connor’s bed with him, a hand clasped over my mouth so Zoe wouldn’t hear our breathing.

I remembered kissing him when we were in kindergarten, ridiculously late at night, a quick smack on the lips during a game of pretend. I’d kissed Zoe, too, when we were probably much too old for it, but thinking of Connor tugged on my chest.

It stopped as we turned twelve, I realized. I never saw him–he was still playing little league, and I stopped coming to his games to pick dandelions with Zoe. He was beginning to get teased. My parents insisted the slumber parties should stop, we were too old. Every time Connor and I were together at birthdays or Christmas parties, adults would joke about when we’d fall in love, how soon would it be before we got married. We avoided each other like the plague, unless we knew we could be alone. And we were never alone.

Connor hid inside himself. Zoe made fun of him at parties, loudly. I kept quiet.

He stopped calling during the summer months. He never rode his bike by my house. The only time I saw Connor Murphy was the annual ski trip.

I missed him. He’d been a childhood friend, and I’d let him go without a second thought to save myself some shred of dignity, like it wouldn’t be ripped away from me regardless.

Connor Murphy was nothing to be ashamed of.

And now it was too late to be his friend.

It had started to snow again, so I wiped my face and rose, walking the opposite way I had come, skirting the stairs–they led to the upstairs, but only to Connor’s room, and I didn’t plan to barge in uninvited, especially if he was still in the shower, two rooms blocked me from getting to the king bed, so I’d have to walk all the way around the house.

The lights were out, I saw, but again no one had bothered to close the blinds. The television might have been on, a dim blue glow resounding onto the leather couch–

I froze.

As it turned out, my mother hadn’t gone to bed. The television was on, showing some late show with some old white man making cracks about some politician I didn’t care for, casting the blue haze onto the coffee table, revealing the wine bottle my mother had been cradling. Two empty glasses sat on the table–my mother’s bathrobe crinkled on the floor.

I was disgusted in a comedic way, just for a moment, to see my mother in her nightgown kissing my father, who my brain had filled in under the assumption he’d arrived back.

I’d begun backing up to the stairs, Connor Murphy’s naked body be damned, when I realized my father’s car had never pulled up, and I’d been on the front porch the whole time.

A better look in the window revealed a man a little older, a little more gray and a little more handsome than my father.

I was sprinting by the time Larry Murphy had begun to peel his shirt off his back.

I didn’t knock by the time I’d made it to Connor’s room, just threw open the door, struggling to get my breathing under control. I stumbled to the pull out couch, dragging the sheets up around my freezing legs. I was in shock, I knew, and I needed to calm down before Connor came in–the bathroom door was shut, but I couldn’t hear the shower anymore, despite the steady trickle of steam coming through the cracks. I was trapped in this room until Connor came out.

My mother was cheating on my father Larry Murphy. Larry Murphy was cheating on his wife with my mother. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it, I had to have made it up, this had to be a dream–

“What are you doing in here?”

It was an exclamation, alarmed, grasping a towel tight with thin white knuckles.

Connor. Connor in a towel. Connor wet with slick hair and chest hair and navel and hip bones. Connor Murphy, son of Larry Murphy, who had his tongue down my mom’s throat–

“Hey, breathe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

By the time my eyes snapped back into focus, Connor was struggling to pull on grey basketball shorts without dropping his towel, and I dropped my gaze back to my shaking hands, almost startlingly red from the temperature change and what was most likely shock. I was hyperventilating, struggling to smother the sobs. I knew this deep in the house, they probably wouldn’t hear me–they were most definitely preoccupied anyway. 

The bed dipped, and Connor’s bare side brushed my thigh. I didn’t mean to jerk back, but I did, clinging to the arm of the couch and staring horrified–Connor looked almost hurt, but mostly panicked. I tried to calm down, for his sake.

“S-sorry!” I sobbed. “Sorry! I-I-I didn’t mean–I didn’t mean–I didn’t–I–”

“Hey, stop, breathe. You gotta breathe. Go slow, okay? Stop tryna talk,” he commanded, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t gonna hurt me, readjusting so that he sat up on his knees, leaning  over me to take my hands, rubbing them between his own despite the claminess.

I avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the dip of his collar bone, surprised to see thin lines of chest hair, wet and plastered to his chest. He was skinny, and I could see his ribs despite the tiny stomach roll from where he folded in the middle. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles across the backs of my hands, and for a moment, I didn’t think. I could’ve forgotten everything and fallen asleep right here with him.

He pulled my hands against his chest, cradling mine in his own, pulling me forward, asking with his slate eyes if it was alright.

I pretended we were friends.

“You wanna talk about that?” He asked very softly, looking down at where our hands were clasped against him–he was warm, his skin pink and hot from the shower. He’d combed his hair back out of his face, and it was almost cute like that. “If it’s about today, I promise you’re safe, alright? I wasn’t gonna let that guy hurt you.”

My heart sunk in my chest, nearly restarting my panic attack. I shook my head.

Connor deserved to know.

I was scared, briefly, that it would set him off. He might yell at me, throw things, kick me out of the room. He might hit me.

I didn’t care. He had a right to know.

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head. “N-no.”

“Did something happen on your walk? Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“What? Trouble back home–your boyfriend break up with you or something?”

“My mom–” I started, voice breaking, feeling fresh tears of shock on my cheeks.

His eyebrows furrowed, tightening his grip on my hands. “Is she okay? She–”

I saw it in slow motion–his jaw unclenched, eyebrows relaxing from their set, pouted mouth turning down. It was calm. It was knowing.

“You saw them,” he said very softly, letting my hands fall back into his lap. I was too shocked to move them away from his thighs.

“You knew,” I spat–an accusation. I hadn’t meant to make it one.

Connor scrubbed at his eyes roughly, flopping onto his back against the bed. Frustrated.

“I was tired of my dad reading my fucking emails, so I hacked into his–I only saw a few. I didn’t want to see anymore.”

I paled, feeling nauseous. “So it’s happened before?” I choked.

He swallowed. “That was two summers ago.”

“Fuck,” I hissed uncharacteristically, surprised to find Connor stretching out an arm to me. I took his hand with a firm grip. “How long before then.”

He shrugged. “Maybe our whole lives. Maybe before. I’m not sure, angel.”

I nodded, secretly pleased that he was so calm. It kept me level, grounded, watching where our hands were linked.

“What do we do?” I choked. “I have to tell my dad. He deserves to know.”

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Everything would change. He’d tell my mom.”

I bit down on my lip, folding down onto my back to lay down beside Connor. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Connor sighed, scratching at my hand tenderly with his black painted nails. “I’m not sure that my mom and Zoe could handle the news–it’s not like they’d turn to me. They’d be alone. Zoe might even take my dad’s side.”

I groaned, stealing my hands to scrub at my eyes. My wet hair was beginning to dry in a tangled mess.

“This is too much,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side to face Connor, staring at his bare, freckled shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. If I can do anything.”

I jumped a foot out of my skin when he placed a hand at the corner of my jaw, brushing the tangled hair back out of my face. “You don’t have to think about it right now. You’ve had a really long fucking day. You should sleep.”

I didn’t want to sleep–I didn’t want Connor to leave. I didn’t know how to say that.

I couldn’t believe that everyone had tried to desperately to convince me Connor Murphy was a bad boy–fuck them, Connor Murphy was good. He was better than everyone in this cabin combined.

He cared about me.

I caught his wrist, which froze in my grasp, but I just took his bony hand and cradled it between my hands the same way he’d done mine, tracing the lines across his palm. He sucked  in a sharp breath.

“Okay,” I said, and he smiled, moving away. I let go of his hand.

“I just have to turn off the light. Get comfy.”

His retreating footsteps filled my stomach with dread, but nevertheless I unzipped his jacket and draped it on top of the blanket so that it would at least keep my feet warm. Pulling the pillow tight behind my head, I was pleased to find it sort of smelled like Connor’s shampoo as the light clicked off. It left me feeling a little more safe. Ironic, I realized. I was in the middle of a wilderness, I’d almost been abducted, my mother was downstairs ruining our family, and all I could find myself to be worried about was if Connor would be okay.

The bed dipped behind me, shocking me into stillness, surprising me even more when someone lifted the sheet and slid in behind me, a bony hand resting on my hip.

“This okay?” He asked, and I dared to open my eyes to meet his. They were unsure, nervous. He was scared I’d reject him. I nodded, scooting closer.

“It really will be okay, you know,” he assured. “Whatever you choose, I’m gonna be with you.”

“You’re amazing,” I said without thinking, but being entirely sincere. Even in the dark, I saw his eyes go wide and his cheeks tinge a deep magenta in his pale face.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I assured with a laugh, reaching across the divide to poke at his side, slightly surprised to still find him shirtless. He’d withdrawn his hand almost immediately, keeping respectfully to his side of the bed. “I’d be dead without you. And you’ve supported me this whole way.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched, freeing one of his arms to pick at the wrinkled sheets between us. “I just, fuck, I knew you’d hear some shit, but I was hoping you’d be able to come out here and we could start over again, like before? Zoe started her smear campaign almost immediately. I just, fuck, nevermind.”

I watched him withdraw, turning over with his back to me, the pale plains of his back bared to me.

“Con,” I said very softly. “I don’t care what they say–fuck them,” I laughed, watching Connor’s shoulders shake. “I think you’re good, Connor, and I miss being your friend.”

I watched with bated breath as his back rose and fell with his steady breath in the cold room, his skin radiating heat. I shifted closer, crossing the divide between us. He didn’t respond.

I didn’t sleep.

——

I was alerted late in the day by a noise–it was daylight, I noted, the clock on the bedside table reading it was almost noon. I was groggy, still in the state between sleep and consciousness. The room was shrouded in a bright grey hue from the winter wonderland outside–it had snowed a significant amount, apparently, and the white fluff stuck hopelessly to the window.

At the foot of the bed, Connor was on his knees, pulling a navy sweater over his head. It was tight, with a stretched collar and holes at the hem, but he looked good in it. His hair was frizzed at the temples, and his eyes were wide when we saw me.

“You’re awake.”

I just nodded, a little embarrassed. Part of me hoped Connor would just let last night drop, and we could continue our indifference toward each other, but most of me felt as if we had an unfinished conversation to attend to.

“Is anyone back yet?” I asked, surprised as Connor came to sit in front of me, legs crossed kindergarten style. He shook his head.

“No, actually. No one came back from their trip, and the lovebirds have miraculously vanished for a ski day. It’s just me and you.”

“Oh.”

Connor seemed unsure for a moment, brushing his hands off on his pants. “I’m sorry, um, about last night? I should’ve asked first if it was okay to sleep next to you, I just–I know you said you missed being friends, so I thought–”

“It was nice,” I cut him off with a smile that was nearly all false bravado. “Warm. I really do miss hanging out with you.”

He pursed his lips in way of a smile. “Me too. Miss having friends, period, but you’re kinda great, so–I’ll shut up.”

Stretching, I groaned with the sensation and smiled widely at him. “We can be friends again, don’t you think?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. When my vision cleared, he was sitting by my feet, eyes downcast.

“It’s kinda lame, isn’t it?” He asked, sending ice down my spine.

“What, I’m not cool enough for you?” I teased half heartedly, despite feeling slightly sick. If Connor left now, I’d be marooned on this island I’d made for myself, and it wasn’t ideal knowing I no longer had any allies.

“No! That’s not what I–no, fuck, I just meant. Don’t you like Zoe better?”

I shook my head. “I like Zoe–but I liked you first.”

“Yeah, I liked the Teletubbies first, doesn’t mean I prefer them to Death Cab for Cutie.”

I snorted. “Okay, I like you best. You’re both really similar, you know, but you’re kinder.”

He shot me a glare, which I supposed I’d earned. “Liar.”

“Can’t lie,” I protested. “And I like you better. Get used to it.”

He swallowed, shifting on the bed and looking at me again as if grappling to say something. His eyebrows were pinched in the middle, making him look slightly worried, small. I watched the way his mouth bowed as he opened and closed it, my eyes tracing over his soft lips.

He was pretty, I realized, in a way I wouldn’t have considered before.

“What about when you leave?” He asked softly, scratching his arm absently.

I frowned. “What about it?”

“We won’t see each other again.”

I smiled. “Connor, you just live on the other side of town. I do own a car.”

He frowned. “You’d come to see me?”

“If you wanted me to,” I answered honestly. “Or we could go do stuff. It doesn’t make me any difference–whatever you want, I’m game for.”

His eyebrows took a sharp hike into his hairline. “Whatever I want, huh?”

My stomach clenched nervously–decidedly a good kind of nervous. I didn’t realize it till he placed his hand on my ankle, grinning up at me with crooked teeth and pretty eyes, that I might’ve begun to develop a small crush on him.

Which wasn’t okay.

——

“This is such bullshit.”

I cackled as Connor continued to strap on his snow boots, repeatedly tripping and losing his balance in the snow.

“C'mon, it’s fun!” I protested, pulling my sock toboggan down tighter over my ears, trudging another few slow steps through the slush. Connor was frustrated, I could tell, seeing his pink nose and ears, his breaths coming out in angry puffs of smoke.

“No,” he grunted, dragging himself up the trail a few more steps. “Video games are fun. Cartoons are fun. Cheap Internet porn is fun. Dragging my frozen ass up a mountain covered in snow for ten miles is not my idea of fun, dude.”

“It’s not ten miles,” I protested, taking a seat on a mostly clean looking rock, patting the seat beside me in condolence to Connor, giving him a much needed break. He’d agreed to go outside with me at least once to take a hike, since the Murphy kids never ever wanted to do anything that didn’t involve fried food or touristy tie dye t-shirts. We’d been going for a few hours now, and the last bench had easily been miles ago. I wanted to see where the trail ended.

Part of me was scared he’d only agreed because he thought I would break. I’d surprised myself with how calm I’d been after, well, what a nightmare this trip had been. I supposed I’d be worse once my dad got back–but he wasn’t yet, so I was content to have my last moments with Connor.

“We’ve been out here for hours, man, don’t you think we should head back before it gets dark?” He whined, leaning forward on his elbows and rubbed his hands together–he had on mittens, which was probably the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Say what you want about Connor Murphy, his aesthetic was absolutely demolished once you put him in a fire engine red puffer coat.

I sighed, glancing wistfully up the trail. I’d like to finish, but Connor was right–it was getting dark, too dangerous out for us to be out here alone. He’d humored me enough for today.

Time to go back and face reality.

I just nodded, stuffing my hands in my pockets and rising from the rock, giving a decent stretch before moving forward back down the path, Connor scurrying along beside me.

“Thanks for coming,” I said again, nudging him with my shoulder. He stumbled gracefully, grinning with a subdued force that warmed me a little, before checking me back with his shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But it wasn’t totally awful.”

I snorted. “I won’t let anyone know Connor Murphy can feel fun.”

Biting back a smile, he nudged me again. “God, please don’t. Then they might bring me back here and I’ll have to spend another two weeks with you.”

“I’m sure I’m just killing you inside,” I teased. “How dare your parents give you unfiltered access to a teenage girl.”

“Who never wears pants around the house,” he added sagely.

“And sleeps in your bed!” I choked with laughter, the bird walking along the snow path in front of us clearing the way. “God, I can’t believe I did that. I’m sorry, I was probably awful. Did I snore?”

