#((and whispers softly: this is all your fault Clarity))

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Ivy | chapter fourteenth

listen to: Right Where You Left Me- Taylor Swift (playlist here)

warning: infidelity. violence. blood. for this chapter is mostly grief.

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fii!!

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over your batter body. The blood on your hands had dried by now, as well as the tears in your eyes as you drove through the narrow grey road. With no helmet on, you finally feel like you can breathe as your mind plays over and over again a collection of the last twenty-four hours. 

Rooster’s bloody lip, Jake’s blood on his face. The way they looked at you and everyone looked at you as you exited the base with blood dripping from your body. How you’d brushed off Jake as he tried to talk to you after the exercise, how you’d undressed willingly to Bradley, how you didn’t tell him you were his. Jake’s face when Bradley told him you’d slept together, Bradley’s face as Jake told him you’d been together for five months. 

You barely realize you need to stop before you go farther than you intend to. You hear the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Summer was slowly slipping away; it ended for you when Jake and you had broken things off, though. Your heart weighs heavy as you walk on the grass; a part of you wants to keep pulling away from this. 

You hadn’t been there in a while. 

You’d visited only once since you’d come back. 

“Hey, Dad,” you start softly, your voice quivering. Kneeling, you brush away the fallen leaves, clearing a space to sit beside the cold stone. You trace your fingers over the engraved name, the memories of him flooding back. 

Thomas ‘Iceman’ Kazansky 

1959-2022

You wonder what you can say; your heart feels so heavy as you watch the tombstone. A constant ache that you had never indeed addressed. 

“I really wish you were here right now,” Tears well up in your eyes as you continue. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I feel like I’m messing everything up,” 

You pause for a moment, watching his name expectantly. I wish you could feel him, hoping he could send you a sign. You need him here, you’ve fucked up everything, and now you’re entirely alone. You’re alone because he left you so, so soon. He isn’t there. He will never be able to make it right. You broke everything, and there’s no way to make it right. 

Suddenly, grief overwhelms you. Your shoulders shake with the weight of your emotions, and your tears fall freely, splashing onto the grass beneath you. 

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” you admit through your sobs. “I’m angry at myself for letting it get this bad, I’m angry at you for never allowing me to look beyond what you wanted, I’m angry for,” you stop yourself. It is useless to blame anyone but yourself; it is your fault. Silence lingers for a second. “I should’ve been happy with just Rooster, right?”

You stare at the stone as you bite your inner cheek. 

“Right?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. Deep down, you know it can’t be the truth; you’re lying to yourself and him. It can’t be true because you know that being as happy as you were with Jake meant that it wasn’t a mistake. 

“I don’t know how to make it better, and now we will go to a death trap together, and,” you take a sigh, attempting to calm down the way your chest aches. “If I choose one, I lose the other,”

Defeated, you sit next to the stone, your back to one of the sides while you try to stop crying. The lump in your throat doesn’t surrender until a while has gone by. The memories of Ice flood back, a bittersweet montage of all the lessons he taught you, the compilation of them in your mind. To find clarity, you go back to those moments. You go back to what you learned, hoping to find an answer. 

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall Ice’s voice. A lesson you learned when you started to fly with him, you can feel him. In one of those times, he let you take control of the flight when you were barely a teenager, one of those airplanes he’d gotten just to teach his kids, which mostly ended up being just you. 

“Don’t let anything get in between you’re flying,” he’d told you during that sunset after you’d made a wrong turn. “Nothing gets between you and this plane. No fear, no tears, no one, and nothing. You and your wingman have to get home safe before and above anything,” 

When you open your eyes, leaning drowsily back against the stone even further. You can finally breathe as you make your decision. You want it to stop; you want to put a pause on your life, on the decision, and you are hurting—they're hurting. You want to save their lives and know you’ll put them in more danger if you don’t stop.  

“Dad,” you murmur as you turn to the rock, secretly hoping to see him beside you. “I wish you were here,”

You can feel him; you can imagine him nodding in understanding; you wipe away the few tears in your cheeks before standing from the grave. 

You don’t arrive at your house until the twilight of the day casts a warm, golden glow that bathes your body in a soft, ethereal light. That is how Jake’s eyes fall on you; you seem so small. You have looked like that for Jake since this morning. The first time Jake had seen you like that was after you’d told him about kissing Rooster, then when he’d broken up with you. Before, it wasn’t feasible for Jake to see you in another light that wasn’t strong and decided, confident in yourself. 

You curated yourself so well in front of everyone before, he’d come to realize. No one is close enough ever to see the cracks. He wondered as your eyes fell on him if it was indeed a privilege to see you this torn apart. It didn’t feel like it, not when he could see your swollen nose and the dried blood on your body, eyes bloodshot from crying so much; he knew it well. It felt like even less when your eyes darted to the other side of the door, where Bradley was standing. 

They’d managed to get themselves to the nursery before they continued to tear themselves apart. Still, while Bradley was getting the stitches to his busted lip and Jake was getting checked to see if his nose was not effectively broken, they were biting each other’s heads off with insults and allegations. 

It wasn’t Jake’s proudest moment; the regret of letting you go alone in such a state was also eating him alive. 

At least until now, you don’t seem as broken anymore. 

Bradley notices it first, though. Perhaps because he has known you since he could remember, maybe it is because he also knew his uncle Ice like the back of his hands, he is not quite sure. But he is confident that, for him, it is pretty obvious that you’ve made a decision. 

You know he’s aware of it too, the way the corner of his eyes wrinkles, even with all the bruising, you can see it too. His face was etched with concern and anticipation, then something worse, fear. Jake’s anxiety doesn’t scale up until you speak. 

“Will you come inside?” 

The words come from you reasonably soft, but they pick it up immediately. The determination is unwavering. You are resolved. Neither Jake nor Bradley, who’d been pushing for an answer in the morning, were ready for you to have decided it that fast. The tension in the air is palpable as you open the doorstep into the room. The sun’s dying rays paint long shadows on the floor. 

Jake and Bradley suddenly are apprehensive about entering the place. Holding out at the other side of the threshold as you take off your shoes and look for clothes, you cringe as you watch your jacket and shoes from the day before on the misarranged couch. Quickly, you rearrange everything as well as you can while waiting for them to come in. You hope Jake doesn’t notice, but he does. 

He can’t stop following you with his gaze. 

“Aren’t you going to come in?” You ask them without looking, effectively avoiding Jake’s unwavering gaze. 

Bradley’s frustration is suddenly palpable as he watches how nonchalant you’ve turned after all this. “You’ve chosen,” he says as he enters the room. 

It is strange how much can change in 24 hours. Yesterday, barely at the same time, he thought he was getting you back. Now, nothing can be farther from the truth. 

“I have,”

Jake clenches his jaw as he expectantly waits for you to say Bradley’s name. He wouldn’t be surprised. He knows he was never the good guy; he knows he has played dirty before, trying to force you to decide. He isn’t the good guy you would’ve wanted. For a second, he lets himself think that he might be able to be happy for you and him. 

“I’m not choosing either of you,”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not,” you state firmly. Bradley’s frustration is evident, but you press on, your gaze steady as you continue. “I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I refuse to let my emotions control my decisions. It’s not fair to any of us, and it’s time to put an end to this,”

Bradley’s voice takes on a skeptical tone. “How are you putting an end if you are not making a choice?” he scoffs. 

Your eyes dart to him, the tan skin and his caramel hair. You know him so well that you can trace the wrinkles in his forehead by memory now that he’s frowning. It seems unfair to him; how could it not? He had you this morning, in a bed, in his arms. An illusion. 

“We are going to get ourselves killed if we continue down this path,” you answer back firmly, your chest heavy as you watch Jake and then Bradley. “Nothing is more important than trusting each other, and we have less than a month to do so.”

Bradley persists, his frustration simmering. “You’re using the mission as—”

“—an excuse,” Jake’s voice suddenly interjects firmly. You snap your head towards him as you watch him softly. There’s nothing in those sea-foam eyes that can tell you what he’s thinking. 

You counter, “It isn’t an excuse. I’m doing what’s best for the sake of your well-being, for our well-being, for the team. I am not choosing either, and that’s my decision.”

Bradley’s brows furrow. “You’ll have to pick a wingman.”

You bite your inner cheek as you lean against the marble table where Jake and you’d spend so many nights together. Him cooking, you reading. Conversations always ran long. If it wasn’t conversations that ran long, it was kisses. 

“Maverick’s going to be my wingman,” you state softly, without looking at them, avoiding their reaction. 

“What?” they bark at the same time. The disbelief is palpable.

“I’ve called him. You are better off without me, and you’ve done this exercise with each other. Neither Cain nor Simpson want to see me interacting with either of you in the sky anyway,” you try to sound as reasonable as you can, but there’s no hiding that you’d also convinced Maverick of the choice. 

Bradley persists, “But we’ve been—”

“The decision was taken,” you interrupt firmly. “The mission is first, and I’m taking my emotions out of the equation, and that’s it,”

Bradley’s mouth opens for a moment and then closes. He stares at you wide-eyed, with utter shock at your words. There wasn’t a day where he wouldn’t think to fly without you before, not being your wingman but putting him together with Jake; even after everything, it feels too much like a betrayal. 

“You’re running away from them,” Jake speaks suddenly. 

Your eyes dart to him. There’s a feeling of betrayal in his words. It wasn’t a lie. Part of you knew it was the wisest decision, but it was a decision where you would’ve been let off as quickly as you could, without hurting the other one, without letting the other one go on a mission with a broken heart. You were washing your hands from this mess. 

“I’m not,” you retort. Your heart was racing, your voice suddenly turning strange and hoarse. 

The effect those sea foam eyes have on you is not fair. You feel naked now under them. You twisted yourself in so many ways for them, for them to keep looking at you like they used to. 

“And after the mission?” Bradley’s voice breaks whatever thoughts you had on Jake. 

You look down. Not wanting to answer because you wished that there wasn’t a timeline, that this could be suspended in the air, your eternal wish. 

Jake’s eyes linger with yours; he knows it already.

“She’ll have to choose after the mission,” he says softly. Already too aware of what was coming. 

“You’ll have to choose then after the mission,” Bradley agrees, lingering heat from the previous events from the night before still simmering in his chest, all that anger turning into harsher words. 

“If we don’t die first,” Jake replies. It’s barely a whisper, but all of you get it. 

If you come back. If all of you come back. That word always taunting you, now you couldn’t look at either of you anymore. 

“Let’s worry about not dying first. I want to shower now. Can you please go?” you say, avoiding their gaze. 

Jake’s the first to leave; you know his steps by now. You don’t need to see him; he doesn’t need to see you to know you’re both defeated. Bradley, though, lingers in the sun for a moment. He wants to say it almost involuntarily, always waiting for more information, always expecting you to confide in him. 

Now, you seem as cold as Ice was. 

“You know you’re making a choice here, right?” Bradley insists as he decides to leave; you raise your head to watch him. “Not choosing is a choice. Choices have consequences too, Brat.”

an: Honestly I am so thankful to anyone who is still reading this. I am so excited for the next few chapters we are only missing five and I really want to end this by the end of this month. thank you all for still keeping up with this I know I've been flaky and I am sorry! everything hasn't really been easy but your comments light up my days.

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[kits-shrine]

Rotten Stinkin' Onions

Below is the sad end! Read at your own peril~

"You're my mate." she protested tearfully "I should have tried harder. Done everything. Done anything." Kit bowed her head in shame "And I didn't even think to try." After what happened to his mother, she'd assumed everything about him that made him, him was gone. But she should have tried "I'm so s-sorry that I left you alone when you needed me most." “You never left me, Kit,” he chided softly, taking her hand into his to kiss them both before placing them over his heart, “you were with me the whole time, right here.” She gave a little sob curling to lay her head against his chest overwhelmed by emotion. The beads brushing against his fingers from around her wrist gave a little shiver a hairline crack spreading on one of them. The crack grew and grew, just like the ones on her poor battered Soul. It was just too much and she was already too weak, she whisper little apologies over and over before she let out a pained gasp... as her Soul shattered and her body turned to stone in his arms.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the woman he loved lay cold and still in his arms, “Kit,” he tried to shake her, but stone does not yield, “this isn’t funny, Kit,” his breathing grew ragged as the reality that his love was gone slowly sank in. Her hands felt like white-hot branding irons over his erratic heart, “No, not like this,” he moaned quietly, “No. No. No. No. No. NO!” the elf’s soft refutes turning into wails of heart wrenching agony and rage. He was home; they were together, so why? Why was she gone? It was his fault, he thought brokenly, that goddess may have started it, but he, he was the weak-willed one. He hadn’t been strong enough to stop the possession. He abandoned his mate, leaving her to suffer, letting her broken heart slowly consume her Soul until it was too late. He was to blame. Wild magic as turbulent as his emotions rolled off him in waves, tearing at the earth, shredding the slip of paper that rested near them. Though if the silver kitsune siblings were there, Ingall was blind to them in his grief. Leaves trembled, falling from their perches, trunks bowed, and bark cracked, flowers wilted as grass brown; all nature grieved with the Elven King, all felt his loss, all mourned the dear lady who would have been Queen. (edited)

Thick brambles sprouted from the earth, winding around the King and his lost love, barring all from disturbing him in what would be a tomb. It was only when the wickedly thorned vines threatened to choke the Heart did the elf had a moment of clarity, “No,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper; he would not destroy that which his mate had fought so hard to protect in life. He reached inward even as he felt his Spirit beginning to fade, waves of magic pouring from the elf once again, but these were gentle, healing. This magic was born of love, not grief. Brambles receded as the scarring on the great tree healed, bright red flowers blanketed the earth around the Heart. The spider lilies held an otherwordly glow as they swayed in a soft breeze. A bed of clovers rested beneath the lovers, one of stone, the other green growing things delicate purple blooms sprouted from their clasped hands, heliotrope: eternal love.

Summoned both by the destruction of the slip and the chimes of distress from the Heart itself the silver kitsunes looked at the scene in horrified disbelief and heartache. With tears streaming down her face Ginko checked that both were really and truly gone, whilst her brother checked the Heart whose creaking branches sounded like it was crying with them.

At the house Tony had his hands full with a hysterical Byakko, who couldn’t even speak enough for her siblings to understand. But seeing ones parents perish in each others arm in a magical mirror would do that to most any one, but most certainly one as young as she.

The following days and weeks were spent in mourning not only for the kitsunes or for the monsters once they heard the news, but for the very Shrine itself. The elder kitsunes had to not only carry their grief and the children’s grief but there was a rise in Spirit activity drawn by the negative energy drawn by their sadness causing them to get no rest.

With the help of their friends in both their parents worlds to help them through this dark time. Ginko tried to split her attention between caring for the children and the Shrine and her brother the same, though the later swore off ever allowing himself the weakness of having a mate. The twins picked up mantles in truth of being the next Shrine Guardians, working harder than ever to help working through their grief that way. Touma had been taken in largely by Tamashii. The little one was very confused why and where his mother and Ingall had gone and his father seemed to be the only one capable for distracting him overlong. And Bya… Bya was often found curled up against her mama and papa’s side at the Heart’s base more often than not semi catatonic.

Eventually they would perhaps grow past the pain… but it would not be for many years to come.

~sad fin~

True End

Rotten Stinkin' Onions-You are here

Sweet Onions

Wild Onions -

[timelessxmemories]

Think of me.

A Sera x Unsent!Lock drabble.

@miss-midnightt

(Hopefully I wrote Sera's character right!!)

"I will fight for you."

Lock smiled a little weakly, a soft breath escaping her lips as her gaze shifts upwards towards the ceiling. Those were her exact last words when she had died after falling from the temple. She spoke those exact words to her when Sera had lost her grip on her hand, resulting in her falling into the unknown. But she never once blamed her. Not a single time.

But as those words rang through Sera's ears, she remembered the situation with perfect clarity, the memory stuck with her so vividly she could recount every detail, a detail that brought immense guilt and sadness to her.

Sera looked over at her, a calm look of guilt and remorse in her eyes as she spoke, her voice but a quiet whisper.

"I'm sorry.."

Her tone shifts to one that's somber, a deep frown coming to her face before Lock spoke once more, breaking the silence.

"Don't be. Let the wound heal."

Lock spoke quietly, her voice lowering to a whisper as she shuts her eyes, letting herself relax, a small bittersweet smile coming to her face.

"It wasn't your fault. I never blamed you. Not once. I was simply doomed from the start."

However, Lock's forgiving nature would ease Sera's guilt only a little bit, she always blamed herself, but Lock never did, which helped immensely with her guilt. But that guilt still lingered deep down inside of Sera's heart.

Despite being strong and tough, she always wished she could've done something different during that day, she felt like she failed so thoroughly and she didn't even understand why.

"Maybe you were doomed,"

Sera whispered,

"But you would've had a better chance if I had some ounce of foresight."

Sera's response causes Lock to shake her head briefly, a bittersweet smile coming to her face as she squeezed Sera's hand in hers ever so gently.

"It's not your fault. Don't say such things."

Sera would remain silent for a few minutes, she couldn't bring herself to disagree with her, even if she was comforting her in the moment. Even if she had felt an immeasurable amount of guilt which weighed tragically on her shoulders.

Finally, with a slight shift, Sera spoke up once more.

"Promise me something."

Lock tilts her head to the side, brushing her thumb over Sera's knuckles in a comforting fashion, a warm somber smile upon her face.

"Anything."

This results in Sera's expression to soften, a sigh escaping her lips as she finally said those words that weighed her down.

"Promise me that when it's time for you to finally move on,"

She takes a breath, her words holding a tinge of sadness within them.

"You will think of me."

With those words spoken, Lock smiles once more, bringing her knuckles up to her lips and kissing them softly, gazing deep into her eyes before breaking the comfortable silence.

"Always and forever. When I'm gone, I'll still be here. Maybe not physically, but in your heart."

Sera nods in reply, no other words were needed in this moment, they had each other, and that was all that mattered to them.

And when it was finally Lock's time to move on into the afterlife, she kept her promise all the way through. Not once did she think of anyone or anything else other than Sera. Lock knew deep down that Sera would be okay without her and that she was happy it was finally time for Lock's soul to finally be put to rest. Lock was still there. Not physically. But rather, spiritually.

[rnm-magic-space-xsd]

“Oh..Zen…” it shocked your longtime friend to see you cooped up in his bathroom after visiting. You told him you needed a friend but seeing you; eyes reddish and glistening, your voice so hoarse and weak like this; It broke his heart.

It hasn’t been long since you caught your boyfriend cheating on you, breaking your heart in the process. Saying that after that trauma you lost your spark and joy and became too much of a chore to take care of, a burden and that it was too much of a bother to be by your side. He hit you right where it hurts. He was so shameless as to even say that after you caught him in the act with another woman, in your very own shared bed.

“Oh, y/n..! God, that pisses me off! A trash like that doesn’t deserve your tears! You’re too good for him!” Zen couldn’t keep his anger in after hearing your story.