His mouth twisted, as if trying to look indifferent but instead just failed at smothering a smile, both corners of his lips turning in a different direction.

“Not awful,” he offered, earning an embarrassed groan from me. “No! It’s cute, like a kid, I promise. You kicked the shit out of me, though.”

“You’re kidding me,” I groaned. “I’m so so sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Might be some bruises,” he grinned, to my further mortification. “Hey, nah, I’m kidding. Any damage will heal. It’s kinda funny.”

I cocked an eyebrow from where I was hiding my face behind my gloves. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it,” he said, reaching out to take my wrist, pulling one of my hands away from my face. He didn’t realize it, just held it, swinging stiffly between us as we walked. He held his breath for a moment before continuing, “I would’ve let you know if I didn’t like it.”

“Kinky,” I said upon reflex, earning a lazy kick to my ankle.

“You’re hilarious. I just meant you’re warm, maybe the bruises are worth it.”

I felt my face get hot, words forming in my belly, escaping before I could choke them back. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll kiss them better tonight, if Zoe isn’t back.”

He let go of my wrist like I’d burned him.

“Sor–”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, beginning to walk quickly ahead of me.

“What?” I screeched, frustrated.

“Don’t fake flirt with me. It’s not funny,” he spat, continuing walking too fast on his ridiculously long legs.

“Who said it was fake?” I grumbled. “I’m not making fun of you, Connor.”

There was a beat of silence, pulling at my heart with sharp claws, the dull ache starting in my chest and spreading. I’d messed up everything.

“It’s getting dark,” he growled. “And we don’t have a flashlight. Try and keep up.”

——

The panic set in at twilight.

We were running.

He was holding my hand again, dragging me roughly down the mountain, hoping desperately to see some kind of light pollution as the sun set, but there was nothing.

“We should see lights by now,” I told him. “We can see the lights from our cabin, we should see the lights now.”

“We went down the wrong side of the mountain,” he gasped, already out of breathe. I knew his lungs weren’t the best, and we’d been running for awhile now.

“There has to be something at the bottom,” I whispered hopelessly.

“There is,” he growled. “It’s called a gorge, then you climb the other mountain, and there’s the next state. Fuck, how did we get so turned around?”

“Doesn’t matter, Con,” I said hopelessly. “It’s gonna be dark soon.”

His dark eyes widened. “You aren’t sincerely suggesting we try to find shelter. In the middle of a national park.”

“I’ve got a flare gun and a flint,” I told him. “But we have to get back up out of the trees.”

“You want us to climb the mountain again?” He hissed, holding both my hands now. “Are you positive you don’t have signal?”

I nodded. “I’m really sorry, Connor.”

“Don’t be sorry. Start walking.”

——

It was an accident.

It was dark.

I had an analog watch, letting me know it was nearly nine pm. We’d found shelter just as it had started to snow–the  ground here was wet, quickly freezing into ice, and we kept slipping up on the trail. I’d set off the flare an hour ago, and, so far, nothing. The snow had begun to pick up, and we’d found a alcove between two adjacent rocks–not big, about the size of a walk in closet, but enough space for us, our bags, and a pile of wood that refused to light. It kept the snow and wind off of us, and the alcove was high enough I felt safe, with a small mouth that made me feel as if at any instant we could be trapped.

It was an accident.

“The fire won’t light,” I said again, hopelessly, watching my now bloody fingers go numb from trying desperately to get the flint to do its job. I couldn’t feel them without my gloves on.

Connor, huddled in a corner, viciously rubbed his arms in an attempt to get warm. I knew the  temperature would only drop from here. If someone hadn’t seen the flare….

“There’s no dry wood. I checked.”

“Nothing?”

“No, okay? Nothing. That’s it.”

I knew he was right–and searching now would only prove to be counter productive and dangerous. I moved our bags and the pile of firewood to the entrance, sealing us in.

“It’s gonna be pitch black soon,” I warned, watching Connor tap angrily at his phone. “You should probably save your battery. I don’t have a flashlight.”

He snorted. “You’ll bring sleeping bags and a flint, but not a flashlight?”

“It’s the emergency bag! I didn’t pack it, Connor. Make fun of it all you want, but it’s keeping us alive!”

There was a beat of silence, before he clicked his phone off, leaving us in darkness. “M sorry.”

I dragged out the single sleeping bag, stretching it out to him. “Don’t be sorry.” I felt guilty–it was my fault we were in this mess to begin with. “Wanna granola bar?”

“Save it,” he said in a clipped tone, unsure what to make of it since we were veiled in darkness. “We might need it later.” Then, softer: “What’s the plan?”

I heard him stand, and walk across the slick ice of the alcove, coming to stand beside me, his hand at my elbow.

“Well,” I said very slowly, feeling my throat get thick. “Survive the night, stay awake, and once dawn hits we head back to the other side of the mountain, if no one comes.”

“If no one comes,” he echoed, voice oddly hollow. I choked.

“It, erm, is very possible they think we just wandered off, you know? We’re teenagers,” I reminded gently. I left out the part the police would be less than willing to look–Connor had a history of running away after a bad binge.

“Fuck,” he growled.

It was an accident. It was quick, in the dark, we couldn’t see.

He reached our for me, his open palm colliding with the back of my head, yanking me tightly again his chest, my nose buried in his nylon puffer coat. I felt his other hand, too forcefully, at the small of my back, and I nearly screamed, terrified this was an episode I couldn’t control–

“We’re gonna make it outta here,” he breathed against my ear, his breath warm and humid against my freezing ears. It set off a light bulb in my brain. “We’re gonna go back home and–fucking shit, I’m gonna be a goddamn good friend to you and we’re gonna–fuck,” he hissed, his clipped voice breaking off. “I’m gonna take care of you, I’m not going anywhere.”

I let myself break open, collapsing against him, openly sobbing with regret. He stiffened, but just tightened his arms around me despite our bulky clothes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is all my fault.”

“It is not,” he hissed, shaking me a little. “We had no way of knowing this would happen. The trail looked safe.”

I just nodded, knowing that arguing would tire me out. I felt the lethargy begin to creep in my bones–Connor was warm, and it was late, and we were tired. Falling asleep meant dying.

“Get out the sleeping bag,” he said, extracting himself from me, and I heard his hands scrape along the hard rock looking for the entrance. “And I’ll look for some more blankets in the bag, see if we can’t insulate–fuck!

“What is it?” I screeched, turning, grabbing his hand to only find that my own was suddenly wet, almost sticky, and Connor pulled away with a howl. I smelled the metallic sting before I realized.

“Something cut my hand!”

“Stay away from the wall,” I warned. “Take your undershirt off, I’ll rip it up.” I felt around desperately for Connor’s phone, immediately illuminating our little cave with a blinding blue light.

The amount of blood smeared across the wall was nauseating. There was a sharp spot Connor must’ve grabbed too quickly.

He was crying, trying desperately to unzip his coat with one hand, the other dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck, I hope something doesn’t smell that,” I whispered, laying down the light and running to help him get undressed, careful of the open cut across his palm.

“I knew I was gonna get naked tonight,” he said with an unsure laugh, “I just didn’t realize it would be like this.”

My face flushed. “What, you thought I’d suck you off because we’re about to die?”

He shivered, accentuated by me ripping his white shirt down the front, exposing his blue, goosebumped skin.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and I was unsure if it was from the cold, the pain, or my foul language.

“Hope this is clean,” I muttered, wrapping a strip of his white shirt across his palm in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a good way to get an infection, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.

“I didn’t–I wouldn’t ask you to–”

“I’m not sucking you off!”

“Fuck, I just meant–hypothermia, skin to skin, I saw it in a movie–”

The phone light clicked off. I sighed, tying off the cotton bandage.

“You wanna get naked in the sleeping bag,” I finished.

“I don’t want to!” He howled. “And not naked–just, enough to stay alive, shit. It’s gonna be negative ten out here soon, I just wanna stay alive.”

“We should hurry,” I said, surprising myself by reaching out to urge him to rub at his bare chest, earning a gasp from him. “You’re gonna freeze soon. Get your pants off.”

I handed him the sleeping bag, my breath catching as I heard his belt clink to the floor, trying very hard not to think about the implications of this. How far did he expect me to undress? And, if we did get in here, it would be ridiculously tight, we might fall asleep–

“Hurry up, this bag is an icicle with one person.”

Straightening out my bra and panties (even if we were going to die, Connor Murphy did not get to cop a feel) I felt my way to the sleeping bag.

My hand on his chest, he guided my legs one at time–one by his side, one between his knees–and gently folded me down against him, uncomfortably tight as his shaking fingers zipped the sleeping bag up.

He was breathing hard against my temple, and I immediately began to sweat–between the nylon bag and the fact I felt all of Connor Murphy pressed against my chest and stomach–it was nerve wracking.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he reminded in a hoarse voice, shaking a little. I couldn’t quite figure out where his hands were.

“Don’t get a boner,” I begged, earning a beat of silence before:

“I, uh, am–I’m really trying not to,” he groaned, and I could feel how hot his face was against my temple.

“If it helps,” I said, slightly disgusted. “You can imagine our parents kissing. That really kills my fire.”

“Ew,” he said. “Please don’t.”

I grinned. “What? You don’t want me to be your hot step sister?”

Stop it,” he begged, making me laugh, pressing my face against the soft cushion of his hair, nosing at the column of his throat. He groaned a little, and I felt his fingers twitch beside my hips.

“I can’t believe their secret is going to die with us,” I sighed. “No one is ever going to know.”

“I can’t believe you’re lying on top of me in your spiderman panties, but that’s also happening, so you’d better believe it,” he sighed, hands twitching again.

“You can touch me, you know,” I breathed, a little embarrassed against his ear. “We’re gonna die anyway, might as well die comfy.”

“We won’t die,” he promised, his hands clasping over the small of my back regardless.  “Hey,” he crooned, in a soft voice I hadn’t heard before. Encouraging. “Remember sharing a sleeping bag when we were kids?”

I laughed half heartedly, remembering fully. “The thing was always full of pixie stick wrappers.”

“It was an addiction, and I have quit,” he said sagely, earning another laugh from me. I almost joked about the pot, but part of me knew it wasn’t a funny joke. It didn’t have anything to do with him. He sighed, one finger trailing up my spine. “God, I was so in love with you.”

I froze against him, my body a live wire. His hand pulled back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said tha–”

“Were you really?” I asked. I felt him smile, before leaning in to kiss my cheek, slowly, his dry lips lingering.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” he groaned. “Zoe had me convinced you were just humoring me because you knew I’d do anything for you.”

I pulled up, as far as I could (which wasn’t much) squinting to make out his face in the dark. “That wasn’t true. You were my best friend.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. God, that time when you kissed me….I’m so sorry we stopped talking. I don’t think I’m ever gonna forgive myself for that.”

“Connor,” I said very softly, reaching up to tangle my hands lightly in his hair. “If we’re gonna die…can I just….”

He surged up before I could, the nylon around us snapping taunt, squeaking in protest. Up on his elbows, his bony hands found their purchase on my bare hips, and I felt the wetness through one of the bandages–his hand was still bleeding, the idiot.

His lips were dry, and he kissed much too roughly for someone who wasn’t holding my head in place, our teeth clinking together in a way that I knew was an accident, sending my skull ringing. His eyes were squeezed shut in the darkness.

I can’t believe it took us to the brink of death for him to admit this.

God, he’s an idiot.

I reached up, pulling at his hair, holding his head to mine, his tongue licking roughly up into my mouth before breaking away–

“Boner,” he warned in a squeak, earning a loud laugh from me, collapsing against his chest.

“Not even in death, Murphy, am I sucking you off on a first or last date,” I giggled against his neck, giving him a chaste kiss there, listening to him groan. His hips canted a little, scaring me, before taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“First date, huh?” I felt him grin, followed by a yawn.

“Stay awake, Connor,” I urged, smacking him hard. “Or I’m gonna twist your nipple.”

“Kinky,” he sighed lethargically. Shit, he was gonna sleep.

“Connor–”

“Promise me this,” he sighed, nuzzling lightly against the side of my face. “If we survive the night by some miracle, and we don’t freeze to death or get eaten by bears or bleed out–you wanna kiss me again? With more clothes on? As my girlfriend?”

I leaned into his touch, tilting my head up to give him access to suck a hickey into my neck, groaning.

“Murphy, if we live, I will suck you off.”

That was the last thing I remembered.

——-

Three days later, it’s still cold. I’m not wearing much–a blue gown with shitty pink flowers, it’s made of some kind of plasticy cotton material. There’s blood under my fingernails and bruises on my neck that are almost embarrassing when I remembered how I got them. My clothes were gone.

Connor was gone.

My mother and father were leaning over my bed, the Murphy's  (minus Cynthia) are behind them. No Connor.

They explained it slowly, eyes wide. They found Connor and I nearly frozen, unconscious. Connor lost a lot of blood, they said, and he wasn’t do so well but he’d woken up several days before me.

He wouldn’t eat until they let him see me.

I’d nearly ripped out my IV to get to him.

He was wearing the same shitty hospital gown, his hair pulled back. He’s got hickies I don’t remember giving him across his collarbone that are ridiculously visible. There were purple bruises under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

“They said you were still too sick to get out of bed,” he grinned, opening his arm, and I immediately stumbled over to the thin mattress, pressing myself tightly against him. His hand is thickly wrapped in cotton, a few tubes full of a yellow brown liquid in them. He was combing my hair–which I’m sure was a rats nest–out with his free hand.

“They said the same about you.”

“We’re really lucky, you know,” I said softly, tapping at his chest. “I almost lost you.”

“Almost lost you,” he choked out, pulling away to scan my face, before grinning. “Which would’ve sucked, because you’re my only friend right now.”

“Friend?” I said, trying hard not to sound disappointed. I supposed I shouldn’t have been–what we’d done in the heat of a moment hadn’t meant anything then. It had been a lie for my humor.

It wasn’t fair.

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed. “You, um–do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

I frowned. “I mean, only if you want me to.”

He grinned, the smile splitting across his face. “It’ll suck–your parents will hate me.”

“Right now, I kind of hate my parents, so.”

“I do a lot of pot.”

“We can do something else instead,” I grinned, nudging him, having the nerve to blush.

He licked his lips, looking down at where he’d intertwined our hands. “You–you can’t fix me, you know? I’m still gonna be, you know.”

I nodded, bring his hand up to kiss across the bloody knuckles of his good hand. “I know. I promised I’d be your girlfriend, though. A promise is a promise.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you say that–because you did promise something else.”

I shook my head, rising from the bed. “The kiss is for when we have clothes on, remember.”

“I wasn’t talking about that kiss.”

Connor Murphy!

A quick Clexa AU fic list as requested by anon

This is rather chaotic as I’ve put it together real quick and I’ve plenty favorites - I might add more as I remember or as I go through my reading (some are finished, some are on-going). For now though …

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

So I don't know if you've done anything like this but could you do MC playing a dating sim and RFA gets jealous of her gushing over her favorite boy?

Haha, this one was so fun to write! Hope you like them~


Zen:

  • He noticed you’ve been on your phone a lot lately
  • But then he passed behind you one day and saw a lot of drawings
  • He asked if you were reading something, but you just calmly reply you’re playing a game
  • When he sees a picture of a pretty boy come on the screen, he gets ruffled
  • “What kind of game is that?” 
  • “Ninja Ninja! It’s a dating sim where you can find out their backstories and stuff.”
  • He couldn’t believe it….the guy had red eyes too!
  • Throughout the week, every time you were on your phone, he’d always ask if you were playing “that game” again
  • When you finally thought he was going to stop, he joins you at the breakfast table
  • Wearing a full ninja costume
  • You start laughing and asked where he got it from
  • “Oh, it’s from an old play of mine. They let me keep the costume. I figured I’d bring it out since you’ve been into ninjas lately.”
  • He won’t take it off until you stop playing the game

Yoosung:

  • There had been an LOLOL event that week, so he’d been gaming a lot
  • He was still trying to be mindful when you were there, but you seemed pretty relaxed about it
  • He knew something was up when he asked for one more round and you said you didn’t mind
  • When he stops, he crawls next to you and asks what you’re doing on your phone
  • He sees it’s a game and asks what it’s about
  • “Kissed by the Baddest Baker! It’s a dating sim. I’m on the cookie route. Isn’t this guy cute?” 
  • Oh no…Yoosung’s feeling prickly again
  • “Is this to get back at me? I promise I won’t play LOLOL for a week!”
  • You assure him it’s just a fun game
  • He thought you were done after the route, but wait…there’s other routes?!
  • He gets so jealous, so he throws on an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” and just stands in front of you
  • You oblige and kiss him…but he still finds you playing later
  • “It’s the last route, Yoosung. I promise!”

Jaehee:

  • Let’s be honest, she plays those too
  • But you didn’t know
  • One day she catches you playing “Midnight Mulan” and you just nervously chuckle
  • “I can explain–”
  • “I’m on Shang’s route.” 
  • She gives you walkthroughs or hints when you need it
  • Sometimes, to destress, you two will play together and read all the characters in funny voices
  • It really just ends up in giggle fits because you two are ridiculous

Jumin:

  • You were busy playing with Elizabeth when your phone dinged
  • You asked Jumin to check it, thinking it was just a text
  • “What is Queen’s Wardrobe?” 
  • “Oh! That’s just a dating sim I play.”
  • You can basically feel the tension reverberating off of him
  • You have to explain it’s just a game and show him how it works
  • He doesn’t understand why, but he’s okay with it
  • You notice he asks a lot of questions about it…but you can hear the jealous undertones
  • The questions grow more specific when you start smiling
  • “Oh, the guy whose route I’m on just bought the MC a cafe.”
  • He’s silent for a moment and then takes a deep breath
  • You intervene right away, “No, Jumin! Please don’t get a cafe!”


Seven:

  • He noticed a new notification sound on your phone that would go off around every two hours
  • You would disappear a few minutes and then come back
  • He thinks nothing of it until you’re in the store and another girl had the same sound go off
  • You and the girl exchange glances and laugh is this a girl code?
  • He prepares himself, and when the notification goes off, he grabs the phone before you can
  • “What is Eerie Emails?”
  • You have to explain that it’s a dating sim set up like a messenger app with chats every two hours
  • You start showing him the character
  • He points to the one with the glasses (which you say is your favorite)
  • “This looks like me!”
  • “Really? I don’t think so.” 
  • When he finds out that your favorite character has a conflict with his twin sister, he’s so done
  • He keeps making the server crash
  • You get disappointed every time the app crashes and ask if he can fix it
  • He just shrugs, “Why don’t you ask your mysterious IT guy?”

Check out our other headcanons~ Masterlist

Listen, if they do another potc movie (very likely bc of that after credits scene) I want it to be centered around the Turners. Hear me out:

I want Will to set off to put down Davy once and for all, probably searching out Jack first (*eunuch joke here*), and Jack doing his whole “why should I?” coy routine which ends up with him agreeing (bc lets face it, he’s practically watched this guy grown into a man and you can’t tell me he doesn’t care about him one some level AND the fact that Davy Jones is gonna be ten times worse than Salazar ever hoped he could be and if he’s coming for Will on the mere account that he was the one who ‘stabbed’ the heart, while dying I may add, what would he do to Jack, who was the one who actually DID the stabbing??) and the original crew going “It’s Will!!1!” while Jack just roles his eyes in the background and gripes to the monkey.

Now lets talk about Henry, because lord knows that boy is obsessed with lore and legend and you can be sure he’s gonna find out where Will’s going somehow, and he’s gonna know exactly who Davy Jones is and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go along. “I lost my father once and….” etc, etc. He’ll probably think he’s being helpful the sweet summer child. I mean, he could be, but I’m not too sure Will is gonna agree.

Then things get messy, because we ALL know that where Davy Jones is, Calypso isn’t far behind. I mean, she’s probably even the reason he’s back in the first place. ‘Love can’t be separated’ and all that. And if they’re gonna stretch out this franchise even more I expect a Calypso and Davy team up even more epic than last time tbh.

Let’s talk about Pirates, because we know they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed. Somewhere along the lines, they’re gonna run into something they can’t figure out, or get into a battle they can’t finish.

This is where I want Elizabeth to come in. Because Elizabeth is still the Pirate King. And I’m sure the minute she finds out Henry is gone as well, she’s gonna go find her family and she’ll be damned too if Will finishes this without her. She’s lived two decades without him, I don’t think she’d pass up the slightest opportunity to join him when this is something they started together. 

I want to see Henry’s face as she comes sailing to their rescue and hear him go “Mother?” in an incredulous tone with Will grinning, in the background as she jumps straight into the fray and puts them all to shame. And Jack looking extremely overwhelmed with all these Turners running around lol.

I want to see an ending that resolves every last open story line, and brings back the nostalgia of the original films. I just really want a film about the Turners

anonymous asked:

Loving the text messages!! Keep up the good work! Also if you don't mind could you describe darks and antis personalities according to you?

Absolutely!!! Beware though, I’m about to wax poetic because I LOVE these two characters. I’m sorry that this post is so long but I’m NOT putting it under a cut because I worked on this for over a fucking hour instead of writing my history paper and I want at least one person to actually read it. :P

I’m gonna go a little in depth with what I believe is their canon personalities according to my interpretation and then how I incorporate those interpretations into Texts From Dark And Anti. Some of you may be surprised to find that I actually heavily take their canonical personalities into account when I make my edits; it’s not all just dick jokes and memes for the sake of notes. Texts From Dark And Anti is my love letter to these two characters, and I’ve gone to great lengths to portray them in the best way possible.

But enough babbling. Let’s start with Dark.

CANON PERSONALITY: Master Manipulator and Sexual Predator

Originally posted by markimemey

Per Mark, Dark is a master manipulator. He’s a snake in the grass, ready to tell you anything and everything you need to hear in order to get what he wants from you.

I’d argue that this often works for him. Obviously he’s a very good actor if he’s able to mimic Mark perfectly in the “Chocolate” ending, so that makes me think that he’s able to assume whatever personality and/or extend whatever favors he needs to to trick his victims into abiding by him.

But it’s also worth mentioning that Dark’s biggest weakness (arguably) is his jealousy. As Mark said, Dark’s extremely jealous of Mark, and he wants everything that Mark has: wealth, fame, success, and devoted fans. I’d be willing to believe that that last thing is what rubs Dark wrong the most.

Evidence? Mark’s fans are exactly what he goes after. Wanna know what’s freakier? IT FUCKING WORKED.

Mark took all of his fans out on a date. All of us adored him for it. Dark got jealous of this, so he infiltrated the date and tried to get us to support him instead. And when Tyler Mark showed up to fight him, Dark didn’t kill him himself. He manipulated us into doing it for him.

And what brings this home is that Dark has had the longest lasting potential out of anything to come out of this video. All of the other memes and references have lost their luster by now, but the resurgence of Dark-related fan art, ask/rp blogs, edits, and memes are still going strong. Dark infiltrated our date and convinced us to love him and worship him the same way that we do Mark, and we fucking fell for it.

So why does he do this? Is it just because he’s a jealous prick? Partially, but I think that, canonically, there’s more to it. I think it’s because he thrives on his ability to hold power over people, which is comparable to–get ready for it–sexual predators.

Dark exhibits a lot of the traits we normally attribute to these criminals. He’s attractive, charismatic, extremely manipulative, and sadistic. He says things like, “I can give you anything,” and, “If it’s dinner you want, I can provide.” Provide is an interesting word choice here, because that’s what society has dictated the man in a relationship should do. He even acts seductive: arching his neck, eye-fucking the camera, and he even blows us a kiss (see below). But the way that he grabs and shakes us periodically throughout his mental breakdown betrays his inner sadism and anger issues, also common among sexual predators. I absolutely think that based on Dark’s behavior and what we know about him, he’s totally down to fuck anyone and everyone in order to get what he wants–consensual or otherwise. And I definitely think he’ll enjoy it.

Originally posted by mirrorthehorse

I wouldn’t necessarily say that Dark is a nymphomaniac. As an otherworldly being, it’s entirely possible he doesn’t even have a sex drive. But sexual predators don’t usually rape their victims just to get their dicks wet. Usually, it’s a power issue; they want to feel like they have mastery over something, and that they are dominant and in control. Given Dark’s obsession with taking all of Mark’s glory away from him, coupled with his violent mood swings and sadism, I would say that sexual assault is probably just one of the many ways he appeases his insatiable appetite for power and manipulation. And I’d even bet that it’s one of his go-to’s.

In Texts From Dark And Anti, I normally portray Dark as a bitter old demon who doesn’t understand memes and doesn’t want to put up with anybody’s shit. But I didn’t just do this for fun; I did it because I could see Dark being jaded in real life. Off-camera, when he’s not trying to seduce us into adoring him over Mark, I could see him being sick of being overlooked. He’s old, even by Mark’s channel’s standards, and up until “A Date With Markiplier”, he wasn’t mainstream in the fandom at all–not fun for someone who craves the adoration of others. So he’d definitely be off-put by Anti’s much younger, more erratic personality, and in a bad mood he’d bitch at him for it. But in a good mood, he’d use it to his advantage to get whatever he wants–sex, souls, and anything else his blackened heart desires, both for the reward and the thrill of not having to do it himself.

Now let’s talk about Anti.

CANON PERSONALITY: Chaotic Psychopath

Originally posted by treblegirl

Jack has been near-silent on his personal interpretation of Anti (although he’s stated that he definitely has a personal canon that he refuses to share, the little fucker), so all of this is going to come from speculation and what we see onscreen.

While Dark chose to make his debut in one long, continuous, elegant appearance, Anti showed up randomly throughout the month of October, with no prelude and no explanation as to why he was there. Also in contrast to Dark’s smooth, charismatic personality, Anti is visibly unstable, jittery, and psychotic. Both he and Dark exhibit bloodlust, but Anti doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t hold back any of his sociopathic tendencies, going so far as to murder his host on camera for the world to see.

We don’t exactly know what Anti’s agenda is, but that’s just it: I don’t think he has one. At least, not one beyond the psychotic urge to kill as much and as many people as he can. Even in “Say Goodbye”, all he does is laugh at/condemn the viewer for not warning Jack and saving him. The other times he was on camera in October, he was glitchy, with several different appearances (fangs, gauges, blood, etc.) and contorted, unsettling body movements, making me think that Anti is a supernatural being that thrives on chaos and bloodshed.

But  Anti doesn’t just want to cause havoc–he wants to cause havoc and get the credit he deserves for it. That’s why he showed up so much on camera without Jack noticing; he was there for us, not him. Then he made a big deal about us not telling Jack what was going on, condemning us for our failure to make his existence well-known. Then he crashed Jack’s panel at PAX, angry at us for “forgetting” him. He’s not trying to garner our support like Dark is; if anything, he wants us to be terrified of him.

Originally posted by redthereaper07

But personally, if I had to choose between being locked in a room with Dark and being locked in a room with Anti, I’d choose Anti in a heartbeat. Because even though Anti is more obviously psychotic, at least I’d know I would be killed quickly–unlike Dark, who would torture and manipulate me verbally, physically, and possibly even sexually for an indeterminate amount of time. This is Anti’s downfall, I think; Dark disguises his true nature with seduction and charisma, but because Anti’s so unpredictable and surface-level, he identifies himself as a very obvious threat, ironically making him a little easier to understand.

Thus, my interpretation of him in Texts From Dark And Anti reflects this (albeit in a more comedic way). Anti loves memes and silly trends because he wants to stick out in a way that’ll gain recognition. He’s more up-to-date with Internet trends and slang because he’s much younger than Dark–but that also means that he’s more gullible, and a lot of simple things go over his head. Basically all of his emotions are double that of Dark’s, and he makes no efforts to disguise them. He’s also much more privvy to senseless murder than Dark. This speaks highly of his psychotic tendencies and general disregard for any order or secrets he could be bothering to keep. What you see of Anti is what you get: an easily-excitable, always-ready-to-fuck-shit-up killing machine.

Originally posted by markired

So…yeah. That’s pretty much my piece. Told you it’d be long. X’D

But tysm for asking!! And if any of you bothered reading this far, PLEASE reblog or leave a reply with your thoughts on my interpretation of these two characters and how you characterize them personally. I’m super crazy interested in the lore around these two (or lack thereof), which is why I created Texts From Dark And Anti in the first place. ^_^

Confrontations

Based off of @letkeithinfodump’s lovely Langst post

Do Not Tag As Sh/@nce or Sh/e!th or any other Sh@/adin ships


Lance could feel himself start to shake as Shiro had announced to them who he chose to lead Voltron in case he couldn’t.

It was Keith.

Lance took a breath and balled up his fist. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to blink away the stinging in his eyes as he stared at the floor.

Why should he even be surprised? It’s not as though he couldn’t see Shiro’s obvious bias towards Pidge and Keith. He knew that it wasn’t their fault or that they meant to be favored but it stung and he was getting increasingly frustrated at this.

Lance bit his lip before taking another deep breath and trying to calm himself down before catching Shiro’s shoulder when he told them to disperse.

“Shiro? Can I talk to you about something?” Lance asked

“Uh, yeah sure, about what?”

Another breath. “I wanted to talk to you about choosing Keith as the back-up leader.”

Shiro quirked a brow, Lance could tell he was going to have a hard time with this.

“Well you see Shiro…Keith…Keith isn’t a good choice for leader,” Lance had to fight to keep eye contact with Shiro, “you see he’s…impulsive and a hot-head. He’s a nice guy but he’s put us all in danger on numerous occasions beause he didn’t follow an order and he voted to leave Allura behind and-!” Lance could feel his confidence rise but Shiro raised a hand to silence him.

“Lance, I understand your concern but I’ve made my decision already.”

Shiro turned around and left Lance there with his anger festering and his pride hurt even more than before.

He ignored him.

Again.

Lance bit into his lip so hard it felt like it might draw blood. He felt the familiar sting at the back of his eyes and the heat on his neck. He blinked his vision in and out of focus as he felt his body shake with anger.

Lance was the only one left in the console room, so his voice echoed and bounced back to him with just as much disappointment and anger it had when the words left his lips.

You’re not the you I thought you were.”


The next time Lance brings it up is when he’s hardened his attitude towards Shiro’s behaviour. He knows it’s not exactly his fault but the way he brushes Lance off is unacceptable and this time, Lance is Not Having It.

“Shiro.” Lance walked up to Shiro, he rather have missed all of the break between training than have to keep in his feelings.

Shiro turned around and sighed, “Lance, look, I know-” but this time it was Lance who cut Shiro off.