Seeing you like this, he couldn’t help but hug your undeniably precious yet pitiful figure tightly to him as he spoke, putting all of his effort to support you in every way he could.

“Zen..I really thought that he was the one..I. I don’t understand..my heart hurts so much…”

“Y/n..your tears are as pure and clean as your heart. It was never your fault for having been abused like that. He should’ve been there for you especially when you were having such a difficult time and I-“

“I..”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Zen? Are you okay?” Y/n asked him, concerned as she held his ice cold hand, shaking Zen from his reminiscence, pulling him back to the clarity, kindness and innocence she held in her eyes; driving his soul on fire.

*’Kgh! How can she be so innocent and cute like this and riling me up! She’s too adorable!’*

Back then, wanting to cheer you up, Zen asked what would make you happy, and your reply was that you’ve always wanted to go on a Christmas date but never got the chance to. So, on a pretend Christmas date you two chose to go, to heal both of your lonely souls.

“Zen?”

“O-Oh! Yea, I’m fine! I’m just worried your hand might become colder while holding mine, in this freezing weather. Uh-Um, would it be alright for us to hold hands in my coat’s pocket, y/n?” Zen asked, stammering as he barely succeeded hiding the creeping red blush on his cheeks at the way the girl he loved for so long felt so concerned over him.

“Oh. Y-yea. I’d like that. Sounds cozy.” Y/n whispered softly.

‘Zen is so sweet and kind..I know this is just a pretend date but he’s being so gentlemanly and considerate..Zen is always so fair and just. I wish my ex was by my side like this..But he hurt me. So badly.. Without even batting an eyelash..Just why? Why would he leave me when I needed him most? Am I really such a burden?’

“Hey. Hey, y/n, sweetheart, come back to Earth. By the frown on your face..you’re thinking about him?” Zen asked, squeezing the hold of his hand on you a little tighter, bringing you back to him and to this present moment you two shared together.

“Oh, hah. Heh, well..” you tried to brush it off, laughing softly in self pity, “..yea.” but due to the inner duty you held towards the truth, you admitted to the trailing of your thoughts.

“But, can we talk about it while we’re getting something warm to eat? Like goulash or bulgogi?”

“Oh? Sure! It’d be a crime to let such a cutie like you starve, plus I’m also starting to get hungry. Hot tender beef sounds delicious right now.”

“With sweet potato fries?” You both added in unison, cheering each other up.

After finding a seat in the heated diner, you felt compelled to continue your previous conversation.

“I just don’t understand..you know, at the beginning of our relationship he used to be so passionate, romantic and fair but after I became depressed I became this..this ‘liability’ to him..like I wasn’t worthy of his love if I couldn’t help him feel better by being the ‘always joyous, innocent, loving and supportive’ girlfriend role that he sought from me.”

“Hey, y/n, you’re allowed to feel upset and angry at him.” Zen, who sat across from you, gazed sincerely into your eyes. His eyes were full of acceptance and understanding as he took your hands in his.

“You’re more than what you can do for others, more than just sweet honey that melts in your mouth or the comforting purr of the cats you so love. You can also be the sharp sting of a bee, the claw or bite of a cat; and still be lovable. You’re precious. Undeniably so, to me.”

“Zen?” You asked, heart stirred up by his passionate yet steady gaze.

“Look, y/n. I know you’re still freshly out of a relationship and feel so broken and used by that trashy jerk ex of yours, but I love you. My heart has yearned for only yours for two whole years now and I just can’t keep it in any longer. I’ll give you all the time that you need but, please think about it, love. I want to give you all of the warmth, love and support that he couldn’t give to you and more. I’ll never hurt you.”

[lightsiided]

     "thor," she starts softly, tilting her head to the side. rey knows they both hate when the other PITIES them, but she can't help it. it saddens her that he feels this way, that his upbringing has left him with the weight of the entire universe constantly on his shoulders. he believes everything that happens to anyone is his fault, somehow. his duty. "it's not selfish to enjoy yourself. you couldn't have known there was any reason not to." gently, her thumb strokes back and forth over his shoulder. "i'm glad you had fun. i guess that's part of why i didn't... well, i hoped you were having fun, and i didn't want to spoil it."

a gentle smile splits her lips as he kisses up the length of her forearm and back down again. she has missed the mindless, casual affection between them so much. her fingers extend to brush beneath his chin, over his beard. "once the republic is restored," she says, "and the people who have suffered at the hands of this war are free, i will rest. I PROMISE. but we both know there is work to be done, first. i can't just stop now." or else what was it all for?

it would be easy to get the falcon and go. to say that her work is done, and the rest of the galaxy should figure out what's next without her. but that approach, that single-mindedness, is what made things so easy for the first order. this time, they must be BETTER. as someone who has lived on the side of hopelessness... she knows her perspective will be invaluable in the conversations that are to come.

she sighs, then, dropping her arm to her side. a small, childish part of her had hoped that maybe she would wake to find losing leia had been just a bad dream. perhaps she would be one of the faces at her bedside, just as eager as the rest to admonish rey for her heroics. but she had soon realized that wasn't going to happen. "thank you." her voice is barely a whisper in the clearing. rey clears her throat, looking away. "i... wish we'd had more time. i wish i'd been ABLE to --"

a hand lifts to press her fingers to her eyes. "leia wanted freedom for the galaxy, but more than that... her last wish was for her son to come home. i had thought, maybe..." looking back on it now, it seems FOOLISH. he had proven himself to her more than once. perhaps it was more than simply selfish, venturing to exegol to face him alone. perhaps thor thinks it was a stupid, naïve decision, like she knows finn and poe do. "i just wish i had been able to do that for her. she used the last of her energy to try and reach him, and i still couldn't -- i had to..." rey's shoulders lift as she trails off. she wonders if thor can tell how ashamed she feels. it is just as strong as it had been in the medcenter. "i feel like i failed her."

and they will never get the chance to talk about it. never again will she have leia's comfort, her wisdom, her guidance. rey's jedi path is without a second set of footsteps, now. everything that happens from here on out rests solely on her. what she wouldn't give for one final conversation. she feels she needs the parting words of clarity only leia could provide now more than ever. "and i never got to say GOODBYE."

her eyes shine, but rey's able to blink most of the emotion away. she had expected they'd talk about something else -- not this. she isn't sure she's ready to fully feel the weight of leia's loss. not yet. "please," she murmurs. "tell me more about your fun. YOUR TRAVELS. or... about what happened once we parted ways."

“it bears repeating.”  thor’s eyes are cast downward, focusing on the damp ground between them.  still, his fingers fidget with the cup in his hands.  bringing it along was a good call; he gets his nervous hands from his mother.  it feels better to keep them occupied.  “and i hadn’t given an explanation as to why i was so absent.”  isn’t that something she should know?  doesn’t rey deserve to know what he had foolishly allowed to distract him?

“of course it’s my job.”  when he looks up at her, there is equal parts pleading and sorrow in his eyes.  “it is my job to be here for you.  i told you. . .  i promised you i would always protect you, and i failed.  you should have spoken to me, yes, but. . .  that i hadn’t heard from you should have immediately—“  frustrated with himself, he gestures with his free hand, but falters.  an exasperated breath leaves him.  “but i was too busy being selfish.”  it isn’t inherently a bad thing; everyone is permitted to put themselves first, here and there.  that he had thought only of himself in his time away is where the problem lies.  what good is missing her and thinking of her if he’d made no attempt to speak to her?  “i was. . .  enjoying myself.  having fun.  that i neglected you along the way is. . .  reprehensible.”

rey steps closer, and he feels her touch on his shoulder.  thor turns his head to press kisses to her wrist, along her arm.  “it isn’t only about defeating him on your own.”  thor’s voice is quiet when he says it, hushed.  his nose drags lightly along her skin (to comfort her, or himself?).  the fact is that someone should have been with her, and it should have been him.  what if rey hadn’t found her way back to her body, or the force hadn’t given her back?  whatever was happening in the in-between, only she knows, and he won’t pretend to be able to understand it— simply put, as far as thor can tell, she was dead.  and she died all alone.  not even an enemy remained to keep her company in what could have been her final moments.  if it had been permanent. . .  thor would never have been able to forgive himself.

but he can’t express that.  not yet.  for now, it’s too much.  when more time has passed, and the wound isn’t as fresh, he’ll be honest about the feelings that (may forevermore) plague him.  she has only just left her room — it would be cruel to put such weight on her shoulders again.  even if there is still more unpleasantries to discuss.

“hm.  you’ll take time for yourself, then?”  thor’s voice is a murmur as he tilts his head into her arm, nuzzling her.  “after everything that has happened,” he repeats, “you have certainly earned the right to a bit of selfishness.  or at least a few days of rest.”  but, of course, he knows her, and they’ve already briefly covered this.  the fight continues, and she will go along with it.  getting her to stay here just a day longer has been a feat.

though thor’s words border on teasing, what brews between & around them isn’t lost on him.  levity has yet to return; it hadn’t quite come inside, in her room, and it is certainly out of reach now.  he pulls rey closer by her arm, lets his hand fall to her hip.  looking up at her again, she looks as tired as he feels.  for a few moments, there is only silence as he ponders how he wants to approach this.  perhaps there is no way to acknowledge it without upsetting her, but he wants to give her the space to express her grief.  away from listening ears, away from expectations.

“leia. . .”  he starts, as gently as he can.  his thumb strokes slowly at the clothing over her waist.  “i had asked where she was after i brought you back here.”  he explicity doesn’t ask, but the door is held open for her all the same.  “my love. . .  you have my deepest condolences.”

[miraculouscontent]

Someone requested my post-”The Puppeteer 2″ Lukanette piece for some reason (probably want to see me explode or something), so fINE:

(post-"The Puppeteer 2"; meant to be pre-”Silencer” but could be seen as post-”Silencer”)

The dark sky of Paris was beautiful that night; a complete betrayal of how Marinette actually felt. It was like it was taunting her, telling her what she could have if she wasn't so utterly stupid.

Marinette leaned back against the side of Anarka's ship, glancing over at Kitty Section as they packed up their things for the day.

Luka kept glancing at her, but she kept pretending not to notice. She knew that, if he so much as said "hi" to her, everything would spill out and she'd look like a fool to him too.

She thought a distraction would do best for her, hence why she'd avoided Alya and Nino as much as possible and instead went to see Kitty Section. They could tell something was off, but she insisted that she just wanted to have a fun time and not talk about it.

They were curious, she was sure, but what could she even say?

...At least, what could she say that wouldn't make her sound like a complete weirdo?

Her gaze was drawn to Kitty Section once more, and she noted that Luka wasn't looking at her this time. The ship was already docked, so really, she could leave whenever she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

Ivan and Rose waved their good-byes to them, then got off the ship to start heading home. Juleka waved as well, then set her things down before following after Rose to walk her home, which Rose happily waiting for her on.

That just left Marinette and Luka.

Her heart was pounding against her wishes.

"...Luka, how do you do it?"

Luka straightened, likely surprised to hear her speak directly to him for once that day, then turned. As soon as their eyes met, he visibly relaxed and smiled. "Do what?"

Marinette averted her gaze as he approached. "Just... being so cool like you are. You're always calm and you don't let anything bother you." She hugged her knees to her chest, blushing in embarrassment. "You never look like a clumsy oaf in front of everyone."

Luka sat down next to her, Marinette peeking up at him just slightly as he stared at the sky.

"...Meditation," he replied simply, "and music."

She snorted, a bit bitterly. "I wish it was that easy for me." She paused, adding a bit more fondly, "You're amazing, Luka."

The silence dragged on for a moment. Luka was staring at her quietly, looking as though he didn't know what to say.

Then, he leaned forward, opening his mouth to respond.

Marinette felt her body tense up. Burying her face into her knees, she muttered quickly, "I kissed Adrien."

Yep. There she went, just like she thought. Everything just pouring out without her consent.

She didn't look at Luka, too nervous to see his reaction. "I-I didn't mean to. I thought he was a statue! He was acting like one as a joke, and I just..."

"As...as a joke?" he echoed.

Marinette glanced over at him. She hadn't meant to, really, but his tone had surprised her.

He seemed confused. Thrown off.

Maybe a bit tense.

"...Yeah," she responded. "I guess I don't blame him. I'm always stammering and making a fool out of myself, so he probably doesn’t know how to deal with me, but..."

She straightened, shaking her head and roughly patting her face. "I-I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Marinette, you can talk to me," Luka reassured. He made a gesture like he was still holding his guitar. "Let the music flow."

She managed a small smile at that. "How is it that it's always you who ends up comforting me?"

He shrugged, but also seemed completely unbothered by the idea.

And it was true, really. As much as she denied it, her compass went off for both Luka and Adrien, just in completely different ways. In a way, it meant that it made sense for her to feel like Adrien was the only one that she was in love with.

But, then... what was the difference? Why did they bring her such different feelings?

She glanced at Luka, perhaps expecting to find the answer through an epiphany, but there was nothing.

Luka looked back at her. She averted her gaze, blushing, but at least his look reminded her of what she'd just been talking about.

Taking a deep breath, she sighed. "It's exhausting, y'know?" She paused, debating with herself before adding, "That wasn't even my first kiss, and that didn't happen the way I wanted either."

She rubbed her face, slightly frustrated. "I didn't want it. It was something I had to do." She knew he probably wouldn't understand, but she felt like he'd just get it.

Because Luka always got her. He always knew how she felt. He didn't ask invasive questions and he didn't pressure her, only seeking to make her feel better.

She needed more of that simplicity in her life.

"I just..." She buried her face further into her knees. "Does kissing even mean anything anymore? Because I want it to. I just want to kiss someone who loves me, and someone who I love, like--"

Without thinking, she turned to Luka, about to continue speaking before she realized exactly what she was about to say.

She froze.

Her face paled.

She recoiled, letting out a strangled squeak of embarrassment. Covering her face, she stammered, "O-oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I did it again! I'm not thinking and then I just go and..."

She shook her head, trying not to sink further into this hole she's dug for herself.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed. Her shoulders were tense. Her face felt hot enough to cause a burn.

Was this how her life was going to be? Eternally cursed to say the dumbest things in front of the people she had a crush on?

She should run. She should just go, and never speak to either of them ever again. Maybe she could just move completely, change her name, and--

Marinette paused, realizing that Luka had said and done nothing since she'd started freaking out. Though hesitant, she peeked out at him between her fingers.

He was staring at her, looking to be in some sort of daze.

And he was blushing.

Marinette's heart skipped a beat.

Luka blinked, then finally snapped back to reality. He looked away, seeming to be deep in thought.

"...Marinette."

"Y-yes?" she asked, though part of her had a feeling that she knew what he was going to say. She was just too afraid to acknowledge it as a possibility.

He glanced back at her, then down at the ground. His eyes seemed hesitant and distant, but perhaps a little hopeful as well.

He met her gaze. "If you'd have me..."

Oh.

Marinette thought her face couldn't get any redder. "L-luka, I--" She swallowed, able to hear the sound of her own heartbeat. "I-I can't do that to you. I mean, I want to--but--I'm confused--I--"

Luka leaned closer, but didn't invade her personal space. He didn't make any move to get closer, but his eyes never left hers.

Relaxed. Calm. Reassuring.

"I-I..." Marinette placed her hands in her lap, blushing. "I...I don't want you to have regrets like I do. It's not fair. I'm already a mess, I--"

"Marinette."

She stilled, struck by the gentleness of his tone.

He smiled, his voice soft. "How could I have regrets if it's with you?"

Just that like, her heartstrings were tugged. He wanted to, accepting that she was confused and rolling with whatever crazy thing came out of her mouth.

She breathed, needing a moment to collect herself.

They shouldn't be doing this. She was an emotional wreck and, even if he'd agreed to it, was it even right?

But also, she really wanted to kiss him.

"O...okay."

Luka sat there, smiling patiently at her. Even as she slid closer to him, he made no attempts to move away.

Though shaking, Marinette eased towards him, mentally preparing herself for a kiss. He remained still, waiting for her.

He was really going to let her do it. He was really going to let her kiss him.

Marinette blushed, but closed the gap between them, finally meeting her lips with his.

Her immediate response was to squeak. With all her talk about kissing and how used to them she felt like she should be, it quickly hit her that this was her first real kiss.

She closed her eyes, unintentionally relaxing. At first, she thought that he might've been pulling away, but then she realized that it was her who was actually leaning in.

And he was swift in returning the favor, pressing back against her.

A mutual kiss.

Marinette felt a thrill shoot up her spine. Slowly, her arms went up and around Luka's neck, steadily pulling him in.

He giggled into the kiss, but it wasn't malicious or mocking. It was sweet, loving, and full of encouragement.

Likewise, his arms wrapped around her back in return. Marinette shuddered, but certainly not in protest of it.

No. She was happy.

Time passed. The ambiance of the night had become comfortably drowned out by Luka's kiss, with Marinette completely and utterly distracted by everything that was him.

Then, they slowly pulled apart, Marinette's eyes remaining closed for a moment longer before she drifted back into reality. It felt like a wave of clarity was washing over her.

Everything made sense. Adrien was a song she'd played at full blast, ignoring how it was affecting her and not noticing as it blocked out Luka's song as well.

There just came a time where she'd had the sense to turn the volume down.

Luka stared at her fondly, somehow maintaining his calm demeanor despite how red his face was. Marinette imagined that she looked the same way, though likely without the whole "calm" part.

She looked around, honestly rather surprised. She'd been expecting someone to see them, or for something to come flying in to interrupt them.

Yet, there was nothing. It was just them and their feelings.

"Marinette?" Luka called gently.

She met his gaze, noting that he seemed concerned about the daze she was in. "...Is--" She smiled sheepishly, tears forming in her eyes. "--is this what it feels like when things go smoothly?"

His eyes widened. He smiled sympathetically at her, then held his arms out to offer her a hug.

She took it, practically colliding with him as a rush of emotions hit her. Clutching his jacket, she let out a happy sob.

"I...I love you."

She wanted this. Even in her flurry of feelings, she knew she wanted to see where this went and what it meant to truly be in love. If Luka would give her that opportunity, she'd gladly take it.

Luka embraced her, one hand moving to her head to gently stroke through her hair. His reply was quiet, but impossible for her not to hear. "I love you too, Marinette."

She choked, shaking, and despite the storm of emotions inside her, she was happy.

He held her, letting her cry as much as she wanted to, and that's exactly what she did.

[jen-with-a-pen]

Dirty Dishes

summary: You and Bucky share an apartment in Bucharest. Some nights are fine, others are tough. Nights with storms are especially tough.

pairings: Bucky x Reader (CATWS and CACW time periods)

warnings: angst, mention of panic/anxiety attack, Bucky has PTSD, light fluff, gratitude

word count: 653

a/n: haven't written in a while. thought this was cute enough to post. also this is my first little snippet that's written in past-tense soooooo.... might be subject to change lol. EDIT: edited for clarity and tense corrections 06/25/2023

Please consider reblogging my work! Reblogging helps others to be able to enjoy mine and other writers' works! Help me help you help others and reblog <3

read here on AO3! | My Masterlist

inspired by this wonderfully amazing episode by Kalia Falcon :)

The radio hummed low as static fought with the soft jazz playing through the speakers. Rain fell hard outside, pounding at the window and threatening to flood through the door.