“No Shiro, you look.” Lance took one big breath before starting, “I understand that you are the leader and that you were thrown into this by yourself, but you see, you are extremely biased towards Pidge and Keith and honestly, I just can’t let that stand anymore man.”

Lance paused to see Shiro blinking in stunned silence, he took this as his cue to continue.

“Shiro, I understand that you know Keith the best and probably know what he’s capable of. But your making him stressed because your expectations of him are too damn high and you have to accept that there are things that not even Keith can do- nothing wrong with that Keith, it’s ok that you can’t- but instead you just say “I believe in you” and you tell him to basically change everything about himself so he can act like a good-…no I mean, so he can act like you. Shiro, you can’t expect that to magically fix anything!

Lance took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before proceeding onto his next topic, “Do you even talk to Hunk ever?”

“Well-” Shiro began

“Outside of giving orders? Do you ever ask, ‘Hey Hunk, how was your day? Did you do anything new?’ Because as far as I know, all you can say to him is ‘Hunk, shoulder canon.’, ‘Hunk, you go with whoever on this mission to retrieve whatever.’, sometimes you can’t even address him directly! It’s just ‘Legs, do this!’ You don’t actually talk to him Shiro.”

“I…”

“Also? Isn’t Allura the technical leader of Voltron? She actually knows Zarkon. She actually knows the aliens that we fight and that we talk to. Why are you acting as though you know this stuff? Even if Allura doesn’t know, most of the time Coran knows so he should also be consulted.”

“Yes, well I-”

“Not only that, but you didn’t consult anyone else when deciding Keith would be the Black Paladin. You didn’t check with Keith on how he felt about that, and even then he told you himself and you ignored it. What’s worse is that you didn’t even consult with your lion, the one Keith would be the pilot of. How do you know if she was okay with this? How do you know if this is what she wants?”

Shiro fell silent, it seems that this was the one that made him crack.

He felt a presence next to him and he fixed his stubborn gaze from Shiro to Keith.

Lance was getting ready to argue with Keith when the red paladin turned from Lance to Shiro and said, “Lance is right, Shiro.”

Lance blinked confusedly as Keith continued on, “You don’t listen to him at all. Remember the Blade of Marmora? You didn’t listen to Lance, and I nearly got myself killed. Granted, I wanted to go but… the point still stands.” Keith crossed his arms as he finished his argument.

Lance felt a warm hand on his shoulder as he looked to see Hunk sending him an appreciative look before agreeing with the fire and ice paladins.

One by one, everyone from the Team Voltron stood behind or near Lance and agreed with him.

“Shiro.”

Shiro looked up from the linoleum tiles, seemingly ready to get criticized once more.

“What do you say?”

Shiro closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath before opening them once more and looking around the small group of people. “…and all of you feel this way?”

There was a small murmur of agreement and short little nods.

Shiro sighed, “You’re right Lance. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else but my own beliefs and bias.”

He turned to the two alteans to his left.

“I’m sorry for not consulting you on matters I know you would have more knowledge on. I…I tried to think that just because I lead Voltron I know everything but…not really.”

Shiro continued on down the line of paladins.

“Lastly, Lance…I’m sorry. You were right and….I was ignoring you. Thank you for pointing this out to me and…I know it was probably hard but…I’m proud of you.”


About two weeks later Shiro went to the Black Lion and asked if she would be willing to pick a backup to pilot her in case something happened to Shiro.

She said yes so, all the paladins (+Allura and Coran) would stand in front of her and allow her large, wisdom filled eyes to scrutinize them.

When Lance stepped in front of her he felt as though every crevice in his mind and soul was being checked and scrutinized. Before long, the Black Lion’s eyes started to glow.

She did it. She found her back-up paladin.

Lance.

Hunk’s and Pidge’s cheers could be heard in the background as they whooped and hollered at Lance.

Lance felt waves of pride crash over him, before feelings of anxiety and guilt replace them.

But what about Blue?

Lance looked to the Alteans, knowing that the other paladins wouldn’t be able to fill out his spot without creating a new spot in Voltron needed to be filled. He played with the idea of Blue Paladin Allura, and while she could certainly fill out the spot with ease, he knows that she’s the pilot of the castleship, and if her was honest, that was a lot harder to replace than the pilots of Voltron.

Before announcing his decision he used his connection to the Blue Lion to ask her about if that was okay or not. She said it was fine so long as it wasn’t permanent and she could have Lance back. Lance smiled, Don’t worry my lady, you’re my one and only. He told her before turning to the alteans.

Coran.”

“Yes, Lance?”

Will you be the back up Blue Paladin?

Hear Your Heart (M)

Genre: fluff, smut, hybrid!au

Word Count: 11k 

Summary:  You really liked learning more about Yoongi. You liked that he didn’t need to whisper all of his deepest secrets into your ear because you felt like you could see into his heart- see who he truly was behind all of the fronts he put up in front of others.

Yoongi really hadn’t meant to be in this part of town.

He wasn’t familiar with it in the slightest, and he hadn’t heard too good of things about it either. He planned on just quickly making his way through, exhaustion already running through his body from work. His nervousness began to pick up as he passed a few alleyways, the darkness of the night preventing his eyes from seeing anything farther than a few feet in front of him.

He suddenly jumped in alarm at a sudden yelp, the sound echoing from the alley he had just walked by. Yoongi quickly had an inner battle with himself, trying to decide if he should turn around and look, or continue on his way to the safety of his apartment. His thoughts were interrupted and made up in a matter of seconds as he heard another loud cry, the voice sounding feminine and pained. He quickly turned around, making his way down the dark alley that seemed to continue on forever.

What he was met with shocked him slightly, the sight of four dog hybrids growling over a small girl shrieking in fear. Her clothes were worn out and faded, torn in obvious places from being worn for so long. She had bruises littering her visible skin, a few fresh-looking claw marks scattered on her arms and from a hole on her shirt that showed a brief patch of skin on her stomach. She looked terrified- shaking slightly as the four males seem to circle her.

Yoongi has a quick rush of sickness enter his bloodstream, and he instantly rethinks his choice of even deciding to come down here. The hybrids were obvious much taller than him, Yoongi being smaller in frame as it was, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight them off if they decided to advance on him next. He agrees with himself that this was in fact not a good idea, and just as he turns to leave, he feels five pairs of eyes on him and he’s frozen in place really- scared to make any sudden movement. He runs his options through his mind once again, knowing it was too late to slip out of eyesight now. His eyes fall on the girl, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, eyes pleading for help, and that’s all it really takes for him to know he just had to help her.

Yoongi swallows thickly, palms beginning to sweat slightly.

“You four must really be idiots.” His voice sounds a lot surer than he’s feeling right now, and he’s thankful that it comes off that way.

He watches carefully at the shocked expressions on the fours faces, either from his tone or from being caught, he’s not entirely sure. He knew he had to scare them off somehow, but he wasn’t really good at making threats to guys who looked like they could easily put him back in his place if they really wanted to. They don’t say a word, in fact they begin to look slightly unsure of themselves now, and Yoongi knew this was his moment he had to do something.

“Do you really think it’s smart to do something like this in public where anyone could see? Now be good puppies and scat, before I call the cops and we have bigger problems.” He made sure he sounded disgusted, not letting a single hint of how nervous he actually was show in his voice. He was hoping he could just get them doubtful enough so they would leave, and really he needed it to work because if they decided to think he was just all talk- well he would end up just like the poor girl in front of him.

Luckily, the odds seemed to be in his favor and he had to thank any good deeds he had done in the past few days that surely had helped his luck in this situation, because the four dog hybrids looked as if they were nervous now, obviously not expecting to get caught. They quickly brush past Yoongi leaving him alone with the girl and he finds himself letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, surprised at how smooth and easy that had actually gone. Yoongi glances down at the girl in front of him, crouched on the ground with her soft-looking ears rested in a frightened manner atop of her head with a long dark colored tail that wrapped around her middle to match. He could see how skinny she was, probably from the struggle of trying to find food, and as he took in the fragile figure of this girl, he knew he couldn’t just leave her here.

Yoongi really wasn’t good at these things- comforting others really wasn’t one of his better qualities. He didn’t want to frighten her even more, so he knew he had to be as cautious as possible.

“Hey- it’s alright now.” He says in a rough voice, clearing his throat and trying his hardest not to sound as awkward as he felt. He takes a small step towards the girl, heart dropping slightly as she flinches.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” He crouches down to match her level, keeping a healthy distance between the two that way he didn’t scare her. He takes this moment to take in her face, dirt smeared on various parts of her cheeks and forehead. He watches her ears perk up and twitch in alert at his sudden movement, eyes peeking over his body to confirm he wasn’t making any threatening moves towards her. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she was actually beautiful, and he had never seen a hybrid so breathtaking in his life. He didn’t know much about hybrids in general really- but he was sure there wasn’t a more attractive creature in the world. He made up his mind rather quickly, he always did really, and decided he wasn’t- couldn’t honestly- let this cat hybrid go.


You hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. You hadn’t meant to end up on the wrong side of town- on their territory to be more exact- looking for food, but you were just so hungry. You had hardly eaten a thing the whole week, and it was really beginning to take a toll on your body. You had expected slightly what was to come to you as soon as the first kick and scratch had landed on your body from the dog hybrids, angry barks and growls leaving their mouths as they spit out how pathetic and stupid it was for you, a cat hybrid, to think you could deceive them into stealing any of their food. Of course that hadn’t been the case at all, but you had been too frightened to even try to open your mouth, knowing it would do little to no good. What you hadn’t expected was a human to actually come to your rescue. In fact, it was the last thing that would have ever crossed your mind.

Somehow he had gotten them to leave, and somehow he had gotten you to stand on your shaky legs and began to lead you back onto the dark streets of the city. Silence followed the two of you, and you were thankful for it. You were sore and in pain from the blows and scratches the four males had inflicted on you, hunger pains hitting you with every step you took. Somehow you had ended up through the front door of this guy’s apartment, and you honestly hardly remember the walk here and you weren’t really sure if that was a good thing or not. You could hardly make eye contact with the stranger, your shyness overtaking you and causing you to stare at your bare feet that stood on cool hardwood floor. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he takes his shoes off, his attention suddenly falling back onto you as he sets them in a neat line with a few other pairs near the door. Your eyes snap back to the floor, a light sheen of crimson painting across your cheeks from his intense eyes.

“Min Yoongi.” He offers an awkward hand to you, and you stare at it blankly.


You had found out later that humans offered each other their hands and actually shook them, as a greeting. It was quite odd if you said so yourself, and you didn’t really get the point of it. Yoongi had taken care of you that night, he had bathed you since you had never seen a bathtub before, and frankly you didn’t understand half of the contraptions that were laid on the edge of the tub. He had even given you a new pair of clothes to wear, a comfy pair of sweat pants and a large white t-shirt that was a bit too long for your frame. You were comfortable though, and they were certainly a lot comfier than the raggedy, mud caked, faded old clothes you had been wearing for who knows how long. He even cut a hole in the back of the sweat pants for your tail, the fabric comfy against the soft fur. They even smelled like him, a masculine sweet sent that was very pleasant to your nose. You had never smelled something so comforting before, and at times you found yourself inhaling the scent stained on the clothing.

When a week hit of you staying with Yoongi after he had taken you in, you still didn’t fully know what his intentions were. You had never had an owner before, you weren’t really sure how it worked, or how humans worked in general. Did Yoongi want to be your owner and to take care of you? Or did he just simply feel sorry for you, and wanted to make sure you were alright before sending you back onto the streets? Honestly, the thought scared you, thinking Yoongi would throw you out to fend for yourself like before.

You had tried really hard to not get too comfortable just yet, to be sure to set the record straight with Yoongi and see what exactly was going to happen between the two of you. Your shyness always prevented the words from falling from your mouth, and silence seems to be the best conversation between you two. You two of coursed talked, small talk though, and it was always with him starting the conversation. He let you sleep in his bed, which was odd to you since you had never slept in a bed before, and didn’t know how to sleep in a bed. The first night, Yoongi had come in the following morning to get a change of clothes and snickered loudly at your sleeping form curled into a ball at the foot of the bed. He had later told you that you were apparently supposed to sleep under the covers, with your head on the pillow. You really had a hard time understanding how that was even comfortable, you really didn’t get humans at all. You didn’t like sleeping alone in the large room with the odd bed, not that you would tell Yoongi that. This ended up causing you to stray into the living room where Yoongi slept on the L shaped couch, curling into a comfortable ball at the edge of his feet. He had woken up and kicked you in the head on accident the first time, telling you that you should sleep in his bed where it was “more comfortable”, but you never listened and he seemed to be getting used to it.

That brought you to where you are now, already beginning to feel slightly comfortable and at ease in the large apartment and with the man that owned it. You were still slightly shy around him at times, but you seemed to be coming around a bit more, and Yoongi too seemed to be becoming little by little more talkative with you. Even if it had only been two weeks (two weeks and two days to be exact) since you had started to stay here with him, you were beginning to really settle in and feel more comfortable around the man. You had gotten used to his routine, (which took a little to get used to since you didn’t really like to be left alone for such a long period of time) leaving early in the morning and coming how early afternoon. He still continued to take care of you of course, and little by little you both started to understand one another more.

Today, you decided to try and do something nice for Yoongi before he came home from work, to show him thanks for taking care of you. You thought about a few things, deciding they were no good for a human, and tried to think of all the things Yoongi had taught you. He always cooked for you when he came home, no matter how tired he looked, so you decided with a proud nod to do just that for him. You had absolutely no idea what to cook though (or how to for that matter), you checked off using the stove and oven, because well you had absolutely no idea how to use it. There were too many buttons and dials, you were sure you’d break it and make Yoongi angry- which was the last thing you were trying to accomplish.

You had watched Yoongi cook dozens of times, and you knew when he made you sweets he always used the jar of white powder on the corner of the counter top first. Taking the lid off the jar, you fisted a large amount of the powder onto the counter top, a thick white dust coating the air from the impact. You looked in awe at the soft powder now coating your hand and the counter, unsure of what step came after. You scratched your cheek with your fingertips confusingly, ears twitching in thought as you decide to take both of your hands and retrieve two more fist full of the powder. You giggled to yourself as a thin cloud formed around you once again, causing you the cough just slightly. Going to drop what was in your hands onto the counter top, you miss terribly causing most of the substance to land on the floor and thin black t-shirt of Yoongi’s that you wore. Your tail moves anxiously behind you, worrying how the hell you were going to get this off of his shirt and floor before he came home. You worried that he would be mad, and you had never seen him mad before. You quickly strip yourself of the shirt and boxers you wore of Yoongi’s, noticing you somehow managed to dirty those as well. You stood completely bare in the kitchen, forgotten articles laid on the floor at your feet with powder covering both of your hands.

You had just tried to do something nice, God you hadn’t expected to make such a mess so quickly. You were in the middle of an inner dilemma with yourself when your ears perked up to the sound of the lock to the front door unlocking and the large door swinging open. You stood frozen in place as Yoongi stepped inside, not having noticed you yet as he takes his shoes off and hangs his olive colored jacket up. His eyes finally meet yours, widening as he takes in your naked form standing frozen in the kitchen. Tail and ears standing to attention, your eyes watched his in horror as he turned his back to you, ears turning a bright crimson red.

“I- where are your c-clothes?” His usual cool voice stuttered, body tensing as you took his odd tone as being angry with you.

“I-I’m sorry! I w-was trying to do something nice for you, to cook for you, and I didn’t- I didn’t think I’d make such a mess and I got powder all over your shirt and I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to-“ Your mouth moves on its own, fear settling in as you try to explain yourself, explain the mess you had made. You were sure you ruined his shirt, ruined his kitchen somehow, and he was so angry he couldn’t look at you. Was he going to yell at you? You really didn’t think you could stand to have him raise his voice at you-

“(Y/N) it’s okay- just- remember what I said about wearing clothes?” Yoongi cuts you off, turning to face you with a hand over his eyes. You tilt your head in thought at his calm voice, trying to recall what he was talking about.

You did remember, in fact it was a human norm that Yoongi often reminded you of; to always wear clothes. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you naked, in fact this was one of many. You didn’t really understand what the big deal was, as a hybrid it’s when you felt the most like a hybrid. It was natural to your kind; it was something normal to you. But Yoongi- Yoongi reminded you constantly, every time he had seen you bare to be exact, that humans always wore clothes around others (with some exceptions, but he didn’t really get into those), and it was just something you should always do. You didn’t really understand why it was such a big deal, why it made Yoongi so flustered and embarrassed, but you had just added that to the list that you didn’t understand about humans.

“Right.” You mumble finally, watching Yoongi peek at you through his fingertips. You weren’t really sure what to do now, an awkward silence fell over the two of you, and you continued to stand there, searching for the right words.

“So you’re not m-mad at me?” Your worry had suddenly set back in, glancing at the mess surrounding you.

Yoongi, who still had a hand slung over his eyes, once again peeked through an opening in his fingers at you. He sighed heavily, hand removing from his eyes to reveal a dark tint to his cheeks as he made sure to only look at your face. He suddenly smiled slightly, one of very few smiles you had ever seen from him.

“No, I’m not mad. The flour will wash off of the clothes, don’t worry.” You let out a loud sigh of relief, feeling a slight weight lift from your shoulders. He makes his way over to you hesitantly, retrieving the fallen shirt and boxers at your feet. He sets it on the island behind you, glancing back at your face and grinning widely.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Yoongi said in his usual deep and collected voice, the blush that lined his cheeks finally beginning to fade slightly. He took your wrist gently, leading you over to the sink and turning the water to warm.

Every time Yoongi touched you, even as gentle as he was, it sent an odd feeling through your body and you weren’t sure what it was. You weren’t too familiar with your feelings in general, but you figured it was some sign of deep affection and dependence you were growing for him, a high liking that made you nervous. Even this close to Yoongi, his smooth hands cleaning the flour off of your hands, you thought he was so incredibly handsome. You had thought that, the first day he had saved you from those dog hybrids, and you continued to grow more and more surprised how handsome he was without even trying. You made up your mind that you felt deep attraction toward the man, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

Yoongi had successfully cleaned the flour from your hands and hair, chuckling softly as you giggle with him. He turns to look at your face once again, your tail flicking anxiously behind you as you notice how close the two of you were. The smiles fall from both of your faces, a light blush falling onto your cheeks shyly. He watches you carefully, either of you moving.

“You have flour on your cheek.” He mumbles, thumb coming up to swipe at the corner of your mouth. You say nothing, sure your tail was wagging like a piece of paper in the wind, but you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed. Yoongi’s cool breath was hitting your face, and the strong sweet masculine scent of him was entering you nose. You felt light headed, this foreign feeling alarming you just as much as the look he was giving you. You were trying not to freak out honestly, the two of you so close if you just leaned forward a bit- your noses would touch.

“Uhm. I’ll get you new clothes.” He clears his throat after a long moment, his body language turning awkward as he breaks the thick silence. Yoongi hesitantly moves around you, almost as if he hadn’t really wanted to, and disappears down the hallways that led to his room.

You could still feel your cheeks burning as you began to feel shy once again, small even, and you couldn’t help to wonder;

What were you to Yoongi?


It had been about a month now, since you had started staying with Yoongi. The two of you had grown close, very close, over the short period of time, and it was as if you’d known each other forever. You had stopped asking yourself what you were to Yoongi, well kind of. You decided he would have kicked you out if he didn’t want you here by now, if he didn’t want to take care of you, and that set your mind at ease, slightly. You were worried though, because every time Yoongi touched you (which was a lot because you just loved- no needed constant attention and when it came from Yoongi- well you really couldn’t resist) an odd feeling would enter your chest. It had really always been there, but as time went on and the more time you spent with the blonde, the feeling seemed to get stronger. You were so unfamiliar with these feelings; you weren’t really sure how to go about them. It made it worse, however, the way he looked at you. He looked at you with such soft and admirable eyes, with so much love it made you blush just thinking about it. You felt like you could really be yourself around him, and like he was really himself in front of you. You weren’t as shy around him as before, and he was a lot less quiet in front of you, which you were thankful for.

“(Y/N)?” You’re suddenly snapped back into reality from your thoughts, a smooth hand running up the expanse of your bare thigh. You laid perched up on Yoongi’s lap, head resting on his shoulder as he softly pets at your thighs and back. You hadn’t even realized you were letting out low content purrs, nuzzling further into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Hm?” You mumble, eyes drooped slightly as they fall onto whatever was flashing on the TV.

“I asked if you were sleepy.” He chuckled, hand coming to scratch the spot he knew you loved behind your ear. Your purrs became slightly louder, tail swaying happily beside the two of your bodies.

“Yes.” You sighed, tired but not really wanting to get up and leave the comfort of Yoongi’s embrace.

Yoongi had picked up on this, figuring you weren’t planning on moving anytime soon. He scoops you up, a squeak leaving your parted lips from the surprised movement. You whine, cool air meeting your exposed legs that were snuggly snuggled in Yoongi’s warmth moments before. Long tail wrapping securely around Yoongi’s waist, you hold onto his neck, watching as you two grew closer to the bedroom door. After some maneuvering to get the door open and closed, you’re back is met with the soft familiar bedding. The long shirt you had been wearing rode up your thighs slightly from the impact of him setting you down, the panties Yoongi had gotten you (much to his embarrassment) peeking out slightly. It was nothing new, Yoongi had seen you in less than this yet his eyes still quickly looked away as a deep blush fell onto his cheeks.

“Are you going to stay with me?” You weren’t really sure why you asked, Yoongi and you had been sharing a room for weeks now, but something in the way he stepped toward his closet to change made doubt settle into your veins.

“Of course.” He says finally, after clearing his throat and returning with a pair of sweat pants and thin shirt on. His cheeks were almost back to their normal color, but you watched with a pout as he seemed to avoid looking at you.

“Yoongi.” You whined, scooting up onto your knees to get closer to him. Yoongi’s large t-shirt fell slightly from one of your shoulders, watching as the male pulls the covers back and moves to lay down.

“Hm?” He mumbles, looking as if he were trying to get comfortable but not making any move to look at you. You didn’t like it at all, it made you feel like he was ignoring you even though he really wasn’t.

You watch as he lays back, eyes closed with his head falling onto the pillows and his arms coming up to rest behind his head. You wanted attention, more importantly Yoongi’s attention. You were still trying to understand humans, to understand Yoongi. You didn’t like that every time he saw your bare skin he seemed to pull away from you, like all the progress the two of you made throughout these weeks was out the window. Yoongi still reminded you that being naked was indecent and it wasn’t something humans did, but you still just didn’t really understand what the big deal was. You still had a hard time remembering that, to understand it really, but you had been really trying to follow this rule and keep Yoongi from pushing away from you.

“I’m sorry.” You say sadly, crawling over to his laying form and straddling his hips, before you even really realized or processed what you had done. Yoongi’s eyes snap open in alarm, his eyes meeting yours in a look that sends a blush to rise to your cheeks. A deep blush mirrors onto his face, and you suddenly realized this wasn’t the best idea to get Yoongi’s attention.

You move off of him quickly, not even waiting to hear a reply from him as you curl into a small ball on the other side of the bed, face burning and heart racing with your back to him. After a long moment you hear him shuffling around, and you worry he was going to leave and sleep on the couch like he used to. To your relief, the sound of the bedside lamp was clicked off, darkness swallowing the room.

You couldn’t help feeling slightly upset, the hybrid in you craving for attention, for the attention of your owner- or whatever Yoongi was to you. It was more than that though, more than just liking Yoongi’s company, you liked Yoongi (a lot), you depended on him, depended on him in ways you hadn’t realized before. You wanted to say something, apologize for- well whatever you had done. You were too shy though, and you grew angry at yourself, thinking you were over feeling that way in front of him. You felt small and uncomfortable, the air in the room thick, but you tried, you really tired, to ignore it and just fall asleep.


It had been about a half hour or an hour, you guessed, and you couldn’t fall asleep. You couldn’t fall asleep thinking Yoongi was mad at you, couldn’t imagine closing your eyes and drifting off into sleep while you were so far away- not being close enough to him. You were so used to curling up in his arms, it felt really odd to not be. You hated yourself for seeming so needy- knowing it was the hybrid in you that craved for Yoongi because he gave you everything you needed (maybe even more for that matter).

You couldn’t take it anymore, sitting up and quietly trying to make your way over to where Yoongi laid comfortable. Eyes shut, you were sure he was asleep, which made you feel slightly better because he couldn’t deny you then, right? You push your head lightly into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar safe scent as you finish curling your body into his. Legs tangling with his, hands bawling into his shirt as you finally begin to feel comfortable. Warmth radiates from Yoongi’s body, causing soft purrs to spew from deep within your throat. With Yoongi’s scent and warmth surrounding you comfortably, you felt at home as your tail began to lightly sway on its own in pure contentment. You found your tongue poking out and licking the smooth sweet skin on Yoongi’s neck, and before you can even register what you had done might be a bit odd to humans, a deep groan falls from Yoongi’s sleeping form. You freeze, tongue frozen on the skin as an arm is circled around your waist suddenly, worried you had woken him- that you’d had been caught.

Though as you peered up at his face, you saw his eyes were still closed, soft breaths leaving his parted lips. You return to his neck, the tip of your tongue going back to work on his neck as soft quiet purrs began to once again bubble out from your throat. You just had to keep going, the sudden urge to claim him as yours- the sudden feeling of possessiveness sending an odd shock through your body. The thought of someone else being even near him, touching him-

“(Y/N)?” A deep voice laced with sleep rang through your ears, and you suddenly freeze- knowing this time you really had woken Yoongi up.

“What are you doing?” He sounded half asleep still, voice not really taking on any emotion except for a hint of curiosity.

“I-I was j-just-“ How the hell were you supposed to explain why you were licking his neck? You were so embarrassed- not really sure how to explain that this was how cat hybrids showed affection- possessiveness-

He was looking at you, a look that was filled with question but softness. You were at a loss of words, ears lying flat atop of your head, not really sure how to explain yourself, and you found that happening quite often in Yoongi’s presence.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, sounding so small. You hadn’t realized you were basically on top of Yoongi, and you found it in yourself to not really care at the moment, just keeping your face hidden in his neck.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He chuckled deeply, securing his arm once again around your waist to keep you close. It was such a Yoongi thing to say- leaving the thick wonder if it was okay or if it really wasn’t. You decided not to say anything, to try and snuggle even closer to him. He squeezed you tighter, his other hand running up and down your exposed thigh sending your heart to pick up slightly. You found yourself calming down and purring yet again, even as his hand skimmed a bit too high.


“Yoongi!” You yell, frustration lacing through your veins. You stood on the tips of your toes, trying, really trying your hardest to reach the bag of shrimp chips that were, for some reason, in the top cabinet that you couldn’t reach.

Yoongi suddenly appears, towel around his hips with damp hair. His chest was bare, and although you had stolen a few peeks at Yoongi while he was changing shirts before, you had never seen his full bare chest in perfect sight before. For some reason, it sent heat to your face, Yoongi seeming to be unfazed.

“Yeah?” He asked, watching you look over your shoulder at him, an almost relieved sigh leaving his lips as he confirms nothing was wrong. Yoongi had nearly fallen hurrying out of the bathroom from the sound of his name being called loudly, worried something had happened to you. But there you stood, only wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties (which wasn’t exactly new), your tail swaying almost annoyingly fast, ass on full display as you continued to reach up for something on the top shelf of the cabinet. You were driving him crazy really, always walking around like that, wearing his clothes.

He sighs, trying to ignore how good you looked like that, in his t-shirt, he reminded himself again, making his way over and reaching up to grab the bag you had been trying to get. Handing you the chips, he turns away, completely ignoring you and making his way back to his room to change. You stood there dumbfounded, afraid you had annoyed him or made him angry.

“Yoongi!” You whined, scurrying after him. You entered your shared room, finding him picking out his clothes.

“A-are you mad at me?” You said in a small voice, standing close to the door as if you weren’t sure if you should enter or not. He doesn’t turn to look at you, simply shuffling around his drawers.

“No, (Y/N). I’m not mad.” He sighs, glancing at you for a moment.

“Then, why won’t you look at me?” You mumble, your anxiousness causing your tail to sway quickly behind you.

“Because you drive me fucking crazy!” He suddenly shouts, causing you to jump as he looks at you with a fire now burning in his eyes.

“W-what?” You say shakily, not understand what he was saying. He runs a hand over his face in frustration, and you decide you had definitely done something wrong, something to anger him. Your ears fall flat atop your head, an odd feeling entering your stomach as you wonder what will happen next. You had never seen Yoongi mad before, you didn’t know what to expect.

“You drive me crazy (Y/N). You just don’t get it.” He huffs, beginning to pace the floor as if he were in thought. You were beyond confused. What had you possibly done to drive him crazy?

“I-I don’t understand.” You were really trying, you still didn’t have the hang of these human norms, had you done something that you shouldn’t have to make him mad and you didn’t even know?

“I know you don’t! I just- I can’t.” He sat on the edge of the bed, setting his head in his hands as if he were in defeat. You were startled, and worried. You had no idea what you did, or how to fix it. All you knew was that you didn’t like that look on Yoongi’s face, at all. And to think that you caused it, really pained you.

“I’m sorry.” That was the thing you said when you did something wrong, right? You thought it was fitting, and really you had no idea what else to say.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” His voice is muffled by his hands, and you felt a sinking feeling enter your stomach.

You felt so unbelievable anxious, as you began to creep over to the other side of the bed. You sit a bit away from him on your knees, tail wrapping around your waist to comfort yourself. You yearned to reach out and touch Yoongi- to nuzzle into his neck and have him hold you. You had decided a few weeks ago, after you had finally come to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to just kick you out- that this was permanent- that you in fact liked Yoongi, you liked Yoongi a lot. It scared you, because it wasn’t in the way you thought a hybrid should feel toward their owner. But Yoongi had never referred to himself as your owner. He didn’t really seem like the type to do so, not knowing if you’d be comfortable with that title. He seemed to always take everything at your pace, but maybe that was the problem.

You inched your way to Yoongi’s sitting form, hand pawing at his back to test the waters right now. He didn’t more, at all, so you took that as an okay to move closer. The tip of your tail brushed against his still bare back, your body trying to maneuver so you could nuzzle into his neck. You settled with resting into his side, soft long tail now wrapped comfortingly around his slim waist. Nuzzling your nose into the crook of Yoongi’s still bent over neck, you licked at the skin softy, apologetically. The position was awkward- not comfortable for surely either one of you- but you didn’t want to move, didn’t want to move from the warmth of Yoongi as you tried to comfort him.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered again, voice muffled from Yoongi’s skin. You continued to offer soft kitten-like licks to his neck, suddenly feeling his body moving and you worried you had made his anger worse from your display of comfort you were trying to offer.