Each crack of thunder only put Bucky more on edge. He jumped whenever the sky roared and the run-down apartment building shook as if rivalling an earthquake.

He thought you didn't notice it, but you did. You always did.

From your perch on the loveseat, you witnessed him flinch with each explosion. His grip only tightened on the counter with each strike. He set the remaining dishes in the sink to keep himself from breaking them again.

His plated arm became more of a vice than a weapon during storms like this.

You closed your newspaper and turned to look at him. His back faced you from across the small island, his shoulders heaving in tandem with trembling muscles.

You ached for him, wishing to take his pain away. To make it all go away.

"Bucky?" You called softly. He paused and slowly glanced over his shoulder. You could see his brow furrowed deep, his mouth agape with staggering breaths, his eyes displayed a torturous mix of panic and fear. 

"Let me finish the rest," You offered. Rising from the couch, you calmly made your way to where he was frozen in place. With the gentlest of touches, you placed your fingertips on his shoulder, fanning your hand out as you felt his muscles tense and slowly relax.

You repeated the same movements with his other side, daring not to flinch when your palm rested upon the fault line of scars between his flesh and metal.

You took a breath, deep and obvious for him to join you, then exhaled, coaching him with you.

Inhale.

Exhale.

In.

Out.

The storm carried on. You couldn’t care less; all you cared about was grounding him, making sure he knew where he was. 

Who he was.

His hulking frame shook with one final stifle of a sob, head hung in exhaustion and self-reproach. You spun him around to finally face you and your hands traveled down to his. Fingers languidly interlocked as you wove into his flesh and weathered titanium.

The silence was familiar. Like all the other times you've shared it.

You glanced up to him, finding his brilliant baby blues under a curtain of chocolate hair. Exhausted and defeated, your heartache only grew for him.

But it wasn’t pity. It never was.

"I'll finish up. Go, read the paper. I saved the crossword for you," You whispered, offering a small smile

For a second, you swore you saw a tiny glint of relief fill his eyes. He nodded, offering a defeated smile and a sigh. Before allowing him to go, you brought his knuckles to your lips,  kissing them ever so delicately. Your lips brushed the cool metal plating of his hand and moved to give the same to his other one. You let them go and they dropped back to his sides.

He stood for a second more, searching your face and opening his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. A subtle heat crept up his cheeks when he realized that he was not only inches from you still, but also in the way to the sink.

He moved his stare to the floor and cleared his voice, stepping to the side for you and ambling off to the loveseat.

He couldn’t see you, but if he could, the tiniest smile that crept onto your face would throw him for a loop. 

It sure did for you, at least.

Turning on the faucet, water rushed loudly onto the dirty plates that greeted you. Even with the noise, you swore you heard something. 

From the loveseat where he sat, Bucky muttered something he thought you wouldn't hear.

 Low, gravelly, and just a drop of honey.

"Thank you."

[theladycarpathia]

The blood is starting to seep past Chrissy’s hands, thick droplets of red spilling past her fingers. She chokes back a frightened sob and turns her head away. She can’t look at it. All she has to do is keep the material pressed firmly down over the wound and hope that they can get out of here soon. They need to get out of here soon.

A hand comes up and clumsily pats her face. 

“S’okay,” Eddie mumbles, rough fingers still stroking her cheek. Like she’s the one who needs comforting. Like she’s the one who is dying. “Don’t cry.”

This just makes it worse.

“I’ll cry if I want to,” she says weakly, because he’s half conscious on her lap, bleeding from demo-bat wounds in his stomach. She doesn’t know if the others have defeated Vecna, if she’s safe, if Max is safe, if any of them will make it out of here alive.

“‘M sorry,” he says, voice slurred, eyes glassy. The loss of blood is making it hard for him to focus, his dark eyes occasionally losing their clarity. He’s fighting hard to stay awake, as hard as she’s trying to slow the bleeding but if they stay here much longer, it’s a battle lost. He needs a hospital.

“Don’t be,” she whispers, adjusting her grip on his wound. She mustn't press too hard, she remembers, some remnant of a first aid class. “It was my fault.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” he counters and then coughs weakly, something awful and wet. “Didn’t want you to get hurt. S’all.” Chrissy blinks hard to stop the tears from falling. He hadn’t thought twice about saving her. The concert had gone well, drawing all of the bats to the sound but it wasn’t enough. They’d needed more time and that’s when they’d gone to Plan B. Plan Billy and a large crate of fireworks.

“I know,” she says softly, wishing she had a hand free to take his or to smooth the stray curls over his brow. But she can’t, because if she does then everything that they’ve been building towards since that day on the bench will be for nothing. Eddie is the first good thing she’s had in her life for a long while. She’s not giving him up. 

There’s a clatter from outside the trailer but when Chrissy looks up, it’s just Dustin barreling through the rotting door. He drops down beside them, face wracked with anxiety.

“How is he?” he asks, peering at the dark patch of Eddie’s shirt, the red staining her fingers. Chrissy shakes her head, hoping that Eddie’s half-closed lids means that he doesn’t see.

“We have to go,” she whispers and Dustin bites his lip. He’s just a kid and somehow he’s ended up making too many hard decisions today. “Where are the others?”

“Still not here,” Dustin says, turning his head towards the cracked open door and the vast, dark expanse of the Upside Down beyond it. “It’ll take them some time to get back from the Creel house.”

Chrissy swallows. They’re waiting here for Nancy and the others to get back like they know for certain that they’re going to come back. They can’t heave Eddie through the portal without some help but if they wait much longer, Chrissy is going to shove Eddie up that rope and back to safety herself. 

“The bats are gone,” Dustin says, seeing her face. “They’re gone so I think Vecna…I think they did it.” A sudden shudder wracks Chrissy’s body, some combination of fear and relief, and sheer exhaustion. She’s spent the last few days too terrified to sleep, only managing a few hours here and there when Eddie could sing to her. She wants to sleep without dreaming.

“Where the fuck are they?” Billy hisses, stomping through the door and shutting it behind him. He’s been pacing like an angry house-cat, scanning the horizon for Nancy’s group and any lingering bats. Clad in a denim jacket, blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail, he looks so different from the boy she’d known Junior year. She’d seen him at parties, at the basketball games with Jason, chewing on gum in her Math class. Enough for her to feel something when they announced his name on the list of the dead at Starcourt. But they hadn’t been friends, not until he came back from the dead.

“They’re on their way!” Dustin protests, although every minute they spend here is costing them. They have no idea what’s even going on in Hawkins and whether Max’s group is still intact. Especially as Max was taking on the biggest risk of them all.

“You don’t know that, Henderson,” Billy snaps, stalking over to the window and cracking the blinds. “They might have found who knows what and we don’t even know for sure if Vecna is dead!” He stares out mutinously for a moment, mind clearly churning. Then he drops the blinds and turns, jaw set.

“We give them two more minutes,” he says, even though this decision must be costing him. Chrissy knows exactly what it costs, the same price that she is paying by waiting here. There’s a furious glitter to his eyes, the same one that she’d seen when the other group had set off out of the trailer park on their bikes. He’d watched them vanish into the distance, until the darkness had swallowed them whole. “And then we tie my belt around Eddie for the bleeding. You and Chrissy go through to catch Eddie on the other side and drive like hell to the hospital. Got it?” 

“We have to block the portal!” Dustin says, gesturing to the front door. It wouldn’t take the bats two minutes to break it down and escape through the portal. With most of the bats wounded or dead, they have better chances but it’s still something they can’t risk. One bat, two bats, ten bats…any at all would be disastrous if they made it into the real world. 

“Then I’ll stay,” Billy snaps, as she’d known he would. “But we have to get Eddie out.” Chrissy looks down at Eddie in her arms, paler than before, his breathing shallow. He’s barely awake but every so often she catches sight of his eyes blinking up at her, like he’s trying to make sure that she’s still here, still okay. 

“Dustin,” she says softly. He looks up at her, his eyes huge and wet with tears. “We have to go. Eddie’s out of time. Billy will get the others.” 

Dustin curls one hand over Eddie’s limp one, something that she wishes she could do. There’s a quiver to his lip as he nods and she wonders if he’d trust Billy more if he knew what she knows. Chrissy isn’t quite sure of what happened before she joined the group - something about a sauna and a plate and Mrs Byer’s fridge, she’s probably missing some details - but this Billy hasn’t let them down once. 

“You’re going to have to…” Billy says and then stops, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Shit, the RV. How are you going to drive the RV?”

“I don't know,” Chrissy says desperately. Her driving experience is limited, and less than ideal, given that it started with her driving into a lamppost and more recently ended with her driving the kids away from the lake in Steve’s Beemer in a panic. She hopes he won’t mind that it’s…

…lodged in a ditch in the trailer park.

“Steve’s car!” she says, her voice loud enough to disturb Eddie, who opens his eyes at her voice. “I left Steve’s car by Max’s trailer!” She’d parked it away from the crime scene after Patrick had died. It should still be there and it’s easier to drive and less conspicuous than their stolen RV. The keys are still in her backpack, sitting in the real world version of Eddie’s trailer.

“Okay,” Billy nods. There’s a purple-red smear on his cheek, some remainder from the fight. He’d watched all of their backs today, pulled Dustin up from the ground, shielded Chrissy from a stray bat. “Take it and go. Dustin, help me get Eddie up.”

Chrissy lets them manhandle Eddie up into a sitting position and holds his shoulder while Billy undoes his belt. He does it up around Eddie’s middle, pressing the spare shirt pulled out of the drawer underneath to soak up the blood. Steve hadn’t seemed to have caught any other worldly rabies but she’s still not sure that anything in here is safe.

“Dustin, you go first,” Billy says, Eddie slumped against his side like a puppet. Chrissy reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers. 

Dustin climbs up the rope, falling with the smallest shriek as gravity turns around and he plummets through to the mattress below. Chrissy hauls herself up more easily, upper body strength gained from years of dance and hoisting girls up over her head. But the sudden drop is still shocking, the sudden twist as the world rights itself and she falls gracelessly down. Dustin is there to pull her up, immediately offering a hand.

“Alright, man, here we go,” Billy says, once he sees that they’re both on the other side. He taps Eddie’s cheeks, trying to make him more alert. “Wake up, fucker, come on. Dying really sucks, trust me. You don’t want to do it,” The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches.

“You always were an asshole, Hargrove,” he mumbles blearily. “But you kept your promise.”

“No, I didn’t,” Billy says ruefully, and Dustin raises his eyebrows at Chrissy. Neither of them have any idea what they’re talking about. 

Getting an injured man through a portal with only three of them is not something Chrissy wants to do again, even if Billy has the hardest part. Eddie stays awake long enough to hold onto the rope, his face creasing in pain every time Billy pushes him up. While Dustin holds him up, Chrissy looks back anxiously through the portal at Billy. But he grits his teeth and shakes his head at her.

“Go now, Chrissy!” he orders her. He’s picked up one of their abandoned spears, wielding it like he’s Mad Max or something. “Get him out and then try to contact Max. We’ll call on Steve’s walkie once we’re out.”

Chrissy swallows, reluctant to leave him behind. But someone has to wait for the others, and to block up the portal if Nancy’s group never makes it back. So she snatches her backpack and slings Eddie’s other arm around her shoulders.

“You sit in the back with him,” she says, as they stumble out into the night. It’s crisp and clear, the sharp bite of March. The trailer park is silent, and Max’s trailer is quiet and dark. Her mom must be at work.

“Okay, just drive carefully!” Dustin says, as she reaches into a pocket for the keys. Christ, Steve is gonna kill her. She’s taken his very expensive car for a joyride twice now. Not that escaping from the cops and driving a wanted suspect to a hospital really count as joyrides. 

“I’m going to drive fast!” she warns him, as the Beemer comes into sight. It’s still wedged in some mud from her emergency stop, some stray police tape caught in the wipers. She yanks it free and lets go of Eddie long enough for her to unlock it. They get Eddie carefully into the backseat and he blinks blearily.

“Will Harrington be pissed if I bleed in his car?” he asks, and Dustin climbs in next to him.

“Probably?” he says and Chrissy throws herself into the driver’s seat. 

“Hold on,” she warns them, tugging on her seat-belt. The hospital isn’t far and she can push the speed limit on the outskirts of Hawkins.  The police are probably too busy with actual murders right now to notice the Homecoming queen blow past them in a stolen vehicle.

“What about the others?” Eddie asks, before prodding Dustin in the ribs. “Seat-belt, dude.” Dustin rolls his eyes and does as he’s asked. 

“Not back yet,” Chrissy says tensely, putting the car into reverse and accidentally crunching the gears as she does so. “Billy’s staying behind.” 

“I don’t trust that guy,” Dustin says darkly, peeling back the fabric to look at Eddie’s wound. “Hey, I think the bleeding slowed down.”

“Yay,” Eddie says dryly. He sighs heavily and tips his head back. “Hargrove will look after them, dude. Don’t worry.” He sounds so certain that it makes Chrissy wonder exactly what went on between him and Billy in the RV. She catches Eddie’s dark eyes in the rear-view mirror before she shifts into drive. Something judders in her chest, the same crackling fireworks she felt in the woods, in Eddie’s trailer, watching him play. She was afraid before. She’s not now. 

“Billy will look after them,” she repeats, before firmly gripping the steering wheel. “Everyone hold on.” This is part of a universe! I’m hoping to make it a full fic eventually. Find the other parts here, here, and Billy and Eddie’s conversation can be found here. There’s another part to come in Harringroveweek on the 28th.

[erineverly]

“yeah, we did… and it’s all my fault,” the curly-haired brunette admits, chewing nervously on the inside of her bottom lip until a metallic taste fills her mouth. she’s learned that physical pain is a great distraction from the emotional kind and welcomes it with open arms. she swallows thickly, the tip of her tongue pressing against the raw wound on her lip, her mind gaining some clarity as her nerve endings continue to tingle uncomfortably. “i pushed you away because i felt like no one, not even you or maybe especially not you, could understand what i’d been going through.” despite his best attempts to be there for her and comfort her, she still felt so alone and actually wanted to be left all alone. she wanted to crawl under a rock or deep into some dark hole, where no one would ever find her and just die there. she didn’t want him to see her like that and had to cut him off. but there’s also another, different reason for her behavior, one that she struggles to voice for a long time. “and i blamed you for what happened, that’s why we became strangers,” she says quietly, keeping her voice just above a whisper out of embarrassment but also because she’s afraid of hurting him more than she already has. all she wants to do is own up to her mistakes and apologize, explain herself. “it was easier than admitting i was to blame… i thought painting you as the bad guy and leaving would take the pain away, that it would help me feel less hollow and dead inside.” but it didn’t. the opposite happened — she felt even more guilty, even more empty without him by her side. 

“i feel like that’s my fault, too. that you keep trying to… kill yourself,” she adds weakly, nuzzling her cheek against his head as her hands continue to rub his back. she should have gotten them both help years ago, back when their problems first became serious, when he overdosed in her pink bedroom next to all her teddy bears, but instead she kept going, playing victim and being way too hard on him, ignoring his mental health and her own issues. “instead of taking care of you and helping you be a better man, showing you what an amazing person you really are, i was always so inconsiderate and selfish. i’m so sorry, axl. i’m sorry. none of this is your fault, i don’t blame you and i’m sorry that all those bad things just keep happening to us,” she murmurs, feeling like no words will ever be enough to make up for all the damage that she’s done. “yeah? really? that’s good. that’s great.” smiling softly as she carefully pulls back just to take a quick glance at him, she can’t believe that her words have somehow managed to get through to him but it feels like a small victory. some of the weight that’s been resting on her shoulders for weeks gets lifted off, and it almost feels like she can breathe a little bit better now. “we’re leaving that behind us and growing, that’s what we’re doing,” she says, leaning in and kissing his tear-stained cheek, the wound on her lip stinging as it comes in contact with the salty droplets. 

watching as his tired eyes fill with an ounce of something pure and positive — a will to live? some semblance of happiness?  — she can’t help but smile right back at him. it’s the most beautiful thing that she’s ever witnessed, watching him slip away from death’s cold grip and come back to her. she cups his face with both of her hands and presses her lips to his forehead before hugging him again, her arms coiling around his neck. “you know, this is very inappropriate of me, but… i never thought i’d hear you apologize about getting me wet.” she’d give anything just to hear him chuckle again and that’s why she doesn’t refrain from voicing this particular thought. she hopes to make him feel better by making him laugh again. “but with all seriousness, it’s nothing. don’t worry about it. i think i got snot in your hair so we’re even.” for a brief moment, she almost feels like her old self again, like she’s once more that sassy, witty girl that he fell in love with all those years ago. “it won’t be easy, but it’s worth giving another try.”

but then he brings up the idea of them starting a family and her stomach begins to churn. suddenly, she feels like she’s drowning, suffocating. she clings to him like he’s a life raft as her eyes fill with tears once more and her airways continue to close in on her. she knows just how important having a baby is to him, it’s just as important to her, but she doesn’t think either of them would survive another loss. besides, she’s far from done grieving the first one. “yeah, later… yeah. when we have everything figured out, okay? when we’re feeling better. we’ll try again then, alright?” she asks, still clinging to him and refusing to pull back to avoid eye contact. she’s not lying, not really. she still wants to have a family with him, wants to fill this house with babies, but at the same time she can’t promise him that she’ll be ready to do it sometime soon. “i want to have a family with you, axl. i really do. i want to have a bunch of babies with you and a station wagon, too, just what we always dreamed of, but — but what if it doesn’t work out? what if it happens again? and again? and again? what then?” she’s heard of women who have had three or more miscarriages, who go through one IVF cycle after another, and she admires their determination but knows she wouldn’t be able to handle that. would he leave her then? would they adopt? would they just keep trying for years and years? 

“mhm,” she hums softly, nodding her head and turning her hand over so that she can hold his. fingers slipping between the spaces of his own, squeezing as she relishes in the feeling of having his palm pressed against hers again. she thought she’d never get to experience anything like it. “i will. i definitely will,” she assures him, smiling shyly as she inches closer just so that she can rub their noses together. once they’re back in bed, holding each other, she’ll reach for the ring and put it back on his finger. maybe they could even have a little private ceremony, with some heartfelt vows whispered into the night. “hey, that’s not why i suggested you take a bath, but… yeah, okay, we can always just pretend there’s a dead raccoon somewhere in this room,” she plays along, chuckling softly at his comment. she doesn’t want to make him feel bad and so she plants another kiss on his cheek, all while affectionately tucking his hair behind his ear. “yeah, it’s not the most cheerful of rooms… do you think we should keep it all up? or take some of it down?” she thinks out loud, her own gaze following his and quickly looking away when it stumbles upon the empty crib. her heart shattering all over again and she sinks her teeth in the raw flesh on her lip but to no avail, the pain lingers. “oh, everyone feels much better after they’ve visited erin’s spa & wellness resort. we offer the best massages and facials, and we even have a qualified hair stylist on our team. come with me and i’ll show you what she can do,” she says in an attempt to cheer both of them up, divert their thoughts away from what they’d just been looking at. she lets go of him and scrambles up to her feet before reaching out for him again, both of her hands extended in a silent invitation. a small smile dancing on her lips. she’s afraid to let him go, to lose him out of sight even for a second. 

"that's what i was thinking but suddenly we did become strangers." and that's what fucked him up. she left him alone to dwell on the loss of their child while he was at least trying to be there for her and she was shutting him out, that hurt worse than her yelling any words at him. he prefers her screaming at him rather than going mute. but...he also knows what his chaos brings. like a pleasant day in the summer time brewing up an ugly storm so unexpectedly, bringing wrath to the land with a spinning violent tornado unhinging out of nowhere. part of him can't blame her for leaving that constant storm he brought under their roof. but another selfish part of him hates to live without her. his heart silently weeps harder when her lips brush against him and her loving arms bring him warmth, seeping into the dark and cold crevices of his heart and making him feel the closest thing to being pure.

"i get it now..." he reassures, seeing it more plainly now and understanding better. "i'd run from me too." there's proof of that in the way he was grabbing for a gun to end his life and escape himself. he should feel better at her saying she's retracting what she said before, but can't help but feel guilt she's going to regret it. "okay, erin." voice agrees with a quiver, learning how to do just that once he's sat up. eyes staring down in thought, hearing everything she's saying then coming to an agreement with himself that she has a point and it steers him in a direction he wouldn't found himself without her guidance. "yeah...that's true. you're right." he gently nods, there's no growing if he doesn't forgive himself. she's completely right.

a soft smile lifts on his face, even reaching his tired eyes when she says hi there. it's just cute of her, how she does it. then he feels like a little child, getting consoled and taken care of if he had a mother that resembled an ounce of her sympathy as eyes gently close and he lets her clean it off his face. "i'm sorry if i got your shorts wet." he apologizes for that then likes what she's saying but is it true? "are you sure it's really that easy? it sounds too good to be true." which is why he's scared of it. then another worry circles inside his head, erin's not even speaking about the baby and has feelings of dread that is the part of being too good to be true. she doesn't mention it because she doesn't want to, he assumes. "we'll work on it and try our marriage again? and... what about havin' a family part? will we still work on that later?" he hesitantly questions but has to know. "you still have your ring?" saying in surprise when he sees it and feels his fingers brush over the diamond on her hand, his heart fluttering at the sight of it. "oh, i thought you would've gotten rid of that. i placed mine in that marriage book, but you can get it and slide it back on if we're really staying married." because he's still so skeptical about it. "i must smell, huh?" he lightly jokes, trying to despite his voice sounding so depressed. "yeah... i guess i better crawl my way out of here..." especially when his eyes wander over the crib and he doesn't want to see it anymore. "and i do think a bath would be nice. it might help make me feel less dirty for sure." he adds, looking down at his lap and sighing as he rubs his forehead before pushing his dirty strands of hair back from his face.

[antariies]

Visions of the Past: The Departing

Summary: The Commander never told Braham about their first death at the hands of Balthazar. Years later, he finds out in the worst way possible.

Characters: Pact Commander, Braham, Aurene, Balthazar

Notes: Commander’s POV (2nd-person); set before Jormag Rising; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; 5.6k words, CW: blood, gore, character death, anxiety attack; the departing is and will always be one of my favorite instances and it sucks that we never got an emotional confrontation about it between braham and the commander. hope i did it justice. enjoy!

—

“Commander, can I use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” Braham asks one day, apropos of nothing, sliding into the seat across from you.

You slam your glass of water back down onto the table with a loud smack, screwing your eyes shut and leaning forward as you choke on your drink. After a few seconds of intense coughing and waving away Braham’s apologies, you finally clear your throat enough to be able to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, squinting at him in confusion, “you want to… what?”

“Uh, use the Scrying Pool to view your memories?” he repeats, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Only with your permission, of course.”

“…Ah,” you nod slowly, letting the question fully sink in. You bring the glass of water to your lips again as you search for the right words. “That’s…”

A complete and total invasion of my privacy, your mind supplies helpfully.

“...a strange request,” you mutter into the cup. The only thing stopping you from shutting him down on the spot is the fact that it’s Braham. He wouldn’t ask this of you without a damn good reason. “And you want to see them because…?”

At this, Braham lights up, squaring his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what the lost Spirits said. About how I need to be a better leader if I’m going to beat Jormag, y’know? So I figured, since you’re the best leader I know-”

You can’t help the fond eye roll you give him.

“-if I got to experience some of your memories, then maybe I could learn from them,” he finishes, nodding once in determination.

“It’s definitely an unconventional way of learning,” you remark coolly, resting your chin on your hand as you level an even, challenging stare at him. You’ve cowed countless soldiers and politicians with this look alone, honed to terrifying perfection over the years.

Undaunted, Braham sets his jaw and meets your gaze dead on. “I know nothing can replace first-hand experience, but I think this would be a good way for me to practice without, uh,” his eyes flicker down for just a moment and he swallows hard. “Without the risk.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, but you don’t miss the way he absently fiddles with something small and wooden in his free hand and-

Oh, you think, recognizing it and finally understanding. Oh.

It’s been months, but the memory of your first day in Bjora Marches stays fresh in your mind.

It had been freezing cold in the barracks of Jora’s Keep when you and Braham had gotten locked in, but the ice that froze in your veins when you watched him stumble upon the mangled body of his former guildmate was colder still.

“Alva,” he’d whispered, stricken with grief as he sank to his knees beside her body.

“I’m sorry, Braham.” The words sat like ash on your tongue, tasting the same as the first time you had ever offered your condolences and every time after that. You never really got used to it.

“Garm… used to rest his head in her lap.” Braham had pulled her head into his lap then, smoothing her hair out of her face with the utmost care. You turned away to give him as much privacy you could, but the dead silence in the barracks meant you heard every hitched breath and muttered prayer to the Spirits. When he returned to your side after a few minutes, he was clutching a small wooden figurine.

“It’s Wolf,” he explained softly when he caught you looking, “Alva made one for each of us, but I gave mine back when I left, I… I had no idea she’d kept it all this time…”

.

.

.

He carries it everywhere now: a constant, physical reminder of his failures as a leader and as a friend.

You know the feeling all too well.

Unbidden, an acrid tidal wave of bitter jealousy swells up inside you. It’s not fair. You never had the chance to practice leadership because you were thrust into your rank, your title, in the middle of a war. You had no one to guide you. Every lesson you learned was written in blood and people paid for your mistakes with their lives.

The wave reaches a roaring apex, then swiftly crashes and breaks against the rocks of your guilt and better judgement.

It’s not his fault, you tell yourself, that you were given the short end of the stick. If you had had the opportunity to practice, to learn from someone else’s mistakes without risking the lives of anyone under your command, wouldn’t you have taken it too?

Of course, you think, picturing the Pact Memorial that still stands in Caer Aval to this day, of course I would have.

“Of course,” you say, gaze and voice gentle, “I think that’s a great idea, Braham.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting- wait, what? Really?” He stares at you incredulously, the beginnings of a disbelieving grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you sure? Because I honestly didn’t think you would say yes so-”

“Well, now that you mention it,” you start mildly, before stifling a snort and shaking your head in amusement as he scrambles to retract his words. “Yes, Braham, I’m sure. C’mon, let’s go before I actually start having second thoughts.”

As he helps you clean up the remains of your lunch, you can’t stop your mind from dredging up every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in the past eight years. You shut your eyes in a fruitless attempt at blocking out the memories, a long-suffering sigh trapped in your lungs.

It’s okay, you reassure yourself, you’ll be in control of the memories you show him. What could go wrong?

.

.

.

“Hey, Aurene- oh. She’s not here.” Braham says, stopping at the entrance of Aurene’s lair.

You walk past him, a smile stretching across your face as you look around the room. It teems with plant life. Curtains of ivy hang from the tops of the room’s arches while giant Maguuma lilies and dozens of other flowers grow out of cracks in the floor, reaching toward the sunbeams that stream in from the open skylight. Clusters of Aurene’s iridescent Brand crystals cover the walls, filling in the holes left by years of neglect.

In the middle of the room, the Scrying Pool gives off a faint light of its own, its waters swirling lazily as you approach. The spot where Aurene normally sits is vacant, though, just like Braham said. Closing your eyes, you reach out to the bond you share with her. It hums at the edge of your consciousness, quiet and comfortable when you’re not actively talking to her. You give the slightest tug.

‘Just checking in. Where are you?’

A few moments later, a familiar sight flashes in your mind. A vast stormy sky, filled with blue-tinted thunderclouds and stretching as far as the eye can see. The Mists.

Then, Aurene’s voice in your head, clear as day. ‘Trying to figure out what Jormag is up to. So far… I still have no idea.’

“Are you talking to Aurene?” Braham asks. You nod. “Tell her I said hi!”

‘Braham says hi.’ you relay.

‘Hello, Braham!’

‘Alright, we’ll let you get back to it.’ You smile inwardly, a rush of affection warming your chest. ‘Be safe. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Champion.’ Aurene croons happily in your head.

“Aurene says hello,” you say, opening your eyes. “She’s keeping an eye out for Jormag in the Mists right now. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Braham says, slight disappointment coloring his tone, “Does that mean we can’t use the pool?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though,” you answer, walking over to it. Kneeling as close to the edge as you dare, you lean over to look into the waters. Your reflection wobbles with every ripple from the pool’s constant, self-sustained swirling and you study your distorted face until you catch some movement above your mirrored shoulder that doesn’t seem to be from the pool.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn lightly, tossing a flat, unimpressed glare over your own shoulder.

Braham, to his credit, looks sorry for maybe half a second before grinning in a way that is decidedly far from it. Still, he concedes and backs away from you with his hands slightly up in surrender. “Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I would never,” you lie, turning back to the pool so he doesn’t see your smile. You make a note to push him into it at the first chance you get. “I’ve used the Scrying Pool a few times now and I can tell you that it’s way easier to view your own memories rather than someone else’s. Feels different too.”

When you first used the Scrying Pool to view Ryland’s memories, it wasn’t anything like Kas’ glamour during the All-Legion Rally. You weren’t just wearing his face and spectating from inside his head, you were Ryland. You felt everything, including his thoughts and his emotions, as if they were your own. It had felt so real that after waking up, it took a few seconds for you to realize that you weren’t him. Aurene had to calm you down as you scrambled around for a flamesaw that was never yours and shouted for a warband you were never a part of.

You can only imagine the state you would have woken up in if you had overstayed your welcome in Ryland’s memories.

It was different with yours, though. Those were easier to fall into, like slipping into a dream, and you always woke up from those with complete clarity.

Speaking of your own memories…

“I think I know the perfect one to start with,” you say, dipping a hand into the pool and focusing on a memory you’ve already used it for. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to access a memory without Aurene here, never mind control it. You don’t even know if two people can go in together, or whose body Braham would end up in. So you start off easy. Something you both remember. The leather of Braham’s armor creaks as he settles down next to you and does the same. He watches on in awed silence as the water glows brighter, swirling faster and faster until a small whirlpool forms in the center and pulls at the lily pads closest to it.

A familiar darkness crowds the edge of your vision and you let yourself fall backwards into the memory.

.

.

.

It’s not hard to spot Braham when his blood-red hair contrasts so starkly against the bright, white snow that covers the land and comes down heavy from the sky.

That, and he’s also waving at you from where he stands outside the gates of Cragstead.

“Hey!” he greets once you’re in earshot, shouting over the wind, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

You glance around. “Just us, huh?”

Braham grimaces. “You heard what Brimstone and Whitebear said. I tried sending out notices too, but…” he shakes his head, determination hardening his features. “Nevermind that, we have to go. My friends are in there.”

Turning your eyes upwards, you catch sight of billowing plumes of dark smoke as they start to pour into the sky. A strong gust brings the stench downwind and both you and Braham wrinkle your noses in distaste at the same time.

“No time to waste,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

You tighten your grip on your weapons and follow closely behind Braham as he leads you through the driving snow to the heart of Cragstead, cutting a path through the strange alliance of Flame legion and dredge along the way.

This is an evacuation mission, first and foremost, you remind yourself. Your gaze sweeps over the empty lodges and homesteads, searching for people. It’s not so different from the evacuation missions you used to do with your order when Zhaitan was still alive and a threat, its Risen minions encroaching further and further into the homes of Tyria’s minor races.

You find the villagers soon enough, all rounded up into small groups in the center of the town and trapped inside shimmering domes of fire magic. An equal number of charr and dredge guard each dome, their mechanical weapons whirring and spitting the occasional flame.

Braham growls at the sight and hefts his mace, rolling his shoulders in anticipation.

“Wait,” you caution, throwing an arm out to stop him from charging in. “We can’t just rush in. We’re way outnumbered.”

“We took care of those other guys just fine,” he argues.

“Those were just stragglers we picked off,” you gesture at the domes scattered around. “Here? There’s a dozen of them and only two of us. We can’t take them all in an open fight-”

Braham makes a frustrated noise and you hold up your hand.

“-which is why we switch tactics,” you finish, flashing a sharp grin at him. “They haven’t noticed us yet. Here’s the plan.”

The thing is, you’re no stranger to being outnumbered. Your entire time in Orr was spent leading handfuls of people on high risk, high reward missions, after all. It was kind of your specialty.

So it’s with practiced ease and calm authority that you explain your plan now, laying out a classic divide-and-conquer strategy that’s gotten you and your small squads through countless skirmishes against all odds.

It’s a flawless ambush, all things considered.

You and Braham hit them hard and quick, fighting in tandem as you push the offensive and give them no time to react or warn their allies before you cut them down. And with the help of his protective guardian magic, you two manage to free everyone without a single casualty.

“Where are the others?” Braham asks immediately as he helps an older man to his feet.

Despite his clearly injured arm, the man pulls him into a quick hug before answering. “They were chased up the mountain, to the shrine. I wasn’t- I wasn’t fast enough…”

“It’s okay, Haslo, I’ll go. Will you be-”

“We’ll be fine, thanks to you.” Haslo claps him on the back. “You and your friend be careful!”

When Braham looks over at you, you nod. Of course I’m coming with you.

The trip up to the shrine is shorter than you expected, but you think that might have something to do with the lack of flaming charr or dredge along the way. That only puts you more on edge and you ready your weapons, wary.

You don’t hesitate for a second at the entrance of the cave, charging in to catch the massive Flame legion charr and his grunts off guard. You’ve only known Braham for a few days and fought alongside him for less, but you two fall into a steady rhythm almost instantly, barely having to exchange words. You make quick work of the goons, letting him take care of the hulking charr. Braham doesn’t even let him get a taunt out, stunning him with a shield bash before swinging his mace into the charr’s snout with a brutal, deadly uppercut, spraying blood across the cavern walls.

With the threat taken care of for the time being, you and Braham free the rest of the villagers and escort them down the mountain, dispatching any stray Flame legion or dredge who tried to escape in all the chaos. While there weren’t any casualties, fortunately, there are still plenty injured, so while he talks to some of the other villagers, you help tend to the wounded as best you can. They have a long walk to Hoelbrak ahead of them, and you don’t envy them the trip.

You’re tying off a bandage when you hear him call your name.

“There you are,” he says, stopping in front of you. “Hey, thanks for everything. Really, I mean, I don’t know if things would’ve turned out as well as they did if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Glad I could help,” you say, tilting your head at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“After we get everyone to Hoelbrak, I’m gonna find out where all these Flame legion and dredge are holed up so we can track them down.” He pauses, then rubs the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Uh, that is, if you still wanna come along…?”

You smile and cross your arms. “Guess I’ll see you soon, then?”

The pleased grin Braham gives you is warmer than any hearth and twice as bright.

“See you soon!”

.

.

.

“Oh no,” Braham mutters, the first thing you hear as you blink away the last of the memory. “Oh, Spirits, noooo.”

“Something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice light even as you eye him up and down in concern. It was his first time using the Scrying Pool, after all. Had it affected him differently?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I just… I just can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that.”

You keep a straight face for an admirable three whole seconds before bursting into snickers. When Braham groans and buries his face in his hands, you only laugh harder.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, smiling, “I thought it suited you.”

He glowers at you. “You’re just saying that.”

You make a non-committal noise and wiggle your hand in a “so-so” gesture. He groans again, falling backwards onto the floor.

“That was really cool,” he says after a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Being in your head, I mean. I felt so… in control the whole time. Like I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Leaning backwards on your hands, you tip your head back and close your eyes. “You were impatient—well, you still kind of are—but you handled yourself better than some soldiers twice your age. And you’ve only gotten better since then. Give yourself a little more credit, Braham.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him flush at the praise, sitting up abruptly.

“Thanks,” he coughs into his fist, fighting a grin. “So, uh, any more memories you feel like sharing?”

You hum. “Several, actually. Ready to go again?”

.

.

.

You, grabbing the handles of a cannon with both hands and holding on for dear life as The Glory of Tyria lurches to the side, sending Destiny’s Edge, Pact soldiers, and Risen alike sprawling flat on the deck. When the airship finally rights itself, you waste no time, bracing your shoulder against the cannon and shoving hard until you have Zhaitan directly in its sights. The Elder Dragon is on the verge of death, pieces of its own body sloughing off itself as it clings desperately to the side of the tower. You take a deep, steadying breath and fire.

You, the only thing standing in between a crowd of fleeing civilians and a swarm of cutthroat Aetherblade pirates as they drop down from their airships. Lion’s Arch can be rebuilt, but lives can’t be replaced. You do a quick headcount, zero in on the weakest-looking one, and leap into the fray.

You, tracking down your teammates one by one as you tear through the dark, vine-twisted labyrinth under the Silverwastes, an undying behemoth of a Mordrem wolf hot on your heels. You lead them all safely through the maze, driven by the fierce desire to protect your friends. You will not lose anyone today.

You, the legendary Pact Commander, at your best.

After a few back-to-back trips down memory lane, you both decided to take a short break. For his part, Braham had opted to swing his legs over the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. When he asked whether or not it was okay to do so, you just shrugged and told him you had already cannonballed into the water before. Multiple times.

“How are you feeling? No headaches or anything?” you ask after a few minutes of rest.

“Nope. I do feel pretty commander-y, though.”

You snort. “Commander-y?”

“Mhm. I’ve been in your head too long. Any second now, I’m gonna start spouting a bunch of your expert advice.” Braham clears his throat and puts on an exaggerated voice that you swear sounds nothing like you. “‘Remember, it doesn’t matter how long the hog’s been dead. It doesn’t matter that it’s been sitting in a toxic cloud. You can always try to eat it.’”