“(Y/N), I-I-“ He looked at you, giving you a look of complete desperation. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. He helped you move into his lap, letting you snuggle into him like you usually did.

“I really can’t take it anymore (Y/N)…” He whispered, hand petting up and down your back. You whined, still not understand what he was talking about- what he was trying to say.

“Can’t take w-what? Me?” You suddenly had the alarming thought. Were you too much for Yoongi? Had you really been a burden- an annoyance to him- this whole time and you hadn’t even realized?

“Yes, you- but you just- you just don’t understand.” He sounded defeated- sad even, like he didn’t really know what to do.

“T-then make me understand.” You were getting upset, feeling like you were being blamed for something you didn’t even know you did. You were trying to be patient, trying to let him talk, but he was really confusing you, and you wished he would just spit out whatever he was trying to say. A gush of air left his lips, and you were suddenly being turned around in his lap with careful hands.

You stared into your favorite pair of eyes, watching as they glazed over with admiration and love. Your breath was suddenly caught in your throat, caught off guard from how close the two of you were. You could see the small fine details of his face, and you couldn’t help the warm feeling that swelled into your chest from how handsome he was. Your eyes widen on reflex, watching in shock as the space between the two of you seemed to be disappearing by the second. Was Yoongi going to-

Then it happened- soft plump lips were pushed against your own, and you found yourself freezing, not knowing what to do. You had never kissed someone before, you had never even come close- so you honestly had no idea what to do. Yoongi’s eyes were squeezed shut, as if he were worried you’d reject him- tell him to get away from you- but you honestly couldn’t help melting into him a bit more, even if you just sat there not really responding because you had no idea what you were doing, but you liked it, a lot. He pulled away suddenly, eyes opening slowly to look into your wide ones.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I-I’m sorry.” You had never seen such a shattered look on him before. You had never seen him look so defensive- so nervous.

You pouted, not liking the look on his face and not liking the warmth that had left your lips. You leapt forward a bit- lips falling onto his roughly. A loud purr erupts from your throat, a fuzzy feeling wrapping around the warmth Yoongi was making you feel. A noise of surprise fell from Yoongi’s mouth, your lips swallowing it up as his hands come up to grip your waist to prevent either one of you from falling over. You licked at his lips, the hybrid in you suddenly standing on edge. He let you be for a little, letting you lick and kiss at his lips before pulling away to laugh lowly.

“Here- like this.” He grinned slightly, before bringing his lips back onto yours. You really couldn’t believe how soft Yoongi’s lips were- how perfect they felt and fit with yours. You let him do all the work- you let him lead the kiss and show you what to do. This kiss felt more natural- more human. And you felt okay with this, okay with being this close. Closer than usual, in this different way. You didn’t mind him kissing you, in fact you liked it- a lot- probably more than you should have. You wanted to tell yourself this was wrong, that this was stepping over some unknown boundary of hybrid and owner, but Yoongi had never set those boundaries, and maybe this was why. You felt happy, loved, and you knew from this point forward, you were falling for this man, and you were okay with it.


Since that night, Yoongi and you had grown even closer. In fact, the two of you shared kisses quite often, and as time went on, they seemed to be getting more and more heated. There had been a few times you had subconsciously began to grind down in Yoongi’s lap, a few groans being passed between the two of you until he would stop you, face flushed and looking nervous. This was all so new to you, the feelings you were feeling, the new side of Yoongi- you were really trying to get used to it. You loved it though, you loved how much affection Yoongi was showing you lately, and you loved how much you were learning about him.

You really liked learning more about Yoongi. You liked that he didn’t need to whisper all of his deepest secrets into your ear because you felt like you could see into his heart- see who he truly was behind all of the fronts he put up in front of others. You found that really special, and maybe it was just the hybrid in you that made you pick up on small details, but you seemed to really be able to pick up on how Yoongi was feeling without him even telling you. You had never really thought about it before, but Yoongi didn’t treat you like you were some hybrid pet that didn’t have feelings. He truly cared about you, about your wellbeing and your feelings. And you had never had someone like that in your life before.

It was rough sometimes, when Yoongi was away at work and you longed for him. Your mind was always on constant thought of- well, everything, but it seemed that it went into overdrive once he was gone. You thought about so many things, always having to do with Yoongi, and you really just wanted him there with you, holding you and kissing you, but you didn’t want to be selfish (maybe). You couldn’t help starting to wondered if this was what humans called love.

“(Y/N)! I’m home.” Your ears instantly perking up at the familiar voice, feet springing off of the windowsill that you had comfortably been curled up on. You raced toward the door, catching Yoongi just as he hung his coat up, and dove straight into his arms. He chuckled deeply, offering a sweet kiss to one of your ears. It twitched at the feeling, a purr escaping past your lips.

“Missed you.” You breathed out, reaching out, not waiting for a reply, as you grip his shirt and kiss him wetly. His warmth and scent instantly filled your body, and the two of you melt into one another. He grips your waist, your tail snaking around one of his arms to keep him close. Yoongi lets out a shaky breath as you begin to lick into his mouth, tongues meeting passionately.

“Baby, I need to get changed.” He mumbled against your mouth, the name sending a jolt through your body. He had been calling you that a lot lately, and it honestly made your insides feel like they had liquefied.

You pout, following closely behind him as he enters both of your shared room. You move to sit on the bed, waiting patiently until he was done getting changed so he could give you more attention. You watch him disappear into his closet, leaving the door cracked as he begins to get undress. As soon as the sight of his bare back muscles enters your line of vision, you looked away feeling a weird sensation enter your body. Luckily, he returned rather quickly, because the urge to look began to eat away at your consciousness.

“Where were we?” He smiles, taking a seat next to you on the bed to have you scurry onto his lap to reattach your lips. You didn’t think you would ever get tired of the feeling of Yoongi’s lips, you honestly wished you could kiss him forever. Your tail was swaying behind the two of you in excitement, the kiss growing more heated.

Wondering hands began to wonder, which wasn’t anything new, and you found yourself grinding down into his lap in want and need. You didn’t really know for what; you were so inexperienced you sort of just let your instincts and Yoongi guide you. A deep groan erupts from Yoongi’s chest, his hands moving down to grip your hips. You pout to yourself in your mind, knowing this was usually when Yoongi would stop you, pull away, and you really just wanted to keep kissing him.

But he didn’t.

You were pleasantly surprised really, your excitement obvious as you grip his shoulders tighter and grind a bit more eagerly into his lap. It isn’t long that you start to feel something odd against your ass, it didn’t really take you long to connect the dots either, Yoongi watching you carefully the whole time with half hooded eyes. You weren’t dumb, as much as it had seemed, you were just simply inexperienced- but you got the basic idea of things. You were quite honestly feeling embarrassed now. You didn’t really know what to do, if you should continue or stop, even though you really didn’t want to. Yoongi could sense your reluctance, your confusion and hesitation, and he simply gripped your hips a bit tighter, reassuringly.

“Keep going.” He said deeply, breathlessly. He was trying to help steer you in the right direction, to make you comfortable and offer some reassurance to ease your on edge nerves.

“Yoongi.” You nearly meowed, feeling yourself getting wet as he helped guide your hips to continue.

“Your tail’s moving really fast.” He observes, obviously trying to calm the thick air that had surrounded the two of you. You scoffed, but nonetheless cracked a small smile.

You didn’t really know how far this was going to go, you were willing to test the waters because it was Yoongi and you knew he’d never hurt you. You were incredibly nervous though, not wanting to mess something up and make Yoongi uncomfortable or freaked out. You had decided that you really liked the way Yoongi’s hands felt on you, and you decided that you really liked the groans he was letting out every time you would grind down just a bit harder on his hard bulge.

“I-I don’t really know what I’m doing I don’t-“You paused because his hard dick pressed tentatively against your clit and you actually let out a moan- which sounded more of a purr than anything.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’ll help you.” His voice seemed to have dropped even lower, the deep sensual sound causing your body to jolt, tail standing tall and on alert.

You suddenly realized that Yoongi was letting you do what you wanted. Not forcing you, not asking you any questions, letting you take it as far as you wanted. He was letting you stop when you wanted, letting you pick what was okay and what wasn’t. The sheer thought has you soaking the panties you wore more, the thought of Yoongi taking care of you-

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are.” He mumbles after releasing a heavy groan that shook into your body as well. His words made you blush, you were sure even your ears that were covered in fur had turned red in color, the compliment making your heart swell.

A large hand is suddenly running up the expanse of fur on your tail and- oh god- you jolt forward, the sensation setting your nerves on fire. the moan you let out was so obscene, Yoongi had groaned along with you. Chills ran down your spine- and if only you had known your tail was so sensitive- Yoongi continues to dig his fingers gently into the fur on your tail, running them up and down it and causing moan after moan to spill from your lips. Each time he got to the tip, your body would jolt, causing your hips to grind down even harder on Yoongi’s jean clad dick.

Yoongi.” The sound that comes out with his name is really ridiculous- and you just wanted his hands everywhere- you really couldn’t take it anymore.

You dive off of him, landing on the large empty space next to him on the bed- ass sticking high in the air. You wore your usual attire- this time a large hoodie of Yoongi’s that now pooled in a heap of red just below your breast, white panties exposed with a large wet spot in the middle. The sight was absolutely enticing to Yoongi, mouth agape and watching as your tail moves back and forth as if to lure him in. Your chest was heaving- so worked up from just that- but you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed right now.

“I- are you s-sure?” When had he stood up? You hadn’t even realized he had moved, so caught up in your most definitely inappropriate thoughts.

“Yes!” You say annoyed, wanting him to touch you right now. You felt like everything was moving so fast but not fast enough at the same time, you just wanted Yoongi to keep making you feel things you hadn’t before.

“Baby- lay on your back.” He says after taking in your needy form. He had never seen you like this before, and god did he love it.

You huffed, hated laying on your back because you could never get comfortable because of your tail, but you listened nonetheless. You watch him carefully, your hybrid instincts wanting nothing more than to be mated- to be fully claimed as Yoongi’s. The thought made you lightheaded, and you started to feel nervous. You watched with alert eyes as Yoongi stripped himself of his t-shirt, leaving his chest bare and as many times as you’d seen him shirtless- you still couldn’t help but stare.

You watched his suddenly nervous movements, seeming to falter under your gaze. It made you yourself slightly nervous, because you had no idea what the hell you were doing, and you needed Yoongi to lead you. You reached from him, and he thankfully comes over and towers over your smaller frame. You touched everywhere really, anywhere your hands could make skin on skin contact. You had touched Yoongi’s bare skin a few times, but never like this, never for this long. You were entranced by the smoothness, how pale and soft his skin was. You hadn’t even realized he was watching you, watching carefully and even offering a small grin when you finally realized.

“I like touching you.” You said as you thought, not realizing the filter in your brain hadn’t sorted that out as staying just a thought-

“I like when you touch me.” Before you had anytime to even be embarrassed he was replying easily, like he didn’t even need to think about the words.

“I like when you touch me, and kiss me.” You said again without thinking, being honest, as you run your hands down his shoulders to his back, feeling the skin heat up under your touch.

“I like you.” The words set a different fire in your body, instead of raising the heat of being mated- of being completely wrecked by this beautiful male above you- a new fire of complete admiration and affection burned. The atmosphere had changed, changed from the heated, neediness, to a calm caring, loving air. You didn’t really know if he meant the words the way you wanted him too- the way you would have meant them if you had said them yourself. You decided you didn’t want to ask- not yet- because his confession meant he at least felt something toward you, right? And that was enough for you right now.

“I like you too.” You found yourself mumble back, seeming fitting to say it back since it was true.

A large grin was plastered onto his face then, and he reached down to kiss you gently. You gripped his arms because you felt like you were falling, your head was spinning, and you just wanted Yoongi to be everywhere. He continues to kiss you, and there was so much emotion in the kiss it really wasn’t helping your spinning head. You feel slick fingers at the hem of the hoodie you wore, and the two of you broke apart so he could take the unnecessary garment out of the way. He scanned your naked chest, for the first time, since he always got so flustered when he had seen you naked. You guessed being naked was a bigger deal to Yoongi than you, which was okay.

You were beginning to get nervous, you really didn’t know what to expect, but you really tried to tell yourself that you had Yoongi here with you, and he’d never hurt you. You felt the sudden shock of a tongue lapping at your neck, just like you usually did with Yoongi, and it was enough to send a loud moan out of your mouth. Besides licking he sucked at the thin skin, and you arched slightly into him, not even realizing your tail had wrapped around his waist and you had started to purr once again. You really didn’t think you should have been this worked up so easily, but it was Yoongi- and he definitely knew how to make you feel good.

Yoongi’s hand snakes down your body, nerves standing on edge because honestly, he was so nervous. He didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t want to do something that you wouldn’t like. His hand rubs at the skin on your stomach above your panties, muscles jumping to attention. Yoongi continued to pepper kisses along your shoulder, collarbone, and neck, hand finally skimming the top of your panties as he begins to carefully pull them down. You lift your hips, eager- cool air hitting your wet heat and causing your thighs to subconsciously close on their own. Moving down your body cautiously, Yoongi made sure to maintain eye contact with you in case you showed any sign of resentment. You didn’t of course, looking innocent and ready for whatever Yoongi had in mind.

Your insides felt like they were waiting to spark alive, watching anxiously as Yoongi’s face is level with your heat. His cool breath continued to make you shiver, his eyes searching yours for one last time for any resentment as opens your legs. Tongue coming out to kitten lick your clit, you shudder as pleasure courses through your body. You had never felt something like this before, and really it was so overwhelming.

Yoongi didn’t exactly give you time to process what was going on- what was about to happen- already beginning to lick and suck your folds and clit into his mouth. You were so wet- tasted so sweet- Yoongi was really going to lose his mind. You find your fingers weaving into the soft blonde locks of his hair, not realizing how hard you were gripping it until you felt the pleasure of Yoongi’s mouth disappear.

“You’re going to rip my hair out.” He was looking at you, smugly, and you honestly hadn’t really heard what he had said. Chest heaving up and thoughts scattered.

He decided to not wait for a reply, which you were thankful for because you were honestly sure you had forgotten how to speak. He continues to do his previous actions, sending such intense pleasure through your body, moans falling from your lips so loudly, you felt like your whole body was on fire. With your head tilted back, you were sure it was going to snap off from how fast you looked back up, feeling the sudden pressure of a cool finger against your entrance. He rubbed the tip of his finger teasingly against you, watching as you moved your hips toward him.

“Are you sure?” You were surprised he hadn’t asked you sooner, the uneasiness in his voice obvious even though he tried to mask it. You moaned in response, nodding quickly.

“Please.” You groaned, surprised by the voice that met your ears. It was music to Yoongi’s, and you suddenly feel the intrusion of his finger, your hole seeming to open up and welcome it. He gaped at your pussy, watching as you seemed to swallow up his finger, begging for more. Yoongi wanted to be careful though- would force himself to go slow and easy unless you asked otherwise. He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you-

“Yoongi- more.” Your hips were grinding down onto his finger, and he was honestly (yet pleasantly) surprised.