You roll your eyes and swipe your hand through the water, splashing him. “Okay, that’s it, I’m revoking your pool privileges. We’re done here.” You pause, expression turning thoughtful. “Actually, I think we are done here. I don’t think I have any more memories to show you. None that would help, anyway.”

“Hmm, what about your time in Elona? I wasn’t there for that.”

“Uh, you definitely were,” you say, shooting a quizzical smile at him. “Or do you not remember storming Joko’s palace with me?”

“No, no,” Braham laughs, waving dismissively, “I meant before that. I wasn’t there for… ugh, what’s his name again? Balthazar?”

For a brief, blissful moment, you only recall the part where you killed him.

Then your free hand flies to your chest on instinct, ghosting over a wound that no longer exists.

“What about him?” you ask, a little louder than necessary. You cringe inwardly, but Braham doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, everyone told me you somehow took control of Joko’s Awakened army and got them to fight on your side,” he shakes his head, chuckling. “I didn’t believe them at first, but that sounds exactly like something only you could pull off.”

You can hardly hear yourself over the frenetic pounding of your pulse in your ears. “Did they… tell you anything else?”

“Not really,” Braham frowns, finally turning to face you. “Why, is there- woah, hey, are you alright?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.

“Commander?” His voice spikes with worry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in your throat, you try again. Still nothing.

You’re so preoccupied with trying to force yourself to speak that you don’t even realize your other hand is still in the pool until you feel the tug of an old memory on your consciousness.

Ripping your hand out of the glowing water in a panic, you can only stare in horror as that does nothing to stop the ancient, powerful magic from pulling you helpless back into the dark.

.

.

.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

You throw yourself to the side, narrowly dodging a fireball as it blazes past your head. Ducking behind a crumbling pillar, you press your back up against the stone and try to catch your breath.

You’ve bought yourself some time, at least.

This is a fight you know you can’t win, but the walls of flames surrounding the spire prevent your escape, so your only hope is to keep Balthazar distracted until reinforcements arrive.

“Any second now,” you mutter, and you don’t know if you’re trying to reassure or convince yourself.

You grit your teeth as another wave of pain wracks your body. There’s a nasty gash in your side, larger and deeper than the rest of your cuts, and it oozes sluggishly, soaking your armor in blood.

It’s bearable for now, but you can’t afford to be slowed down.

“Are you hiding, Commander?” Balthazar sneers, “How pathetic.”

Your answer to that is to dart out from behind the pillar, launching a flurry of attacks along his flank and back. When he twists around to send a volley of fireballs your way, you just tuck yourself into a neat dodge-roll, avoiding them all with ease. If you wince and stumble on the landing, you pretend not to notice and hope he didn’t either.

“Aw, you missed!” you taunt, sounding way braver than you feel, “How pathetic!”

Balthazar’s face contorts in fury. “Enough!” he shouts, and both the flames surrounding him and the spire seem to burn hotter than ever.

Before you can react, the ground beneath your feet erupts in a column of fire and you scream as your world is engulfed in a white-hot inferno. When the initial blinding agony finally passes, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground, pointed stones digging into your back and your weapons flung too far out of your reach.

Get up.

You only manage to twitch your fingers.

Get up. Now.

Your throat burns raw. When you try to speak, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a pained whimper.

GET. UP. BEFORE BALTHAZAR-

You sense Aurene before you see her.

“Ah, the scion, finally come here to defend her champion.”

Finally…?

It clicks. Your heart stops.

Balthazar’s been toying with you this whole fucking time.

It’s impossible for you to form words, let alone make any sort of loud noise, so you try to warn Aurene through your shared bond instead, panic rising with every passing moment that she doesn’t respond.

‘GET AWAY,’ you practically roar at her, ‘TRAP. IT’S A TRAP. YOU’RE FLYING RIGHT INTO A TRAP, TURN AROUND, PLEASE-’

And Aurene roars right back at you. There are no words you can hear—you don’t think she’s old enough for that yet—but she can convey her feelings through the bond and right now she’s drowning out your desperate warnings with them. She refuses to abandon you. You are her guardian and her champion and she loves you and you promised over and over to protect her so she promised the same and weren’t you the one who taught her about loyalty in the first place?

It takes one self-sacrificing idiot to know one. You would laugh if you weren’t so fucking terrified of losing her.

Your vision swims and you only catch glimpses of Aurene’s skirmish. She’s a bright blue blur, swerving expertly in the air as she dodges fireballs and lets loose her devastating dragon breath every time Balthazar tries to swat her out of the sky. Snarling, he launches some sort of phantasmal chains at her and-

No.

No, no, no, nonono-

“Aurene!” you scream. The exertion sends you into a coughing fit, but you don’t care.

You’re crying now, too. You don’t care.

Balthazar is saying something, but you stopped listening to him ages ago. It’s a monumental effort just to crane your head towards Aurene, your vision clearing long enough to see her staring at you, eyes blown wide in fear as terror rolls off her in waves.

She tries to apologize and you rush to soothe her.

‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ you reassure, ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, I love you so much, it’s not your fault, never your fault.’

Maybe you’re projecting a little. Whatever.

You only stop when a giant metal boot steps squarely into your line of sight, blocking her from view. You glance up.

Balthazar towers over you, his giant, flaming greatsword hovering menacingly by his side.

The fear that lances through your gut is primal.

You can’t die yet. Not here. Not now.

He notices the way your wide eyes trace his sword and bares his teeth in a humorless grin. Oh, he’s enjoying this, relishing the power he has over you.

“I thought you would put up more of a fight, given your reputation,” Balthazar remarks casually, circling you. With a lazy wave of his hand, his sword floats over and suspends itself in midair right above your chest.

Your already labored breathing dissolves into short, shallow gasps.

You can’t die. You’re not ready.

He lets the sword hover for a few more seconds before grabbing the hilt with both hands, raising it higher over your body. His face twists with hate, eyes blazing molten gold as they bore hungry and vengeful into yours.

You don’t want to die.

The edge of the blade glints orange from an indifferent sunset.

Please.

There’s a sickening crunch as he swings it down hard into your chest, punching through your armor and sternum and crushing most of your ribcage in the process. Then the blade severs your spine and you lose all feeling in your lower body.

Distantly, you think you hear someone scream, high-pitched and anguished. Was that Aurene? Or Taimi? Maybe both.

Certainly not you, although you’d tried to. What remains of your lungs are filled with more blood than air at this point, and it pours out of your mouth when you open it.

I’m sorry, you think, but you can’t remember what you’re apologizing for. Or who you’re apologizing to.

You’re so tired of blood. Tired of pain. Tired of feeling.

Everything hurts.

You wish it would stop.

It does.

.

.

.

The only reason you don’t wake up choking back a scream and clutching your chest like Braham does is because you’ve relived this in your nightmares far too many times for it to rip that kind of reaction out of you anymore. Still, it takes you longer than normal to push yourself into a sitting position and even longer for your pulse to even out. Fighting the urge to curl up and disappear from the world, you rush over to where Braham sits hyperventilating.

“Hey, Braham, hey, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay. You’re here, you’re alive,” you reassure, and you’re surprised at how calm you sound. You work on getting him to match your breaths, counting out every inhale and exhale.

“Oh, Spirits,” he chokes out after his breathing steadies, his voice nearly cracking as tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “that was… how- h-how did you survive that?”

Your mouth shuts with an audible click. Biting your tongue, you look to the side, carefully avoiding eye contact.

You could lie.

Lie and tell him the airship made it just in time and the medics brought you back from the brink with a miracle. Another close call, but you pulled through like you always do. Spare him the pain, the grief. It’s been years, and there are more important things to worry about right now. It would save you both so much trouble.

“Commander?” he asks softly, earnestly.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I didn’t,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Deafening silence, for a beat.

Two.

Three.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Braham says eventually. When you finally bring yourself to look at him again, his brows are furrowed in confusion. He stares at you in concern, scrutinizing. “You’re… definitely still alive.”

“I sure am.” Neither of you miss the tired bitterness that bleeds into your sarcasm. You wince and sigh, running a hand over your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s a long story.”

And to this day, you still haven’t told anyone all the details. You’re not sure if you ever will.

“Who knows?” Braham asks.

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, Rytlock, Canach, and Kas were there when it happened. Taimi… overheard.” You don’t know which is worse: being the one to hear you die, or finding your body after the fact.

They’re not the only ones who know, but they’re the only ones who matter. Even then, you swore them all to secrecy.

“Taimi called me around that time,” he says.

Your eyes widen. “Did she…?”

Braham shakes his head. “She was crying too hard,” he says, speaking slowly as he focuses on remembering. “She said something about you, but she couldn’t get the words out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, she just hung up on me. Then she called me back a day later to say it was nothing and to pretend it never happened.”

“Huh,” you say, because you can’t think of anything else.

“I always wondered what she was trying to tell me,” Braham smiles sadly at you. “Guess I know now.”

You swallow hard. “You’re… taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“I’m not the one who died,” he shrugs, even as his hand comes up to brush across his chest absentmindedly.

But you know how it felt, you think, How I felt.

The thought hangs in the air, unspoken.

“Are you okay?” Braham asks after a while.

“Yeah,” you answer quickly, automatically, “I’m fine.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He looks pointedly down and you follow his gaze.

Your hands are shaking where they rest in your lap. Gritting your teeth, you clench them into fists. They don’t stop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more to yourself than anything. “I’m fine.”

The shaking travels up your arms until your shoulders are trembling as if under an invisible weight. This is so embarrassing, so humiliating. You’re pathetic. You-

You don’t resist when Braham pulls you into a warm embrace.

“It’s been years,” you mutter, blinking rapidly against the itchy heat behind your eyes. “I thought I’d be over it by now.”

“It always hits you when you least expect it,” Braham says quietly, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You know he knows you hate pity, but this is the farthest thing from it. “When did you get so wise?” you tease.

“Learned it from you,” he says, voice tinged with pride, and now it’s your turn to flush. He squeezes you tightly once before letting you go. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah,” you say, and this time you mean it. You breathe in deep, feeling lighter than you have in ages. “I’m okay. Thank you, Braham.”

“Glad to hear it,” he grins, and promptly shoves you right into the Scrying Pool.

His boisterous laughter echoes off the walls and drowns out your indignant spluttering. When you pull yourself out of the pool, drenched and dripping water everywhere, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead sprint down the hall.

You chase after him, smiling, and leave your memories behind you.

[scriibble-fics]

Magic

Excerpt from a new Jily seventh-year one-shot that has ballooned dramatically, to the surprise of no one. There's more to come!

As January slips by, days pass without a kiss at minimum, although they’re few and far between. On the other hand, they don’t waste a single day without some form of verbal interaction—laughter in between classes, or banter at mealtimes, or bickering at prefect meetings that almost always serves as a precursor to snogging. Increasingly, new activities join these pastimes that have somehow become cherished. Lily grows closer to his friends, and James makes quick inroads with hers, although sometimes her mates look a little too flattered by his attention for her liking. He requests her help in Potions, and they spend long hours together in the dungeons accomplishing more than just snogging, although that comes with the territory as well. In turn, he insists on aiding her in Transfiguration after Sirius offers continued help, and the way Sirius winks at her when James turns his back has her convinced that he’s pleased for reasons beyond escaping the extra work of tutoring her. Truly, Sirius surprises her more and more as the days melt by, because he easily detaches himself from James’ side to allow for the quiet, private conversations that begin to happen organically between them in the common room, and he even distracts her friends so it can happen. None of her friends complain about this new arrangement that secures Sirius’ attention, but Marlene seems perhaps the happiest of all.

She and James have talked before these conversations, of course. They’ve been housemates for years, after all, and he’s never shied away from paying her attention that she typically hasn’t wanted. Yet most of that attention has erred on the side of either endless banter or endless bickering, and the quiet, fireside chats that happen with more and more regularity feel worlds apart from either of those things. Sure, they still laugh and they still argue, although the laughs are quieter, and more smiles than harsh words accompany the arguments. He watches her plait her hair or rub her neck while they talk, his eyes soft as they discuss their respective career aspirations, and trade gossip about fellow students, and whisper secrets about their friends, and recount memories of the past and hopes for the future. He tells her about his brilliant potioneer father and brilliant herbologist mother, and she can almost picture them as he talks, his father’s spectacles and messy hair and his mother’s rigid posture and kind face. In turn, he asks probing questions about her own family, until she reveals bit by bit about her jolly, constantly-teasing dad and loving caretaker of a mum. Eventually, she even tells him about Petunia too, although it comes even more difficultly than any mention of her parents.

“I didn’t even know you had a sister,” he says one particularly chilly night as wind whips past the common room windows. She feels her shoulders shift outside of her control, and he catches the subtle change. He always does. “What?”

She’s trying, just like she’d promised Marlene, and it doesn’t come easily. “I’m sure her friends have said that to her about me.”

He takes that in for a moment. “Maybe,” he says eventually. “She’d be stupid not to claim you, though. Besides—” It sounds like he’s carefully counting each word. “Family isn’t about blood. It’s a choice. I mean, look at Sirius.”

He means it metaphorically, not literally, but they both look towards where Sirius lounges nearby, laughing with his friends and hers. It’s late, and particularly late for a weekday, so Sirius’ laughter sounds especially loud in the near-empty common room. Watching him throw his head back in amusement, it’s nearly impossible not to smile with him, and James does.

She doesn’t. If anything, Sirius’ laughter triggers something even sadder inside her, and for reasons she doesn’t fully understand, not at first. “It’s not fair,” she says quietly, words spoken without thought, and it all clicks together abruptly, like a radio station suddenly in tune. Her throat burns, and she clears it as she looks towards the fire. “Sorry. Sorry, I—” Her explanation falters and then dies in her mouth. There are probably words express it all—the sudden clarity in Sirius’ constant gregarious nature that he uses to win people over like his life depends upon it, her own people-pleasing ways, the ease of their bond that she’s never understood before—but trying to find them hurts too much to even contemplate past a couple of painful seconds.

James reaches for her hand, which has clenched into a fist atop her lap. Somehow, the slow stroke of his fingers eases the tension that has turned her knuckles white. Her hand opens, and his thumb caresses each of her knuckles as color returns. “Save your apologies for the next time you piss me off,” he says, and he turns her hand over in her lap.

She watches as he presses their palms together, his fingers dwarfing hers, and her mouth smiles before she catches herself at it. “It seems like I’ve been pissing you off less lately.”

He returns her smile, his fingers lacing through hers in a brief, warm squeeze. “It’s hard to get mad at you when you’re getting me off all the time.” Something shifts in his voice, something that squeezes her insides.

“Same, but don’t take that as a challenge to piss me off.”

He chuckles softly. “You know me too well. Well, I’m glad we finally figured out how to get you to tolerate me.”

His hand remains locked in hers, his thumb once again slowly brushing over her knuckles. She’s not sure which is more difficult to look at: their hands, fitted so neatly together, or his face, which radiates more warmth than even moments before. “Tolerate,” she repeats, skeptical. That hardly sums up the things he does to her body—and to her mind, and, increasingly, to her heart—on a regular basis. “The same goes for you.”

“Evans.” Her name comes out chidingly, and he waits until she looks at him before he goes on. “I don’t just tolerate you. And I’d—” He takes in a deep breath, eyes flickering back and forth between each of hers. “Your sister is stupid,” he says again, but it sounds entirely different somehow. “Anyone would be lucky to claim you. I told you—you’re magic.”

It’s not the first time he’s declared as much to her since the train, but it’s the first time that it sounds like something other than heated talk spoken against her mouth or skin. For the first time, she catches a glimmer of what he means—or a glimmer of what it means to her, at least, since she has no way of knowing if he feels the same. Something stretches between them, a moment that’s brief but heavy and undeniable, and she wants to look away, but she can’t. She’s suspended in time, held entirely in place on the other side of his gaze.

It’s magic, what holds her there, a magic unlike any she’s ever discovered.

“Thank you.” Her voice comes out soft and a little small. She sounds nothing like herself.

He doesn’t call her on it. He moves closer to her, shifting towards the edge of his armchair until their knees touch, and his other hand joins where he’s still holding hers atop her lap. “I’m rather good at palm reading, you know,” he says, and the magic between them snaps as the fireplace crackles, and so abruptly that she jumps a little. Before she can blink, things settle back into familiar patterns, from the lazy smile on his face to the teasing in his tone to her own immediate banter in return.

“Don’t insult my intelligence. You dropped out of Divination fourth year. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Flattered you remember my movements so closely.” He releases her hand so he can pull it into his own lap, and he traces a fingertip along her palm, drama exuding from every pore. “If you’re too scared to know your future—worried who might be in it, maybe—”

“Go on, then.”

The future—as told by James—holds things she expects and things that she doesn’t.

She expects him to predict a long life. She expects him to predict a continued close relationship with her friends. She expects him to predict a prosperous career in brewing, because she’s confided those dreams in him. He tells her all of those things as he tickles her palm with twisting caresses.

Yet she doesn’t expect his long description of her handsome future husband, a man who will allegedly propose many times before she’ll finally accept. She also doesn’t expect his recounting of all the children she’ll have, enough for an entire Quidditch team.

She’s laughing by the end, and he’s laughing with her. “That’s too many kids,” she says. “I’m not doing that to my body, and I can’t imagine that this wonderful husband of mine—”

“He’s handsome too, don’t forget.”

“Right. I can’t imagine that this wonderful, handsome husband of mine will expect it of me.” She wiggles her fingers. “Look again, will you?”

He obliges with all the seriousness of a seer, and his hair falls in front of his face as he bends in concentration. “Maybe not quite that many, but at least two, maybe three. It’s a lonely existence, being an only child. Your husband, he’ll feel pretty strongly about that.”

Thank god he’s looking at her hand. Thank god he’s looking at her hand and not her face, because—

All banter and faux predictions aside, she’s tempted to start practicing for those babies with him right then and there.

Accidentally or on purpose, she’s falling in love with him, and it’s all his fault.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Like mother, like daughter

Word count: 1568

Genre: Angst but happy end

Pairing: Agatha x (adoptive) daughter!reader

Warnings: Cursing (let me know if I need to add any)

Request: I have a request for an Agatha Harkness x daughter!reader if that's okay? Basically Agatha is trying to help Reader with her magic, but something goes wrong and Agatha gets mad about it. Reader gets emotional and runs away. Agatha realizes her mistake, and how similar her actions had been to her own mothers, and goes to find Reader, maybe at the local park, possibly finding her asleep. Agatha then takes reader home and she swears not to be anything like her mother when it came to raising reader. As she fears it can lead her to possibly losing them.

Summary: Agatha loses her temper at you so you run off for alone time while she realizes how badly she messed up.

A/n: Thanks anon for this request, it was really cool! I wrote most of this late at night though so hopefully it doesn’t have too many mistakes and isn’t too bad. Okay I hope you all enjoy!