He didn’t really know how hybrids worked sexually, he really knew little about hybrids in general, but you were helping him learn, and it surely seemed like hybrids didn’t need as much prepping as humans did. He didn’t question it- question you- because he figured you wouldn’t know, since you were so innocent and inexperienced. That was okay- in fact Yoongi liked it, a lot, because he felt like you were his, and his only. He cautiously adds another finger, feeling once again your wet heat swallow up the finger in want. He was in awe really, by the way you seemed to stretch and be ready for him already, the noises you were making, and how wet you were-

Yoongi found himself groaning, cock jumping in the confinements of his too tight jeans. He pumped the fingers gently inside of you, listening to the obscene sounds your heat made with each one. Your body was in complete pleasure, the intensity of it leaving you dazed. It was too much and not enough at the same time, and Yoongi seemed to be agreeing because with one last pump of his fingers and a sharp suck to your clit, he was standing to his feet, pants and boxers quickly laid forgot with your clothes around his feet on the floor. His cock stood tall and proud, precum leaking from the tip from watching you fall apart from such little action. Yoongi was thick, and you really didn’t know how that was going to fit inside of you, but you decided to stay calm and let Yoongi take control, to finally mate and claim you.

Already missing the remnants of Yoongi’s touches, you’re thankful when he climbs back on his rightful place atop you, staring into your eyes as your ears twitch unknowingly. He had gotten so use to you being a hybrid, he sometimes completely forgot you had cat ears and a tail. He loved the soft fur that lined them, especially loving it at times like now when your tail tangled back around his waist when he had finally been back into your reach, the soft fur tickling his skin. He watched you for a long moment, watched how your chest heaved and how your hair fell just slightly on your face. He watched the peaceful look you gave him, the loving purrs still falling from deep within your throat. You really were a beautiful creature, and he didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone as amazing as you. He loved how different you were, how caring you were (and God were you caring), and just how much you were an amazing person all the way around. There were so many things he loved about you, so many things that had made him fall in love with you, and he really just couldn’t stop his heart swelling as he looked at you in that moment. He really hoped you understood, just a little, how much he loved you, how much he needed you- Yoongi really wasn’t good with words. He hoped after this moment, you’d understand him just a little bit more, understand his feelings, since he had never really set them straight with you.

You paw at his chest, watching Yoongi seem to fall into deep thought as he stares at you, your desire for him growing more. He smiles at you, gripping his cock and moving to position himself at your entrance. He had slightly forgotten how hard he was, and honestly it was beginning to hurt as he took the sight of your body in again. Bending down to kiss your lips one last time, he begins to carefully, ease his aching cock into your entrance. The groan he lets out goes straight to your core, the sound so enticing- you wanted to hear it more. A slight burn was met as Yoongi pushed into you, but your heat welcomed Yoongi’s cock, much like his fingers. It didn’t hurt at all, luckily, it felt so good you actually found yourself moaning so loudly, your head shook.

This, this was much different than Yoongi’s previous actions. In fact, it felt so much better, more intimate and passionate. Your heart swelled at the thought of finally becoming Yoongi’s- the thought of him mating you, and being everywhere all at ones- your legs went to his hips, pulling his body the rest of the away onto you along with his cock inside of you. He moaned at the feeling, elbows on either side of your head as he began to take that as an okay to slightly move his cock back and forth. You instantly nuzzled into his neck, breath coming out shaky and hard as you begin to lick at your usual spot, at times accidently nipping when he went just a little deeper than before. He groaned above you, obviously not minding, and you were more than happy to continue- to mark him as yours.

“Yoongi!” A shout falls from your lips as he picks up the pace, holding you tightly and licking at the fur surrounding your ear. You were sure you stopped breathing then, until you felt a few wet fingers toying with your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, body shaking slightly from the intenseness of everything.

“I love when you moan my name.” Yoongi’s voice sounded deep, hoarse and dry as he pounded into you. Your tail and legs squeezed tighter around him at his words, your hands moving to fist into his hair for something to hold onto. You felt an odd sensation in your stomach, a feeling that was starting to become too overwhelming, and you squeezed your eyes shut body going tense as your orgasm hits you like a train.

Yoongi!” You scream, not even realizing how loud your voice had become. Body going completely numb as you’re sent into a storm of incredible pleasure. Yoongi continues to thrust into you, helping you ride out your orgasm as he holds you tightly in his arms, groaning loudly from how tight you had suddenly become.

“Oh god, (Y/N).” Yoongi’s orgasm shatters through his body as he shutters, cumming inside of you.

He falls onto you after a moment, face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath. You’re pretty sure you couldn’t move, not that’d you want to. That was absolutely amazing, and you find yourself combing your fingers through Yoongi’s hair as he tries to catch his breath. For some reason you became incredible nervous after what had just happened, not knowing of what would come next. Anxiety overloaded your body causing your tail to sway uneasily to your side, and with each swat, it lightly hits Yoongi in the side, a huffed groan vibrating through your skin as he shuffles onto his forearms to look at you.

His fringe was sweaty, and clung to his forehead. He somehow still looked absolutely breathtaking, even looking completely fucked out. You couldn’t help the sour look that crossed your face, waiting, just waiting for him to say something- to break the thick silence as it began to cloud into the room. He didn’t though, seeming much more entranced with gazing at you, a small satisfied smile laying onto his features.

“What?” You asked suddenly self-consciously. He leans down to brush his lips against your cheek, the action making you blush slightly.

“Nothing.” You weren’t sure if he was being honest or not, but you figured you’d let it go for now.


Since that day, Yoongi and you had had sex- a lot. Yoongi had corrected you when you had called it mating, saying that just sounded a bit weird and that wasn’t what humans called it. You didn’t understand, like usual, not really getting what else there was to call it. He had told you, you two were making love, and the words had sent your whole body on alert. That had been the first time Yoongi had really given you an insight on his feelings, which had caused you to stutter and asked why he would call it that.

“That’s what you’d call it if two people were trying to show how much they loved each other, don’t you think?” You had accidently swatted him clear in the face with your tail, having been perched comfortable on his lap, unknown emotions filling your body. You were pretty sure he had basically just confessed he loved you, and you realized you hadn’t given him a proper answer because you were well- in shock.

“Yeah, that’s sounds about right.” After a long pause you had made your mind up, settling on confessing your own feelings along with finally confirming your own with yourself. But the feelings were mutual, and that alone made you so happy you found yourself leaning in to kiss him.

“What took you so long?” You groaned playfully, curling further into his body, just trying to get closer. And you came to the final conclusion that you were happy here with Yoongi, that he had found you. You were okay with how things were right now, and how things had turned out.

You realized, sitting there, listening to the beating of Yoongi’s steady heartbeat that it didn’t matter how long the two of you had known each other. It didn’t matter that you may have not known every single thing about him, because you had time to learn, and you could hear what was really important, you could hear the silent unspoken words in his heart, and that was what really mattered.


A/N: Thank you so much to the anon that requested this, I really hope you and everyone liked it. This took me forever to write for some reason, I kept having writers block so bad because I’ve never written anything like it before, and I kept staring over because I thought it sucked, but it’s finally done! Once I got a good idea of where I wanted the story to go, I actually had a lot of fun writing it (maybe a little too much). It’s a lot longer than I expected too. I actually got a lot of inspiration from the song Hear Your Heart by James Bay (hence the title), and if you’ve never heard it, I highly recommend it! It’s one of my favorite songs, and it really gave me a good idea of where I wanted this story to go. Anyways, I really hope everyone liked it, and I’d love to here what you thought.

anonymous asked:

I died a bit when in The Bedroom Scene, Lance took a step back when Keith said he should stop worrying about who flies what and focus on his missions. Like keith my boy I know you are trying to be A Leader here but could you miss the point by another mile? don't blame him though, it isn't exactly his forte to do it.

that scene was very in character and wasn’t meant to solve all of lance’s issues right then and there (lance has been said to have a show spanning arc, after all) because keith doesn’t even know the extent of lance’s insecurities in the first place, since he’s never explained the root of them to anyone, really. we, as viewers, know the extent of it… but no one on the team does. i feel like people forget that tbh… because i’ve seen people shitting on the team, especially keith, for teasing lance and not getting the fact that he deals with a lot of self worth issues. but the thing is, i’ve been over this in previous posts but… they don’t know their teasing is affecting him because of that confident exterior he puts up. they don’t know about his self worth issues because he talks himself up all the time when he’s around people. friends tease each other and that is common knowledge, they are not doing it to be malicious. you can tell for them, it’s all in good fun… we know everyone cares about lance, values him and trusts his abilities… and even though lance most likely knows they aren’t teasing him to intentionally hurt his feelings, it definitely still gets to him… which is why he really really needs to actually talk about this in depth with someone.

we can’t blame the team for not picking up on it because lance masks it extremely well… and we can’t blame keith for not realizing the deeper meaning behind the whole conversation lance had with him in his room. as i’ve already talked about in previous responses and as we all already know, keith is a loner and is shown to not be good at social interaction, comforting people or picking up on things. basically, he’s not that good with stuff that involves other people, in general, because of his lone wolf nature, his past and how closed off he usually is. like you said, it isn’t his forte. so, of course keith misunderstood… of course he didn’t pick up on it… first, because lance hasn’t really let his insecurities show until now, but even in this scene… lance doesn’t explicitly explain why exactly he’s feeling this way. lance knows keith is not good at this stuff because lance, himself, is good at this stuff… because it has been made a point in the show to show us how lance is very helpful to keith when he doesn’t understand things. lance knows keith did not get the point and that is why he did walk away from this interaction feeling a bit better than he did beforehand. he knows that, even though it was poorly executed, keith was trying to reassure him. he knows he was trying to cheer him up when he said “and lance, leave the math to pidge” and that is why he genuinely smiled back at him… 

this scene played out exactly how it should have given how these two are individually, and how their relationship is, at this point in the show. it would have been out of character for lance to voice the full extent and reasons behind his insecurities right away, i think… since lance does seem to try very hard to keep up his confident, happy-go-lucky exterior around others. the progress he has made with starting to somewhat talk about it is realistic and in character. it would have been extremely out of character for keith to be able to pick up on the deeper reason behind lance being worried about being left out… and it would have been extremely out of character if he was able to comfort lance better and reassure him better with words alone, because at this point… keith still isn’t that good at this, especially with words, but he tried and it helped a bit. he then proceeded to give up piloting red after saying “shiro” could pilot black, just so lance didn’t have to be left out and not have a lion. those two scenes are obviously meant to tie in with each other. keith took what lance came to him about to heart and that is a big and important step for keith and his character. it didn’t end up mattering because “shiro” was denied by black, but still. we were able to see that keith was trying to make sure that lance’s worries were not realized.

some people are saying that keith unintentionally made lance’s insecurities worse and lance left his room feeling worse than before… but i don’t think that’s the case… because like i said, lance knows that keith isn’t good at this stuff and he knows he was trying his best. this didn’t resolve his insecurities, but it didn’t make them worse either. they’re going to get worse because lance keeps bottling them up, not because of this interaction. lance left keith’s room genuinely feeling at least a little better, the smile on his face was genuine. the new light in which lance was viewing keith was genuine and special… this interaction opens the way for them to have a BETTER, more personal interaction like this in the future… it’s a stepping stone on the path to them opening up to each other more, understanding each other better… with lance actually explaining his insecurities in full to keith. once keith actually understands, he will be able to help more, i think… because he knows that lance is very skilled. keith knows lance is important and brings something to the team that no one else does. not to mention, lance is now the next person after shiro… that hasn’t given up on keith. he has stuck by his side and had his back basically all of season 3 and that is undeniably very important to keith. lance has become very important to him. keith even opened up and acknowledged his mistakes with lance. he never does that. he was extremely vulnerable in that situation and he sounded absolutely wrecked… that whole scene was just… very symbolic, beautiful and intimate. lance was able to bring him back up and get him back on track. i know lance has become extremely dear to keith, someone he now relies on and looks to in times of need. so, once he actually knows about the core of lance’s insecurities… i am certain he’s going to be there for him and reassure him about his importance on the team the best he can.

i feel like we need to talk just so i make sure y’all understand something

there’s a bunch of people out there who have decided not to watch the bold type just yet, as to “guard their hearts” from god knows what. and to those people i say: you’re gonna be the reason the bold type gets canceled. plain and simple

i’ve been in fandoms for as long as i can remember and i’ve lost my share of f/f ships. i’ve been through hell and back with them and no, sometimes it wasn’t worth it. actually, a lot of times it wasn’t worth it

i get being hurt. i get being guarded, being wary of shows who claim to be forward-thinking, who make vain promises and leave us hanging, who promise to give us the love and protection we crave only to stab us in the back. i get it, and i’ve been there

but the reality is: the bold type hasn’t done that, and it won’t. this is a show with a f/f couple, its main couple, where both of the characters are women of color. two layered women who got storylines of their own, who are powerful, get what they want, and take no shit from no one

the bold type has done a wonderful job in every possible aspect, and kat and adena’s relationship is no exception. they’ve had some ups and downs already, as expected given they’re the main relationship of this show, but nothing too dramatic that they can’t bounce back from - and they are bouncing back

but you wouldn’t know that, because you’re not giving the show a chance. you claim you want to “wait and see” so you won’t get hurt, but guess what? there’ll be nothing to see if the show gets canceled in its first season

please, tell me, if the bold type were to have seven seasons, would you “wait” for those seven seasons to be over to “see” what happened to this ship and then decide to watch it or not? have you done that with, say, w*nonna earp or s*pergirl? or, you know, any other show you’re currently watching? i think it’s safe to say you haven’t

in my opinion, you’re not being honest as to why you’re not watching this show. i’m all for people watching whatever they want to watch, but don’t go around saying you want this and that on a show only to not support it when it actually comes along. you ask for diversity, for women and men of color, you ask for healthy relationships between female characters, you ask for all these things that the bold type is delivering and still… you don’t show up

you want writers and a cast who supports its show, its characters, its ships… aisha, katie, and meghann were cast due to their off-screen chemistry. katie, aisha, nikohl, the writers; they’ve all supported kadena off-screen. actually, katie is easily kadena’s biggest supporter, and she’s not shy about that 

you want writers who respect the show’s viewers, well, just the other day the writers were approached by someone who believed a couple of things on the show had transphobic vibes to them (arguable, in my opinion), and you know what the writers did? they listened. they took their concerns as valid and promised to pay more attention in the future. unlike some other writers i know, from shows you all want to claim as “progressive”

the bold type checks pretty much each and every one of your boxes. so why aren’t you watching it? why are you making excuses?

Friendly reminder that Dean does NOT even have to be bisexual to date Cas, because:

  • Castiel literally isn’t male. It is canon that the angels in general are agender/nonbinary. I mean, obviously he’s not female either, but:

  • Dean is perfectly aware of the fact that angels are actually genderless/sexless celestial beings  (“You have been with a woman before? Or an angel, at least?”) and yet he’s slept with the angel Anna (note: the angel that was supposed to replace Cas). 