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?” Agatha screams at you, dragging you inside the house by your arm.

“It was an accident!” you tell her, trying not to cry.

“An accident that can not happen!” she yells. “What is wrong with you, I taught you better than this.”

A sob breaks free from your lips. “Please, Agatha, mum, please I’m sorry.”

“Don’t call me that right now.” she says sharply.

“Mum?” you ask, softly, not sure that’s what she meant.

“Not right now, I can’t handle that.”

“I’m sorry, it will never happen again!” you promise, tears starting to run down your face.

“I don’t care about that,” she tells you, “you’ve already messed up and almost completely blew our cover here in Westview. Do you understand how big of a deal that is? You should be able to control your powers by now, you are not a child.”

“I know, I’m-”

“If I hear you say sorry one more time I’m going to make sure you can’t speak for the rest of the week.” she interrupts. “Go to your room, I need time to fix your mistake.”

“But-”

“Go to your room Y/n.”

You nod meekly and turn to leave the room. You’ve never seen her so angry before, never directed at you at least. You know you messed up and lost control of your magic but it was an accident, you thought she would be annoyed for sure but you assumed that she would try to help you, not yell. Evidently you were wrong though.

As soon as you get to your room you throw yourself on the bed and curl into a ball, wrapping your arms around your body as tightly as you can. Everything she said hurts but her not allowing you to call her mum is the one that hurts the most. Because you can sort of understand why she’s mad because you did mess up but you didn’t think that calling her mum was conditional. She had always been there for you, ever since your birth parents had died when you were barely old enough to remember and you consider her your mum, even if it isn’t anything official.

You sob at the thought of her hating you now. The entire house seems to suffocate you with her magic, unnoticeable to a regular human but unbearable to you. It reeks of disappointment and you watch from the widow as she swirls her magic around, cleaning up the mess you made and keeping the citizens of the town far away. You don’t understand why protecting this town is so important to her but she’s made it clear that whatever the reason it may be, it is more important to her than you.

You watch as the mess disappears, the fences fixed and the magic swirling in the air gone. Slowly the people unpause like nothing happened and things resume to normal. She comes back inside and you think about what to say if she comes to talk to you. You don’t know how to act, she’s never been this mad at you before, although you haven’t messed up your magic this much before so you have nothing to compare it to.

You don’t think you can stand to see her that angry and disappointed again and you don’t want to talk to her. As silently as you can you move across your room and open the window, cringing as it makes a loud squeaking noise. You slide one leg out and then the other so you’re sitting on the ledge awkwardly before looking to make sure no one is coming. Once you’re absolutely sure the coast is clear (you do not need to be in even more trouble for accidentally revealing magic to someone in the town) you slowly float down until you land softly one the lawn.

The park is only a few minutes walk away so it doesn’t take long to run there. In the back there is a group of trees that will help hide you from view so you immediately go there, leaning up against one of them, your knees pulled up to your chest, thinking about everything.

You don’t know what you would do without Agatha. She’s the only parental figure you know and it’s not like you have any friends to turn to. Being a witch isn’t exactly a great way to fit in and you move around far too much to get attached to anyone anyways. You can only hope that she continues teaching you magic and control and doesn’t decide that you’re not good enough for it anymore.

---

She waits a few seconds after she knocks on your door only to hear no response.

“Y/n?” she calls, waiting a few seconds again. There’s still no response. Slowly she pushes the door open, only to find you gone and the window wide open. She rushes to the edge but it’s no use, you aren’t within sight to her.

She thinks about why you would have done that and ashamedly realizes it’s entirely her fault. You have always been a great daughter who listens and tries hard. If she hadn’t yelled at you then you would be here and happy but instead she had to mess everything up. Your mistake wasn’t that bad, and even if it was she shouldn’t have yelled. Her silent promise to herself had always been to be a better mother than hers ever was and she had failed, badly.

“You have failed me once again.”

“I am sorry mother.”

“You apologies are worthless without change.”

“I will change mother, give me time.”

“You have one more chance. Disappoint me again and you will not like the consequences.”

Agatha remembers with great clarity the exact words said between her and her own mother, the moment she vowed to never do the same. Perhaps she has more in common with her mother than she once thought. She knows that although she probably has already acted like her mother a lot, the one thing she can do is try to right her wrongs and apologize. With that in mind, she floats out of the window, determined to find you as soon as possible.

It’s not hard. The town isn’t very big and you love nature, find it calming, so it was easy to narrow down her search to the park before spotting you by the trees. She approaches you slowly, feeling surprisingly nervous, less like a mother and more like a child who accidentally scribbled all over the walls.

“Y/n?” she asks softly and you spin to face her, your eyes wide and unsure. She feels her heart break a little, knowing her actions caused your slight distrust.

“Agatha.” you greet, trying to keep your voice level. Once again she feels a tug at her heart. You’ve almost only called her mum for years so using Agatha is a deliberate choice because she told you not to call her mum.

“Sweetheart, will you come home so we can talk?” she asks.

“I’d prefer to talk here if that’s okay.” you respond. At least in public she can’t yell at you.

“Of course,” she says, “whatever makes you comfortable.”

You give her a tiny smile. She doesn’t seem mad like before. You want to protect your heart but you can’t help but hope that she’s not mad at all anymore.

“I came here to apologize for the way I treated you. It wasn’t okay and I shouldn’t have yelled, it was a simple mistake, an accident and it wasn’t your fault.” she tells you and you smile a little bit more, still hesitant. “You shouldn’t have to be afraid of making mistakes around me, I know what it’s like from my own mother and I never want our relationship to be the same as mine was with her.”

“Can I still call you mum?” you ask and she nods. You still look so small and hesitant, like you can’t believe she’s being nice to you again so she moves closer and gently wraps her arms around you. Even during normal times she isn’t usually affectionate so at the feeling of her hug small tears slip out of your eyes until it builds and you’re sobbing in relief.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, so sorry.” she whispers into your ear. “I love you and even if I’m upset I will always be your mum and I will always do my best to protect you too.”

“I love you too mum.” you tell her. “And for the record I think that you are nothing like your mother.”

She feels a warm feeling in her chest, one of happiness. She may not be perfect but she was trying and you were here and you were her daughter. She knows that she’ll probably still have a lot to do to get you to fully trust her again, to feel one hundred percent safe, but for now it is enough to simply comfort you, and to comfort herself. Today was the closest she’d come to losing you and the scariest, she saw a part of herself she wishes didn’t exist and everything was nearly her fault. She hugs you tighter, making sure that it was real and you were here.

“Can we go home now?” you ask.

She smiles at your use of the word home. “Of course.”

---

Taglist: @fayhar@xxxtwilightaxelxxx@acertainredhead@madamevirgo@megaqueenmaeve@cherryblossomskye@aaron-despair@chickenhavewisdom@emril-osvigne@nyankitty987@agathaharkness-simp@midnight-lestrange@thewidowsghost@nyx-aira@stephanieromanoff@satxnsupreme@likefirenrain@wlwlovesreading@stop-drop-and-drumroll@peggycarter-steverogers@casperlikej@redswing@mochamoff@king-star@blackbat2020@natashadeservedbetter@

[creativeashproductions]

We Wouldn’t Be Us // Charlie Gillespie

IN WHICH: We get a look into the timeline of the reader and Charlie’s relationship from the first date that wasn’t so perfect to the news they get. The relationship has its ups and downs like all relationships do but this one brings the birth of a song. They know in their relationship that anything less just wouldn’t be them

Warnings: Swearing, an argument, allusion to sex (NO SMUT), pure fluff

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I suppose this is an entry for @cherrymaybank​’s Valentine’s Day Fic Challenge. 

Based on the song We Wouldn’t Be Us by Alexandra Kay

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Every dress didn’t seem to fit properly no matter what mirror with different light in your apartment you tried. The spare bathroom’s bulb was dying, so that made the colour appear off, and the best mirror was dirty, which would dampen the romantic goal. Nothing made you feel that oomph that you desired for this date. 

You could wear the standby little black dress of which you had two options, the clubbing one or the work appropriate one. It didn’t seem right to choose a standard black and no colour for this insanely sweet guy that had this insane energy. With that thought in mind, you dug deeper in your closet for that special dress that you’d never found someone worthy of it. It was your best dress and your most expensive with the tags still on. You would have gone for the maroon dress but it was Valentine’s Day and that seemed like over kill.

Somehow it still fit perfectly despite the length of time from purchase, it was a vibrant green satin with lace matching the colour. The dress's satin ended just below the knee with the matching lace falling an additional six inches past. The A-line skirt was loose flowing contrasting to the form-fitting material across your bust and midsection. 

One of your favourite parts of the dress was the off-shoulder bateau neckline that gave a tasteful sneak of your cleavage. The bottom of the thick straps came to make a perfectly straight horizontal line. Across your waist was a one-inch wide satin ribbon attached to the dress that formed a perfect bow that tied the outfit together, no pun intended.

“Whoa.” You breathed stepping in front of the floor-length mirror kept in the spare bedroom, it had once been your roommates’ room before she moved.

You had to admit the dress was magical with it, bringing out all your curves and went with your skin tone. It was a pure shock to see how you managed to make the dress come to life with just a makeup look that was easy to do. All you did next was your favourite beige heels that went with everything. You had just slid on the left heel when the buzzer sounded and slid the right on as you hit the button unlocking the apartment building door.

“This is going to be perfect.” You breathed leaning into the mirror beside the front door. You inspected your lipstick as a knock sounded on the dark brown wood of your door. 

“You look gorgeous.” Your date breathed, widening those colour changing irises as he took in your outfit, “You take my breath away. Happy Valentine’s Day”

Your cheeks flushed, “Thank you, Charlie.”

He stepped into the apartment as you quickly went to the kitchen to grab your coat and purse with your essentials. He had gently retrieved the coat from your arms to help you into the cold jacket. 

“I know traditionally I would have brought you flowers, but I also know you love books.” Charlie breathed grasping the items in his hands, “So I got these flowers.”

His warm hands held three books. The top one was The Orchid House by Lucinda Riley with a cover that had the background blurry with only the back of a girl in clarity. The girl’s pink dress matching the flower in the upper corner of the book. The next cover proudly displayed The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley with red flowers growing down on a stone building. The third one was a light pink book with an anatomically correct heart with flowers growing out of the arteries, veins and valves; a collection of poetry I Saw You As a Flower by Ellen Everett. Lastly, you held Rupi Kaur’s second collection of poetry The Sun and her Flowers that had come out a couple years ago.

“Charlie, this is so thoughtful. You even has a rose one!” You breathlessly spoke gently touching the covers, “Thank you so much for these.”

“I thought we could read them together?” Charlie was bashful as he quietly asked with flushed cheeks. He didn’t know why he felt like this was his very first date all over again.

“I’d love that.” You softly told the Canadian with the manners a mother would be jealous to have in her home. Charlie’s fingers linked with yours as he tugged you out of the apartment into the hallway.

Your hands swung during the short walk from the apartment building to his bright orange Subaru across the street. The sound of the light wind rustling the trees lining the sidewalk mixed with the humming from Charlie was a perfect film score. He was the ideal gentleman even before he asked you out.

You couldn’t wait to tell your close loved ones about Charlie. You could really see this going somewhere. The relationship that is, as you were now on the side of a road with the Subaru’s hazard lights flashing.

“I forgot to fill the tank.” Charlie moaned, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. His eyes clenched just as tight as his fists.

The Canadian was so embarrassed to have had what he thought was the best date of his life. He’d played music from the playlist he had patiently curated specifically for this date, and he held your hand to the restaurant. He’d already made plans for another date when his car’s warning beeped.

In Charlie’s haste, he’d forgotten to fuel up his car, so here he was with the prettiest person he’d ever seen in his passenger seat. His confidence in a second date had greatly diminished.

“Char, you said Owen was on his way. There isn’t anyone else I’d prefer to be stranded with. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I wanted this date to go perfect. This is my first Valentine’s Day with someone.” Charlie admitted turning his head to stare into warm pools of your e/y colours. His eyes scanned the soft smile that appeared on your face as his confession, “I had this whole thing planned out, and now you definitely won’t want a second-”

“I’m gonna kiss you. If you don’t want that, let me know.” You murmured before pulling him in for what would be the best kiss of your life thus far.

Sure his car broke down, but you kissed him anyway. He tasted of the complimentary chocolate dessert from dinner.

A Year Later

A young, admittedly broke couple sat on the cold floor of the unpacked kitchen eating SpaghettiOs. You had only just moved into the studio apartment with Charlie that had drained most of your savings. Had it not been in a decently safe area in the city and a close commute you would have said no.

But it was the perfect starting place for you two as you both were unfamiliar with living with an SO. It sucked on each of your ends to not have a better situation, Charlie wanted nothing more than to spoil you on the first day living together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible but sitting on the floor with a cheap candle was imperfectly perfect.

“I’m sorry we’re eating out of cans.” Charlie whispered pointedly, keeping his eyes on the spoon, stirring the red sauce with the beige circles.

“Char this is perfect. As long as it’s you and I then anything is perfect. Besides we didn’t label the boxes, I have no idea which box has our kitchenware.” You admitted glancing at the boxes boarding the edge of the room. 

You ate out of cans for at least a week before you had unpacked the kitchen and had the means to buy actual groceries. Living together thus far had been going super smooth until wasn’t.

It was a bad day on both your parts, your entire work was deleted after a computer glitch. Charlie had auditioned for a role he had been really really wanting since he heard about it. Your father came down with the flu axing the plans to meet for dinner; it would have been the first time in six months you saw him in person.

The apartment's atmosphere had been rising and very volatile by mid-afternoon when Charlie blatantly forgot a deal. If he was going to play music, it had to be in the study so you could focus on your work. 

Today he’d decided to be in close vicinity to have a virtual jam session with both Owen and Jeremy. He’d chosen the room you were in solely because it had the best wifi reception which you needed as well.

“Charlie, please can you go to the study? I’m trying to finish this!” You cried out as he struck a chord on the electric. His eyebrows came other in the glare he sent you, “I lost all my work last night.”

“The guys and I are working on songs-”

“-Charlie, this is due tonight. I can’t concentrate with-”

“It’s not my fault you have a shitty attention span!” Charlie angrily snapped contradicting the gentle touch on his guitar. He placed it back on the stand to not accidentally damage it, “The wifi is best in this room.”

“I’m very much aware of that Charlie. Out of the two of us, I use it the most. Can you please either move to the study or at least wait an hour so I can finish?” You pleaded with the Canadian actor ignoring the two guys on the computer silently waiting for the fight to be over.

“Why can't you mov-”

“Fine. I will.” You fully stared down your boyfriend for a full five seconds before you harshly closed the top of your computer. It took seconds to gather your work stuff into the leather satchel you stored the computer in, “You didn’t even mute the call.”

Charlie watched as you swiftly pulled on your jacket, “Babe-”

The sound of the door slamming shut cut his sentence before he even had a chance to speak his thoughts. The apartment was eerily silent compared to the sounds of music that always played through the Bluetooth speaker.

The inspiration to play evaporated with the aftermath of a stupid argument permeated the apartment typically filled with love. All three actors quietly said their goodbyes before they ended the video call.

You spent an hour uncomfortably sitting in a cafe finishing up what you’d needed to finish with the argument replaying. Your finger barely hit the button to send the email before you had already stepped outside the business. You spent the walk struggling to draft a text to your boyfriend. 

It didn’t matter because when you walked into the apartment, you heard the soft song you’d both deemed yours. It was cheesy, but that was part of Charlie’s charm. Speaking of your boyfriend, he was sat on the floor of your kitchen with matching mugs of brownies.

“I’m sorry. I was insensitive.” Charlie started as soon as your jacket was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. His usually wide smile was as bashful as the one he’d worn on the night of your first date.

“No I’m sorry, Charlie. I could have easily put on my headphones or moved to the bedroom for a bit. The fight was stupid, and I love you so much that sometimes I think I take you for granted. I mean, look at you! You made the brownie cups-”

“Even sitting on the cold floor like when we moved in.” Charlie cheekily inserted, reaching over to hold your hands in his, “I like our tradition. I definitely like how we upgraded from SpaghettiOs to brownies.”

“Me too.” You breathed leaning over to press a lingering kiss on his lips. His hands delving into your hair to keep you close.

The butterflies stormed your stomach as the heat slowly inflated from your toes until it reached your flushing cheeks. Raw emotion pouring into the passionate kiss that only closed down as you broke for air. But you also went back in as that warmth slowly built in your tummies. Charlie’s eyes marginally opened to ensure he wasn’t imagining the Angel he got to kiss.

Finally, with heavy breathing, you pulled apart, but only a fleeting moment froze the time in the apartment. For, as soon as Charlie caught your dilated pupils, his one hand cupped the back of your hand, fingers tangled in your h/c tresses. 

Soon enough, you were making up on the kitchen floor with each article of clothing tossed in the vicinity. A shirt landed on the kitchen sink spout. The brownie mugs forgotten as you gave into the passion with your boyfriend. Your lovemaking had you missing supper.

Charlie’s solution was a trip to the local authentic English pub founded by a nice guy from London. You never failed to stop him for a dance in the empty street as his smooth voice gave music for smooth motions. Dancing was a common thing from pulling off the road in Dieppe to dance. You drank and danced at the pub until Jack cut you off at 2am as his pub rules had.

You and Charlie just laughed in a love bubble as the real-world worries faded because you always came together in the rough times.

Months later you returned to Dieppe with Charlie to spend the holidays with them. The entire family together creating such a welcoming atmosphere.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water.” You informed the group of gals ad non-binary pals who had gathered in Meghan’s bedroom. The group had decided to sleep over Meg’s childhood room with face masks, nail polish and lovely wine.

Meg and Jeannette both nodded to acknowledge your announcement before they returned to their respective conversations. You took a moment to take in the great group of Gillespie and Co you had the honour to be part of. The thirst was only temporarily forgotten in the happy bubble you found yourself in.

You practically skipped to the kitchen, barely noticing the two people in the living room, but their words stopped you in your tracks. Your boyfriend, Charlie Gillespie, stood close to his older brothers Ryan, Patrick and Michael.

“I’m gonna ask her to marry-” Charlie caught himself from finishing the sentence when he saw you standing pale-faced at the opening into the living room.

His entire body was encapsulated by the lights casting in the living room from the Christmas tree. The tree couldn’t hold a candle to the ring of your dreams that promptly had you bursting into tears.

“I RUINED THE SURPRISE!” You sobbed dropping your face into your cold hands, avoiding the gaze of the Gillespie brothers. Had you not been hiding in your hands you would have known the older three had vacated the room.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Charlie cooed with the ring safely put away in the box he had shoved back in his pocket, “You didn’t ruin the surprise. I shouldn’t have been telling my brothers in the middle of the living room.”

Charlie’s warm hands slowly pulled your hands from your soft post-mask skin with such a pretty healthy glow. He could see the remnants of the mask on the edge of your scalp, but it didn’t take away from your beauty.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, staring up at him from underneath your eyelashes. The soft hazel eyes not upset in the least, things often didn’t go the way you wanted to together.

Take the first date from over two years ago where you and Charlie had waited for Owen to meet you with a jug of gas. You’d shared childhood stories and future dreams. Or the time you hadn’t marked the boxes creating an entire week of eating out of cans and cartons.

Ruining the proposal was almost expected at this rate.

“I knew from the moment I saw you in that emerald dress I knew that you were the One for me. I’ve adored each moment I’ve gotten with you from the spontaneous dances on the side of the road. To bursting into song in the middle of the street.” Charlie shakily started with sweating bands but an open heart, “When your best friend told me the emerald dress was the special one, it melted my heart.”

“Charlie.”

“Other than my belief that this relationship will last, I was only ever sure of one thing in my life. I was sure I would be an actor, but now I’m more sure that my favourite role will be supporting you, loving you and evolving with you as your husband.” Charlie sniffled, taking one hand from yours to wipe the tears flooding his cheeks, “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You breathed lunging on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Your hands caressed the skin of his cheeks; his long tresses tickling your wrists.

“God I love you.” Charlie gushed with a gentle shake of his head. His hazel pinned to your e/c eyes as if you were the most precious gem in the world.

A voice cut the bubble enveloping you, “Well are you gonna put the ring on her finger or what?”

Charlie’s head moved to meet the teary eyes of his mother surrounded by his siblings as they bounced on their feet. You laughed as your now fiance clumsily rushed to slide the absolutely gorgeous ring on your finger. 

“Welcome to the family officially.” Jeannette cheered along with the celebratory whistles and yells as the crowd of the family grew more and more. Soon enough, the entire room was overflowing with people congratulating your new engagement.

Months later, you stood in front of that same group holding the hands of your handsome fiance. Both dressed to the nines in front of the officiant.

“I wasn’t looking for a fairytale, because they all end the same. The princess has a conflict that she revolves with the help of the prince. They get married and live happily ever after. I adore how we’re writing our own story that fits our relationship. Charlie Gillespie, I wouldn’t change a thing about our lives. I wouldn’t have it any other way even with the fighting and slamming doors, but we always end up on our kitchen floor making up with two brownies in mugs.” Your vows brought tears among the onlookers along with the Canadian barely keeping it together.

The vows would later be eloquently transformed into lyrics from you with the accompanying melody provided by Charlie. On Valentine’s Day, you played the song on the kitchen floor with a plate of brownies. Three brownies waiting to be devoured.

“Three for each of us.” You wept as you watched as Charlie melted into a puddle of joyful tears. He took no time in placing his hand over your flat stomach.

Yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Especially when Valentine’s Day become more to the Gillespie family; a new little love taking up the day.

(Reader’s Dress In Beginning)

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[blossom-hwa]

Light the Pyres |Burn| - SUNGYOON

This chapter hurt so much I'm really sorry

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 7.9k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Rise >> Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

If times were normal, three weeks stuck in the same space with anyone but Daeyeol or your mother would probably drive you insane. Only seeing one other person’s face for days after days on end? You’d almost rather be alone.

But whether it be because you have shared memories and common grief or simply because you’re compatible human beings, Sungyoon isn’t difficult to live with, not in the slightest. You don’t fight over food or water or living in the same space. His voice doesn’t grate on your nerves, even after a week of him being the only person you can talk to. He isn’t almost pleasant company anymore – he’s just pleasant.

Maybe even a little more than that.

Over one, two, then three weeks, you come apart to each other, exposing small bits of yourselves from beneath threads frayed by the apocalypse. Sungyoon craves coffee more than anything in the world. He used to be the fastest runner on his high school track team. He tells you his favorite color is black, and just to keep the conversation going you decide that black isn’t a real color since it’s technically the absence of all color, which sparks a debate that maybe grows a little too loud every once in a while but by the end, you’re laughing at Sungyoon’s indignant expression that slowly cracks into a smile.

Laughing. Not smirking. At something not morbid or deadly.

It feels almost surreal, being able to smile at a topic so inane.

“What’s your credibility, huh?” Sungyoon asks when you’ve stopped laughing, having given into a grudging smile himself. It makes his face look sweeter, gentler. “What makes you an expert on colors or the absence of them?”

“I did mechanical engineering in university,” you say, leaning back against the wall. Memories threaten to flood your mind but you keep them at bay, closing your eyes against the onslaught. “Took a few chemistry classes as a requirement. We learned about colors at some point.” You open your eyes and shrug. “It was kind of interesting, but not enough for me to change my major.”

“Mechanical engineering,” Sungyoon echoes, staring up at the ceiling. You kind of have to give it to him – you might be bored sitting around in this empty house sometimes, but he’s confined to the bed if he isn’t using the bathroom and he hasn’t complained yet. “That’s cool. Is that how you got that car to work before?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, a slightly bitter taste in your mouth at the memories of your almost finished second degree. “Mom was a mechanic. I grew up around cars and machines. I was almost done with my master’s when…”

When the apocalypse began and I started out across the country to find my mom.

From Sungyoon’s silence, you gather that he understands what you haven’t said. He also seems to understand you don’t want to talk about it and thankfully changes the topic. “I did sports medicine,” he says. “And I minored in music.”

You sit up. “Music? What did you play?”

“I can play a little piano, but I mostly sing – sang,” he corrects himself, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

You don’t miss the switch from present to past tense. Mood dampened, you both sit in silence for a moment, mourning the loss of your lives before they’d barely begun.

“I used to play piano,” you finally say, trying to salvage the conversation. “I wonder if it’s still at home,” you mumble, more to yourself than anybody.

“If it’s any consolation, people aren’t really looking for valuables at a time like this.” Sungyoon gives you a lopsided smile. “Assuming… well, even if people have broken in, I don’t think the piano would be the first thing they were looking for.”

You know Sungyoon means to comfort you, but the implication that anything happened to your house, to your home makes your heart stutter. It’s not a strange thing, people breaking into houses. Oftentimes they’re already open, the occupants either dead or fled. 

But it’s your house, your home, and the thought that anything might’ve happened to it with your mom there flips your stomach.

Hypocrite. You’re sitting in one of those stolen homes right now, but you have a problem with people sitting in yours.

“Y/N?”

You look over to see Sungyoon staring back, concern in his expression. Swallowing, you try to smile. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You just went quiet for a bit.” He raises an eyebrow. “Thoughts?”

What do you say? Do you tell Sungyoon what you’re really thinking? Do you tell him you’re terrified of coming home to a house that’s been ransacked and laid bare? Do you tell him you’re scared of finding your mom in an empty home with nothing around her left, that you’re even more scared of finding an empty home with no mother inside?

You curve your lips, trusting Sungyoon won’t ask even if he sees that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “No,” you lie. “It’s nothing. So.” You look at him, your smile turning a little more genuine. “You sing?”

. . . . .

He does. He sings.

Beautifully.

His voice breaks sometimes, of course. Weeks of forced silence have taken tolls on both of your throats, and even speaking hurts if you talk too long. But the longer he sings, the longer his song fills your ears, the stronger his voice grows, rich and powerful even in his hushed melodies. It wraps around you like a blanket or a shawl, warming your skin in a way even the sun can’t.

When he first spoke to you so many weeks ago, told you not to hurt yourself by kicking the car down that one horrible day, you thought he could be a singer, thought that his voice was smooth, clear. Like Daeyeol’s. You hated it then, when it only reminded you of your best friend and what he was no longer around to do, what you had lost trying to save this boy with a nice voice who didn’t deserve it.

You still hear hints of Daeyeol’s clarity in Sungyoon’s quiet song. Even more obvious is the love of music in Sungyoon’s eyes that perfectly matches that of your dead friend. The few times Daeyeol hummed old songs to get you to sleep when the sun was still up, he always wore that look in his eyes. It fit him like a second skin, that soft love for music dancing in his expression, and you would try to keep that look in mind as he soothed you into sleep. It brought you both back to better times, when death didn’t lurk around every corner.

It hurts a little to see this look in Sungyoon’s face, for sure, but it also soothes another pain, the pain of knowing that you’ll never see Daeyeol ever again until it’s your turn to go. Because even though you’ll never gaze on his face again during your time on this earth, you’ll still see bits of him, hear parts of him in Sungyoon’s eyes and voice. Where that reminder might’ve felt like a stab in the chest before, it now smooths a blanket over your body, wrapping you in the knowledge that Daeyeol will always live with you, in your memories and in Sungyoon’s voice.

Sungyoon doesn’t ask why you’re crying when he finishes his song, even though he can definitely see you wiping away tears from your perch at the foot of his bed. You don’t make an effort to hide it, really – you’ve done worse things in front of him than cry, and besides, he looks a little teary himself. For a moment, you only sit in your respective positions, trying to rein in your tears until he breaks the silence again.

“That was my sister’s favorite song,” he whispers. “She played it so much that Bomin once threatened to delete it off of her playlist.”

You swallow at the mention of his sister and her boyfriend, guilt snaking its way up your chest. It’s a little easier to ignore right now, though, especially when you realize that this is the first time Sungyoon’s put a name to either of the two people you shot. “Bomin was her boyfriend?” you ask.

He nods. “I never said?”

As you shake your head, it only just occurs to you how little you know of Sungyoon’s family. You haven’t said that much – he knows about your mom and Daeyeol, but little of anyone else – but even that seems like a lot compared to what little he has (more like hasn’t) said about his family. You don’t even know his sister’s name.

You’re not even sure you want to. Putting a name to dead faces, faces that you shot bullets through…

Swallowing, you shake your head again, this time more trying to clear your head than say no. “No, you never mentioned it.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Bomin was Sumin’s boyfriend. Sumin was my sister.”

Bomin. Sumin. The addition of two names to your repertoire (and the past tense for Bomin) nearly makes your head spin. Bomin with dyed, pale hair, Sumin with dark. Bomin with chiseled, handsome features marred by white skin and dark veins. Sumin with a round, soft face and eyes that probably would’ve looked lovely with a smile had they not been shrunken with disease.

You didn’t know either of them at all, which just makes the fact that you put a bullet through each of their heads even worse.

In fact, you pressured Sungyoon into letting you do it.

Both of you agreed not to apologize anymore. But the only words hanging on the tip of your tongue consist of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sungyoon, I’m sorry –

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You blink. “What?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sungyoon’s eyes bore into yours softly, understanding and reproachful all at once. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? Bomin and Sumin.”

Despite everything, a wry little smile curls the corner of your mouth. “Was it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who saw what happened.” Sungyoon shifts on the bed, sitting up against the wall. “You didn’t kill them, Y/N. The zombies did.”

“See, I know that.” You stare at your hands, the smile wiped from your lips. “Logically. But –”

“Your brain won’t let you,” Sungyoon finishes. “Yeah, I know. It’s the same with me and… you know.” He leans forward, fixing your gaze with his. “So I’ll keep saying it until your brain finally figures it out. Okay?”

The tears try to come again, but this time, you hold them back. “Same for you,” you manage, hoping the wobble in your voice isn’t as prominent as it feels to you. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was. And I’ll keep saying that until you know it too.”

Sungyoon turns away. You don’t try to follow his gaze, to probe at his expression. You don’t need to.

It’s enough, this understanding that hangs quiet in the air.

. . . . .

On week three, when Sungyoon’s finally started to limp around the house, Lady Luck puts you in her good graces and you find a source of transportation far better than your legs. You don’t thank her too much, though, since you literally found the two bikes after being chased twice around the same building by a small, though vicious group of zombies.

Even then, a little bit of excitement sparks in your still-racing heart when you pedal up to the front of the house and dump the first bike indoors. Sungyoon pokes his head out through the bedroom at your call.

You grin. “Remember how to ride a bike?”

It takes a second dangerous trip to bring the other one back but you manage, since Sungyoon is still slow on his feet. When Sungyoon feels ready to try it out, you watch closely as he slings himself onto the cracked seat, ready to catch him if he falls.

He does, twice. But the third time, he actually starts wobbling up and down the front of the house, pedaling slowly but steadily.

A cry almost escapes your throat when he turns around on the street, pedaling back with sparkling eyes and lips curving in a rare smile of success. But though you stifle the sound, you can’t help but run up and hug him when he dismounts, one hand holding the bike steady as you wrap the other around his chest.

Sungyoon’s breath catches. The little gasp in his throat reminds you of what you’re doing, that he might be uncomfortable, and you go to apologize and pull away, insides curdling with embarrassment.

But then he wraps both of his arms around you, bringing you in closer with a gentle, uncertain grip, hands locked loosely at your waist. And it’s your turn to catch your breath at the subtle warmth of Sungyoon’s thin body, a warmth more comforting than even the rays of afternoon sun beginning to set in the sky.

Human touch. Human comfort. Human warmth. You bury yourself in Sungyoon and he buries himself in you, earlier excitement forgotten in favor of the comforting warmth of the other’s touch.

You don’t say anything about it, even after you let go. You only part naturally, smiling at each other as your arms fall to your sides before finally reentering the house. Sungyoon goes back to lying on the little couch, resting his leg, while you carefully stand the bike by the door and go to find something to eat. Conversation is quiet. Not awkward, not stilted, just quiet. You still don’t mention the hug.

But later that night, after you’ve barricaded the door and freshened up as best you can, Sungyoon is still sitting up in the bedroom. You pause in the doorway. “Sungyoon?”

“It isn’t comfortable on the floor, is it?” he asks, voice strangely stilted. He doesn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Come up here. It’ll be easier on your back.”

It takes several moments to process his words before you start protesting, saying the floor isn’t that bad and that you read something about how sleeping on hard surfaces is actually better for your back, but your voice dies away when Sungyoon holds out his arms in the dark, shifting to make room for you on the threadbare mattress.

Something about this feels like it should be wrong. Taking comfort in someone who isn’t Daeyeol or your mom or even one of the friends you left behind, probably never to see any of them ever again. You’ve only known Sungyoon for a matter of weeks. Daeyeol you knew for over twenty years. Your mom, even longer.

And now you’re taking comfort in someone when none of them are around to experience it themselves. Guilt simmers in your chest.

But walking into Sungyoon’s arms sweeps it away.

His touch is just as soft and unsure as it was earlier under the afternoon sun, but if anything, it feels warmer in the dark. And as you gain a little courage, letting him curl closer into you as your breaths begin to even from exhaustion, the touch becomes a little more certain, a little firmer and stronger as he loosens against your body.

One brave hand reaches up, tangles briefly through Sungyoon’s hair. “Goodnight,” you whisper.

He squeezes you once, gently. “Goodnight.”

. . . . .

The fourth week has passed by the time Sungyoon walks without a limp. You really would have wanted to go the first day he could put weight on his leg, but if you had, you wouldn’t have found the bikes. And considering the fact that you only have two bullets left, you’re thankful for a method of quick escape.

“We need to get out of the city,” you say, swinging one leg over your bike. “There are too many zombies here. Just follow me, I think I’ve mapped out how to get to the highway. It’ll probably be smoother from there.”

Sungyoon nods. “Let’s go, then.”

Your heart pounds as you pedal down the streets, quickly, quietly. The rusty bikes creak a little under your weight and with every weird noise you tense, pedaling faster, but street after street, you and Sungyoon ride without too much trouble.

Until you turn a corner and the faint sound of dead groans echoes from farther down the street.

Both of you stop. Sungyoon looks over. “Is there another way?”

“I mean, probably.” You swallow. “But they’re in the direction of the highway and regardless, we’ll have to go past. I don’t… I’m not sure…”

The groans grow louder.

“Let’s see if we can loop around,” you decide, trying to picture the general layout of buildings. “Just… be ready to ride fast.”

Sungyoon almost smirks. “That wasn’t a given?”

You hit him, even as you stifle a smile. But that smile disappears quickly as you ride closer and closer to the sounds of groans.

The first zombie lurches out from behind a collapsed home. It stumbles over the sidewalk, clawing forward, but you and Sungyoon move too fast and leave it quickly behind.

But then a second pops out in the distance. And a third.

Behind you, Sungyoon mutters a curse. You don’t blame him. Much worse words are running through your mind. “Through the cars,” you hiss, weaving between several vehicles stranded on the road. “Harder for them to get us.”

The sound of limbs slapping against metal and glass makes you want to hurl. Groans and shrieks echo off the sides of the cars, overpowering the creaking of your bike and filling your ears with their sickening sound. You pedal fast, fast, faster, swerving between a last car into open road –

Sungyoon races past, surpassing you as a zombie just misses grabbing the wheel of his bike. You pedal harder to catch up, staring straight ahead towards the entrance of the highway that’s finally in sight.

Something brushes your arm. You shriek, almost tipping off balance as dead white fingers flash in your peripherals, but a backwards glance from Sungyoon forces you to stay upright and you pedal forward with a last rush of speed, rolling onto a smooth, zombie-free road.

You ride for what feels like hours until you have to call it quits. Stumbling behind an abandoned truck, you collapse in the shade, legs shaking with exertion and adrenaline. Sungyoon follows quickly, dropping his bike onto the asphalt to sit next to you.

For a moment, you only sit in silence, panting under the hot sun.

Then you heave a shaky breath and start to laugh.

It starts out as a gasp, really. That first breath doesn’t fully go out the way you want it to and you wheeze a gasp, then another, and another and another until your wheezes turn into breathless laughter that treads the line of hysteria but then Sungyoon is starting to laugh too and all you can do is revel in the fact that you can laugh, snort, giggle because you’re alive. You made it out of that infested city alive, alive despite that horde at the end, and God, now you’re trembling because even though you’ve had close encounters with the undead before, you can still feel cold, peeling skin just dragging against your shirt –

You start crying.

Adrenaline seeps out of your body like blood from a wound. Your stomach hurts from laughing. Your eyes ache with tears. You keep feeling that feather light, deathly cold touch brushing your arm, almost like a wisp of wind curling against your skin but so much colder, like ice freezing your veins even under the burning sun.

Cold. Cold. Cold. And no one, not Daeyeol, not your mother, no one to help you out of this icy sun –

Sungyoon’s shaking arms wrap around you, and you remember what it feels like to be warm again.

You grip him tight, tight, tighter, holding onto this last piece of human life. Everyone else you know is dead or probably dead and only Sungyoon is a constant, still here and alive despite the fact that you could’ve split up all those weeks ago.

Until the day you die, you’ll be grateful you chose not to.

He holds you and you hold him until both of you finally stop trembling in the hot shade of the truck, but even then, you latch on just a little bit longer, memorizing the weight of his thin body pressed against yours. Hunger has hollowed his skin and yours, eaten away the muscle that used to cushion your bones, but Sungyoon’s arms still hold a fragile strength that slowly bleeds into you, giving you the courage to wipe away the tears.

That night, after hours of riding on quiet roads, no silent, tentative question hangs in the air like it always has when Sungyoon slumps against your sitting figure, head falling into your lap as you fight to keep your eyes open for first watch. Without hesitation, you tangle your fingers through his curly hair, soothing him into sleep.