  • Even if Dean’s straight… and even if we take into consideration that Castiel’s vessel is male (which doesn’t really matter) or that he may actually identify as a male at this point or whatever: you do NOT have to be bisexual to fall in love with a person of the same gender. You can be a straight guy and still fall in love with another guy (or anyone that’s not a woman), because:

  • Love. Isn’t. About. Fucking. Yes, Castiel’s vessel is male, but it’s not like we fall in love with other people’s genitals, right? I’m terribly sorry to break it to some of you, but not everything is about dick, so like… How about we stop making everything about sex (in every sense of the word)? I’ve seen people accusing Destiel shippers of sexualizing their relationship (yes, it’s true that there are people who just desperately want them to fuck while completely ignoring the emotional aspects of their relationship, but what can we do about it), but really – if saying “Destiel would never work because Dean is straight” (meaning: “because Dean wouldn’t want to have sex with Cas”) isn’t sexualization, than I don’t know what it is. They don’t have to bang, since their relationship is about so much more than sexual tension. You don’t have to have sex for your relationship to be valid, so seriously, this is such an ignorant thing to say, guys. It’s the fact that these two support, protect, need, love and care about each other unconditionally that makes their relationship so beautiful. The fact that they would never give up on each other. That they can communicate without saying a single word. That Cas makes Dean a better person and vice versa. That they would literally die for each other. That they care and are unable to kill one another even when they’re brainwashed or corrupted. That they would shake up Heaven and Hell for each other (and Earth, and Purgatory, and all those alternative universes, too). The way they gaze at each other. Their chemistry, loyalty, tenderness, trust, the slow burn and this damn “profound bond” – so unique, I’ve honestly never seen any canon couple share this kind of connection before. I could go on for centuries, but you get the point.

What I’m trying to say is that their relationship doesn’t have to be sexual. It’s romantic - and that’s what is special about it. It isn’t about two dudes looking hot while making out - which is actually what a lot of other show and movie makers think a queer romance mainly is, no shade. That’s why Destiel going canon would be an amazing revolution in terms of the portrayal of LBGTQA+ relationships. And I honestly don’t understand what’s so wrong with it or why anyone would be against it.

I’m sorry, that’s just the way I see it, please don’t start drama. The “Destiel can’t happen because Dean is straight” argument is just so invalid to me.

anonymous asked:

Hi! Why do you think harry chose pink for his album? I don't think it's because "its rock&roll color" is it? In the french interview he said it MEANS something to him but hmm.... do you have any idea ?

I do have an idea. My answer involves a lot of speculation, so take it with a giant grain of salt. My quotes on the Quotidien interview is taken from this transcript. The video is here.

Stepping back a bit, I do feel conflicted about speculating on a question like this. As the interviewer said, millions of people (including me) dissect Harry’s every tic under a microscope. I don’t think I could be 100% consistent under that kind of scrutiny. Yes, he is a celebrity– and the promotion of his creative work inevitably involves revealing something of his personal life, so that his audience can feel more connected to him. Allowing access to stalkers is part of this strategy– to make him seem reachable, intimate, yet iconic and larger-than-life. They are loathsome and invasive. But they are also useful.

We’ve all been discussing the Harry Styles™ mystique: Harry’s quality of never being completely known or understood, his way of saying nothing while saying something and vice versa, his desire to separate his professional from his private life. This is why audiences are obsessed with whether he “presses the Instagram button with his own finger.” We want to eliminate a layer of uncertainty in the speculation, to know that we’re one circle closer to the real Harry Styles. 

He’s mentioned that Sign of the Times has a personal meaning to him, but explains its meaning in vague, general terms. The lyrics, while seemingly personal and urgent, are not specific to a circumstance. We circle and hover, but never get closer. 

What about Cameron Crowe’s Rolling Stone article, stating in no uncertain terms that the album is “ten songs” about “women and relationships”? Here’s what Harry says

  • I: You said to the Rolling Stone magazine that most of the album was inspired by a woman. Really?
  • H: No I think, honestly, the album is much more about me than it is about anyone else. I think if I said the album is about a woman it kind of feels like, I don’t know, I put a lot of work into this. I don’t feel like it involves around woman. It’s a lot about me and things I’ve never said before. It’s more about me.

It’s not about a woman. His first word is, “No.” Then he softens his statement by redirecting it to himself (personal life), then his hard work (professional life), things he’s never said before (a mixture of the two). In a Harry way, he circles the question back on itself– my music is about both me and my music. It’s a statement about nothing. But in saying that, it answers something– it’s not about women. 

So let’s see what he says about the color pink:

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Stop being a fucking pissbaby and just post the content. Your blackout is completely illogical and counter-productive - people who repost stuff will continue reposting, since they don't care. While those that care about reblogs, will not reblog, because you won't post art for two weeks. Brilliant strategy. it's the typical tumblr mindset: "I want to change the world. I know, I will sign a bullshit petition!". God, you are stupid.

….oh man, this is about to become very embarrassing for you. 

first of all, i’m not even participating in the blackout nor am i organizing it so i don’t even know why the hell you’re coming to me with this. if you’ll notice i’m still reblogging art and still posting writing. which tells me that what you’re doing is going through the tag, finding anyone who’s posted about the blackout, and sending them useless asks because it’s how you get your rocks off. because apparently a harmless tumblr protest upsets you so fucking much that you have to go and insult people over it. you must have a lot of time on your hands. 

if you don’t like the protest, don’t participate in it. if you think it’s not going to do any good, fine. don’t participate in it. i don’t understand why you’re so angry about people participating in a protest that doesn’t affect you. the fact that you are angry shows me that you’re entitled. either you’re a content creator who thinks that you’re entitled to the notes that the people currently protesting aren’t going to give you for two lousy weeks (which, grow up) or you’re a consumer who thinks you’re entitled to the fanart and fanfiction that people on this site post for fucking free that you will be without for two lousy weeks (which, again, grow up). there are plenty of users not participating who are still posting and still reblogging, so the fact that you feel the need to send messages like this to complain about people who are protesting for personal reasons is about the most childish thing i’ve seen all week. 

and here’s another tip, hot off the press. since you’re apparently so offended by a harmless protest that doesn’t affect you, why don’t you do something that you do think will help with art theft instead of insulting people about this protest. why don’t you spread information about proper etiquette around reposting? why don’t you hold an event where people can report any stolen art they see? why don’t you write up guides for new artists/writers who don’t know how to report their stolen content?

bet that didn’t occur to you. because you’re too busy complaining about what other people are doing rather than trying to do something positive for once. because you don’t really care about art theft and you don’t really care about remedying it. you just want an excuse to insult people on anon for doing something that you don’t particularly care for. again, that is childish, entitled, rude, and proof that you really must have a lot of time on your hands. 

please entertain yourself with something else. and if i see you in my inbox again, i’m blocking and reporting your ass. 

Okay, but imagine if...

Cedric Diggory hadn’t died.

Imagine, just for a moment, that when they take the portkey, instead of an Avada Kedavra, it’s a Stupefy that hits him. Or that the AK misses him by an inch, hits a grave instead, knocks him out for a second.

Imagine that everybody forgets about the Hufflepuff boy out cold on the floor, because they are so intent on resurrecting Voldemort. Peter forgets as he ties Harry to that statue. Voldemort forgets as he is dumped into a cauldron full of flesh and bone and blood. And every death eater that comes sooner or later, well, no one tells them about the boy either - there are more pressing concerns.

However, Harry doesn’t forget. Because Harry has been in that sort of situation since he was eleven. He’s used to looking out for others, by now. Hermione and the Troll, Ron on the chess game, Ginny in the Chamber, Sirius and Hagrid and even Buckbeak- Harry always looks out for everyone, and never forgets about anyone, even if they are not really his friends.

So while he stares in horror, while he’s powerless and sees his greatest foe come back to life, a tiny part of his mind is screaming at him to check on Cedric, to get them out of here. Both. Alive.

Now let’s say that the ceremony, and the Death Eater meeting after the resurrection takes time. Lots of it. Let’s say that Voldemort, being the drama queen he obviously is, takes his time, and enjoys every single second of attention he gets from his followers and that Potter brat.

Let’s say he takes enough time for Cedric to come back to consciousness.

He awakes, lying in the grass and dirt, surrounded by bits of stone, his head aching and confused. The cup is laying about, not too far from him, and he could take it to go back but- he’s a Hufflepuff. He’s loyal. He doesn’t forget either, and that’s why, even if he’s confused about why or how he’s here, he doesn’t take the cup and goes searching for Harry.

Now, the tournament is a vicious thing, isn’t it ? Who’s to say to poor confused Cedric that this is not one more, secret, task ?

So Cedric goes looking, wand in hand, ready to fight, because he’s a Hogwart champion - and really, a Graveyard ? That’s creepy. And because he’s on his guard, and he’s moving around silently, no one notices him creeping behind one of the graves. No one notices the Hufflepuff boy, his horrified expression, and his frantic gaze as he slowly understands that no, that wasn’t a task, and that wasn’t a dream either.

Maybe not even Harry, or maybe he does, but that’s not the important thing.

The important thing is that being in Hufflepuff doesn’t make you stupid at all. The important thing is that Cedric is a champion, and smart, and a quick thinker and a hard worker.

The important thing is that Cedric thinks fast, and casts an ‘Accio’ on the cup as he runs towards Harry while he duels Voldemort.

He breaks through the crowd of amazed and struck Death Eaters, catches Harry’s arm with one hand, and with Seeker reflexes, catches the cup with the other.

Cedric lives, and both Harry and him go back to Hogwarts, terrified, bloody, and flinching away from the sudden noise coming from the public. They both live, and thus no one notices that something is amiss immediately, no one sees their wild glances around - as if someone was still out to kill them. The public cheers, and sings the victory of both Hogwart’s champions, and they are suddenly hugged by their families - the Diggorys and Weasleys.

No one notices, and that’s why when the noise dies down, and someone casts a sonorus on them to ask them how they feel about that victory, everyone hears them say, in a still disbelieving and trembling voice.

“He’s back.”

Obviously, everyone is confused, but they start talking, a bit over each other really, but they are in shock - and they say he’s back, Voldemort’s back, and he took my blood, and we were in a graveyard, and I was knocked out, missed most of the ritual, but it was him, yeah, and there were Death Eaters, in a circle, torturing Harry, horrible, had to get away, he’s back, he’s back.

And that’s when the people notice their faces, the blood, Harry twitching fingers - cruciatus - and their wands still clenched in their fingers, as if ready to attack anyone on sight.

This time, though, Harry doesn’t get ushered away by fake-Moody - because Cedric still has a hand gripping his arm, and wont let go for the world. He tells Dumbledore, and their families, though, when the Headmaster asks them to talk “More calmly and clearly, please, young men” at the Infirmary. Barty Crouch Jr is still apprehended, and the real Moody discovered, and it puts their incredible tale in a new, horrific and real, light.

Imagine if Cedric Diggory lived.

Two witnesses of His return. One is Harry Potter, Hero and Saviour of the Wizarding world. The second is beloved Hufflepuff Prefect Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts Champion. Even if people didn’t believe the first, they would believe the second, and vice versa.

Obviously, the ministry doesn’t take it well, but Amos Diggory and the Weasleys, and Dumbledore make a move together. Susan Bones helps her fellow Hufflepuff by contacting her aunt. Together, they get memory evidence - and they even agree on submitting to truth serum.

Because if Harry alone couldn’t do it - or had no idea he could - Cedric is there, and his father works at the Ministry, and he’s a seventh year. He knows more, and he has people ready to help him - and if he asks them, to help Harry Potter.

Sure, the ministry would try to get all this under the rug, but they couldn’t. Because Weasleys, and Diggorys, and Dumbledore, and Bones, and even Longbottom and soon every name that has a contact in Hogwarts - except some of the Death Eaters - are pushing for the truth to get out, and with a bit of blackmail, Rita helps - and this time, the Daily Prophet can’t repress all of them.

Imagine if Cedric Diggory lived, and how the war would have turned.

Imagine just.

You're my best friend

I just got my hair cut and I’m feeling overly emotional, and I don’t know how these two things relate, but here have some sterek.

They have been together for a while now. They just got their first apartment together, and saying that both of them were high on love (for each other) and hope (for a new happy life) would be quite the understatement.

There had been a time when either of them had thought that they could never have the other, that after Derek left they would never find each other again, and they had never even thought possible that one day they could have a place, a home together. And yet, here they were.

They just finished mounting their new bed, and Stiles falls on the bare mattress with a satisfied “oof” Derek following shortly after him.

And it’s then that somehow it hits Stiles. It hits him so hard and so suddenly that he’s so overwhelmed with it that his eyes burn and he wants to yell it at the top of his lungs, but at the same time the emotion is so strong that clogs up his throat, and he can barely manage to speak.

So, he just makes a small noise (all he can muster right now) and rolls over to Derek’s side, throwing one arm over Derek’s body and burying his face into Derek’s neck.

Derek huffs out a surprised laugh, but promptly starts rubbing his back soothingly.

“Derek,” Stiles mumbles, when he finds his voice again.

Derek hums questioningly and Stiles hugs him close, a little bit tighter, before he gets out of his hiding spot and looks up at his boyfriend.

“You’re my best friend.” He says, all intense, earnest and sincere eyes.

Because it’s true. Yes, Scott is the friend he knew longer, they had their high and lows and highs again, and he’s like a brother, but that’s just it, Scott is his brother.

Derek is his best friend.

Derek is the person that he thinks about first when he’s thought of a stupid joke and wants to share it with someone. Derek is the one he looks for when he wants to tell someone about what his favourite character is going through, even if it’s a show or a book that Derek hasn’t watched yet. Derek is the name on his lips when he wants to tell or show someone how he managed to do something, even if it’s just as ordinary and banal as Stiles managing to doodle a real-looking wolf shadow, he knows that even if his first reaction would be to roll his eyes, he’d do so smiling in that warm way that always tell Stiles so many things. Like how loved he is, and how Derek is proud of him, even for the little things. And Derek is the one that he glances up to look at before he even knows why.

And that’s why he hates fighting with him so much, because he’s fighting with his boyfriend and best friend. And really, there’s no one in his life that can match with everything that Derek means to him. Derek is his special person, everyone has their special person, don’t they?

And Derek is Stiles’ person.

And yes, Derek is his boyfriend, and they had already said their ‘I love you’s to each other a long time ago, but Derek is also, and maybe most importantly, Stiles’ best friend too, and Stiles really needs him to know that.

“You’re my best friend,” he repeats, because he needs him to understand.

And of course, because Derek is his everything plus his best friend, smiles small and understanding, before he leans down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, feather-light and all softness, and whispers “you’re my best friend, too.”

And Stiles knows that Derek understands, because he can see in his eyes that Stiles is his person too.

Keep reading

GOT fic:

Title: dawn comes sure as winter
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Jon x Daenerys 
Summary:  here is only her and him, and the endless, dreaming night. [The night after 7x06, Daenerys and Jon find each other].

++++

He awakens in the pale dawn light, feeling Daenerys stir at his side. The ship is quiet but for the soft pitch and rock of the cradling sea, and it seems the crew are mostly slumbering – few footsteps, no voices. Only the breath of the dragon queen, and his own, in his cabin, and the ever present wash of the oceans beyond them.

If he hadn’t felt the heat of her bare skin before he’d opened his eyes – gods but she runs hot as wildfire – he might assume he’d dreamed her visit the night before. The ache in his chest, the rasping cough, the exhaustion set deep in his creaking bones – all slipping away the moment there came a tap on his door, and Daenerys, looking in on him, cautious and shy.

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