Sungyoon is your warmth, just as you are his. Reminders to each other that even in this blackened world of death and ashes, both of you are still alive.

. . . . .

The closer you get to home, the harder sleep comes. You don’t know why. It should be the opposite, right? You’re closer to your goal. Closer to your mom.

But that also means you’re closer to uncertainty. Closer to the Schrodinger’s cat-type limbo where you don’t know whether or not your mom is still alive. Only with Schrodinger’s cat, there’s an exactly fifty percent chance that the animal is dead. Or so you think. It’s been some time since you had time to think about quantum mechanics.

Doesn’t matter. Odds are now, the scale’s been tipped a little further in that direction. 

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s dead.

Scratch that. You kind of know what you’ll do. Scream. Cry, probably. Either that or just go silent.

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s just disappeared.

Because then there’s Schrodinger’s cat again, constantly hovering between life and death. Knowing at least gives you facts – you’ll be certain as to whether she’s dead or alive.

Not knowing will rip you apart.

Sungyoon decides it’s enough when you wake up the third time during his second watch, chest heaving from nightmares where you return home alone and there’s no one. Not him, not your mom, not even a single zombie. There’s no blood on the floor or anything to indicate struggle. The house is perfect, just as you left it when you went back to university the last time.

But it’s empty. Cold.

And only silence answers your calls.

“Okay, that’s it.” Sungyoon’s tone is softer than his sharp words. He gently grips your shoulders, pulling you up in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What are you dreaming of?”

You shiver even in his hold, remembering the chill of the empty house, the choking silence that greeted your calls. How do you begin to describe that, the fear of not knowing whether or not your mother is alive?

Then it hits you.

Sungyoon will understand. He has to. He walked back to a zombie infested city on an injured leg to find his sister and her boyfriend, Sumin and Bomin, all the while not knowing if they were alive or dead.

“What if she’s not there?”

His grip slackens. “What?”

You swallow. “What if my mom isn’t there?”

For a long moment, both of you stay silent. In the dark, you can’t even make out the expression on Sungyoon’s face.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “What will you do?”

Fear ices your throat. You can’t speak. What will you do? If it turns out you came all this way, across an entire country, for nothing?

“What did you do?” you manage once it feels like your vocal cords have thawed. “When you went back and…?” A wince of guilt and shame keeps you from saying more.

Sungyoon falls quiet. You recognize this silence not as brooding, not as angry, but thinking. Contemplative. It eases the tightness in your chest.

“It felt like everything was lost to me,” he finally says. “They were all I had left. When it finally hit me that they were gone…” He shakes his head. “But that’s not what you meant, right? You’re asking about before. When I didn’t know.”

You nod, curling closer into him. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Sungyoon says. “Honestly, I don’t know how I dealt with it. All I know is that it was eating at me so much that I had to go back and find out myself. So I was an idiot.”

There’s a little smile in his voice, a twitch of the lips that you can hear in his last few words. Your mouth almost curves, too. “But what if we go back and I still don’t know?” you ask. “What if she’s just… gone?”

“It’ll be your choice whether or not you want to leave it at that or keep looking,” Sungyoon answers after a pause. “I can’t make the decision for you. But…”

You look up. “But?”

“You know what kept me going after all of that?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “The fact that you offered to let me come with you, despite what had happened. It was the fact that someone, more or less a stranger, gave me a place with them.”

“Really? I honestly thought you were going to laugh in my face as soon as I said it,” you admit. “I’d just… done that, and a few hours later, I was asking you to walk across an entire country with me.” You wince. “Not exactly bonding material.”

“I won’t lie, I kind of considered it.” Sungyoon seems to shrug in the darkness. “But even then, I knew you weren’t evil, regardless of what happened. You still lost a friend. You were still trying to stay alive. And when you talked about your mom…” He sighs. “What I’m saying is you were there for me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens softly. “And whatever happens when we get to your home, I’ll still be there for you.”

The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak, so you only sink further into Sungyoon’s body, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape your eyes. He seems to understand. His fingers rise and card through your hair, stroking smooth against your scalp.

If this is how Daeyeol felt every time you did this when he was sick, you now understand why he asked for head pats whenever he wasn’t doing well. It soothes you, even if one or two tears do make their way down your face at the thought of your best friend.

Fuck. You close your eyes. Daeyeol would have found a good friend in Sungyoon, you’re sure. Your mom would probably love him too. More than anything, you wish they were here.

But you still have someone. You have Sungyoon. You have someone you trust, someone you rely on, someone you can hold close at times like this when you start to spiral and can’t force yourself out of your mind.

You’d like to say that Sungyoon feels the same.

“Is that okay?” Sungyoon asks softly, breaking into your thoughts. His fingers keep stroking your hair gently, softly.

Your eyes are starting to close again, weighed down by sleep. Nightmares might be waiting, but Sungyoon’s words and warmth make you think they might stay at bay. You nod against his chest. “Yes,” you murmur. “More than okay.”

“Good.” His hands don’t stop. “Now sleep. There are only a few hours before dawn.”

You don’t need to be told twice, only curl further into him and shut your eyes. As sleep finally begins to roll over you in waves, you sigh. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His breath stirs your hair. “For what?”

A small smile curves your lips.

“For being here.”

. . . . .

The buildings start looking familiar two weeks and five zombie attacks later. There are more undead here, probably because you’re closer to the site of the explosion. Even though you’re still several states away, the virus spread more quickly here than on the other side of the country.

At some point after the third attack, you try to apologize while patching up several scrapes on Sungyoon’s arms. There isn’t even time to stay – you need to keep riding, find a place to take shelter for the night before zombies find you. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You don’t either,” he points out. “Neither of us ever deserved this.”

“But I have to deal with it to get home. You don’t.”

“And I signed up for the ride.” Sungyoon pats a bandage more firmly in place before taking your outstretched hand and standing up. He squeezes your fingers. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Your heart pounds painfully as you ride down the last stretch of highway, faded signs bearing the name of your hometown. Everything almost looks the same, if you ignore the dried blood spattered along the sidewalks and panes of shattered glass on the streets.

And the zombies milling about at the base of the exit.

Sungyoon stops when you do, frowning when he sees the faint outlines of white skin and blackened veins. “Great.”

You snort, hysteria building in your throat. “Great” is the perfect way to put it. So close, yet so far – separated from your home by a throng of the undead.

There are only a few right now. From here, up on the highway, you can only count four or five. Zombies don’t move fast and if it’s just those few, you could probably outstrip them.

But they’re definitely not the only ones. And you have no way of knowing just how many are left in the city.

Think, think, think! You hit your head lightly. You grew up here, explored the entire city, walked all the roads by the time you went off to college the first time. Even though things have probably changed, they can’t be too drastically different. Any small nooks, any back roads or alleys you can find where zombies aren’t likely to be…

“What do you think will be more zombie infested?” you ask. “Residential roads or the actual city?”

“… City,” Sungyoon says. “More densely packed people, right?”

You bite your lip. He’s right. The highway leads to a road that cuts straight through the middle of the city and it would probably be faster to follow it straight down and just make a few appropriate turns before reaching your home, but it’ll probably be safer to take the longer local path.

Local it is. God, you hope your sense of direction is as good as it used to be.

“We’re going straight down now before more zombies come,” you say, swinging a leg over your bike. “As fast as you can. We turn left at that first traffic light and then be ready to follow me.”

The downward slope of the highway gives you a burst of speed you dearly need once you reach the road. You speed past abandoned cars and several milling zombies that turn to give chase, but you and Sungyoon are already turning left, racing down a street of empty shops and cafes. You used to hang out there with Daeyeol and a few of your friends before –

Not the time. You pedal faster. The groans of chasing zombies has grown fainter, which is good, but there are definitely more.

As if on cue, several sets of gangly, white limbs pop out from behind a building, lurching towards Sungyoon’s bike. He swerves around a car and you grit your teeth to avoid crying out. “Keep going!” you shout, pedaling faster. Faster.

Street signs whiz past. You almost miss the first turn, jerking sharply to the right at the last minute. Sungyoon curses and you look back but he’s following, still following, weaving around zombies and cars as he keeps racing forward.

Right. Left. Straight. Left. More zombies join the chase, relentless even as you and Sungyoon leave them behind, legs straining to keep the speed. 

Left, left, straight. Pedaling uphill is a pain. Your thighs burn and your chest aches but then you’re rolling downhill and you catch your breath before straining once more.

Straight. Right. Right. Left. You pass by your old high school, grass trampled and overgrown in the front.

Left, right. You race down a street lined with houses you used to envy – if you lived closer to school, you wouldn’t have had to get up early for the bus every morning.

Straight. You pedal past a small plaza. Clubs used to congregate in the restaurants for end of year celebrations. It’s where you went with your friends on the last day of high school and where you had dinner with your mom the next day after graduation.

Mom. Mom. You go right, then left, racing past aching memories, all the while conscious of zombies groaning in the background and Sungyoon panting by your side. Mom, I’m almost there. Almost home.

Please be there.

The last street comes into sight. You swing around a last building and a last car, finding yourself on a familiar street that you haven’t seen in years. You pedal slower, slower, until you stop in front of your house.

Memories almost paralyze you. This was where you met Daeyeol when he first moved in. This was where you almost got hit by a speeding car when you were out playing as a child. This was where you walked from every day to the bus stop for over five years to get to school –

Sungyoon grabs your wrist, glancing behind. Already, the sound of groans is growing louder. “Is this it?” he asks, nodding at the front door.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake yourself out of your daze. “Yeah. Come on.”

With each step forward, you feel like you’re walking back in time. You grow younger and younger, smaller and smaller, until you’re finally pulling out the house key you’ve kept in your bag for so long, waiting for this moment –

You stop, key held uselessly between your fingers as you take in the scuff marks around the doorknob and the lock.

The door has already been forced open at least once.

Sungyoon notices the marks, notices your silence. He pulls open the door anyway and shoves you inside, slamming it shut behind you.

He plucks the key from your hand. Locks the door with a faint, familiar click. 

You look around in a daze, taking in overturned furniture, books and magazines strewn over the floor, cabinets left open from what you can see in the kitchen. Clouds of dust spring up where you step.

You sneeze. The sound brings you back to the present.

Your home has been ransacked. Someone broke in and took what they thought was worth taking, leaving behind furniture and books and the piano standing against the wall. Someone broke in and either spared your mother or killed her –

Or she wasn’t there in the first place.

You can feel Sungyoon’s eyes following your movements as you step forward, slow and cautious. Dust itches your throat and burns your eyes but you keep moving, surveying the damage. “Mom?”

There’s no sign of human life. Not a footprint in the dust, not a handprint on the wall. But there’s also no blood. No sign of struggle.

So where is she?

“Mom?”

Panic seizes your chest and you walk forward faster, looking into the kitchen as if she’ll be hiding somewhere there. When she doesn’t appear, you turn into the bathroom, the bedrooms, but only a mess of dust and objects meets your eyes. “Mom?”

No one replies.

She’s not here.

You try to reason it away. Maybe she’s out looking for food. Maybe she’s hiding. But you don’t have a basement or second floor so there’s nowhere she could be, and why would she be hiding, anyway? As for food…

Dust comes away on your fingertips as you drag them along the floor. Somewhere along the way, you sank down against the wall, alone in the hallway. Bits of dust rise with every breath you take.

If she was just looking for food, the house would still appear lived in. There wouldn’t be so much dust and dirt everywhere.

But she might have had to leave when people broke into the house. Right?

Or not. You swallow, tears starting to flow down your face. There was no sign of struggle, no blood or cracks in the wall. Just overturned furniture, probably from someone’s careless movements while looking for necessities.

Which means she isn’t here.

Not here. Not here. Not here not here not here not here – you came all this way and survived so many attacks and even lost Daeyeol and she’s not here –

And –

Daeyeol –

A cracked, broken sound emerges from your throat and your pounding head falls into your hands. You came this whole way and watched Daeyeol shoot himself just to find the dusty, empty house from your nightmares –

“Y/N.”

You turn your head to see Sungyoon in the hallway, holding a piece of paper in one hand. His face is pale.

He holds out the paper before you can work through the lump in your throat to ask what’s wrong. “I think you should read this.”

. . . . .

It’s long past dark and you still can’t sleep. Sungyoon drifted off about an hour ago, but even though you lie under the same sheet next to him on the floor, not even his warmth can lull you into dreamland this time.

Well. Probably more like nightmare land. The piece of paper crinkles in your hand, as if to remind you of what you’ve lost.

You try to close your eyes against the words that seem to flash in your vision. No use. They’ve tattooed themselves to the backs of your eyelids, trembling letters written in your mother’s familiar scrawl…

Y/N, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m most likely dead.

Why did she feel the need to apologize for being dead? If anything, it’s your fault for not getting here fast enough.

Of course, there is the chance that I’m just out looking for food and will come back soon, but if I’m not home by night, it isn’t likely.

Night has gone and passed. It’s probably closer to morning.

Every time I leave the house, I put out this note. That way, in case you manage to find your way back, you’ll have this much left from me.

Tears start to build up again behind your still puffy eyes.

I heard you on that phone call. I knew you would come back or at least die trying. Because that’s who you are, Y/N, my strong, darling child. Brave to the last.

Brave. Ha. If only she knew how much you relied on others to keep you sane. First Daeyeol, then Sungyoon…

I miss you. Every day I miss you. But I have hope that you will come home one day, return to this house, even if I’m not there to welcome you.

She wasn’t.

If you are reading this note and I am not there, don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. Nothing is certain, especially not our lives, not mine, not yours. If it was my time, then it was my time. Don’t hurt yourself, thinking you should have gotten here before.

But you could have. Maybe you should have. Sungyoon certainly thought so, judging from his silence as you read the note. He read it too, before you, and you know he was thinking you should have left him and his fractured leg back at that house in the city infested with zombies, left him and come back four weeks earlier to hopefully find your mother, alive and whole –

You don’t think you could’ve chosen differently, though. Sungyoon was there, right in front of you, injured and broken and you couldn’t just leave him behind. Even if your mother had still been here then (which you don’t think she was – the thick layer of dust all over the house speaks of over a month of disuse), would you even have made it back? Or, alone, would you have fallen to the trap of your own mind?

And even if you had returned in time, how would she have thought of you, knowing you left an injured person behind? You wouldn’t have been able to keep it from her. It would’ve spilled out, sometime.

Your heart clenches. Even though there logically wasn’t much you could do, it still hurts to think that you might’ve had a last chance to see her before she went.

Always remember that I love you, Y/N. You have always been the pride of my life. You are strong and brave, and if anyone is to survive this disaster, I pray it is you, both as my child and as a ray of hope for the future. We know something like this can’t happen again. I know you. I know you will help prevent it.

The tears start to spill. Again.

I love you. I miss you. I hope I will see you soon, but not before it is truly your time.

- Your loving mother

Tears fall harder, faster. You turn, pulling yourself out of the blanket so you won’t wake Sungyoon, and sit there, shaking with silent sobs.

I love you too. And I miss you even more.

You have little left of your mother but this note. All her clothes were taken from her room, the sheets of her bed pulled away, even her toolbox laid empty. Trinkets from shelves and tables lay smashed on the floor, fallen from careless searching. A few framed pictures survived. Little more. You don’t even have her body – you can’t even bury her, your mom, your hero, you can’t even give her the same respects you paid Daeyeol –

Your watery eyes light on the shadow of the piano, hidden in the darkness. The lid covering the keys is still closed, protecting them from dust, just the way you left it when you went back to university.

As if in a trance, you stand, walking towards the piano and settling on the dusty bench. You haven’t grown in the years since you’ve been at school and it’s still pulled the same distance back, leaving just enough space for you to stretch your hands out on the keys once you’ve lifted the lid. Dust billows and you cough, batting it away, but you put your hands back on the keyboard.

And begin to play.

It’s your mother’s favorite piece, a sonata’s slow second movement that she said never failed to calm her after a long day. But you don’t play it well – your fingers slip. You don’t remember all the notes. Rhythms are wrong, the melodies stilted, and you stop playing, resting your elbows on the edge of the instrument as you grind the heels of your palms into your eyes, tears beginning to pound once more. You couldn’t bury her so you thought you could give her a little music, but holy fuck, you can’t even properly give this tribute because you can’t play the fucking piece –

Sungyoon sits on the edge of the bench. You jump – you never realized he was awake, and you open your mouth to apologize for waking him up – but he just looks at you with a softness you can feel even in the dark. “Keep playing.”

Fingers trembling, you put them back on the keyboard. It doesn’t get better – missed notes and wrong rhythms still plague the piece – but Sungyoon nudges you every time you falter, pushing you to finish. And when you do, tears falling to the dust onto your lap, he pulls you over and wraps an arm around you, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you cry.

He holds you until the sun rises and you finally fall asleep.

. . . . .

As much as you want to leave as soon as you wake, you stay at home another day. Both of you need a break before you keep going west, now that there’s no time crunch, and there don’t seem to be many zombies walking up and down the street. As long as you and Sungyoon keep the window blinds shut, you consider yourself about as safe as you can get.

The security helps a little. Takes away a bit of anxiety. But wherever you go, no matter how messy the rooms are, you always know that you’re in the same house you grew up in. Just with the most important people of your childhood missing.

But Sungyoon is important, and Sungyoon is here. It helps, a little. Though when you find him staring at the few family photos left on a table, photos with you and your mother and one even with Daeyeol’s family, you have to leave the room because it just reminds you that Sungyoon lost everyone and has little beyond his sister’s earrings, as far as you know, to remember them by. And he had to take them from her body, when in any other “normal” situation of death he would’ve left them in for her burial…

Sungyoon cried over the earrings several weeks ago. Just looking at the pictures, comparing the memories they hold to two little gold hoops that can’t even fit around Sungyoon’s fifth finger, almost makes you want to smash the frames to the ground.

You almost don’t take them with you. It’s only when Sungyoon holds out the thin frames that you remember them, two-dimensional faces of people you lost, smiling with a joy that you don’t think you’ll feel ever again.

“You’ll want them,” Sungyoon says quietly. “It hurts now, but you will. Trust me.”

The weight behind his words convinces you.

In the end, you put them in your bag, stuffing your mother’s note into one of the frames. Sungyoon helps you cushion them with your spare clothes. When you’ve finally packed them away, you walk with him to the front of the house before hesitating in the doorway.

Sungyoon glances at you. “Ready?”

You don’t turn around, but you let your eyes wander over what of the living room you can see from here. You’ve left this house many times, both times when you went to university and every time you left after a break, but you always came back. Even when everything happened, you came back. You still came back.

This time, you don’t think you’ll ever return.

“Y/N?”

You hear Sungyoon, but you still say nothing, riveting your gaze to the door. Once you leave this house, you won’t come back. You can’t even hope for it.

But you think it’ll be okay, because home isn’t just a place. It’s with people, too. And though you will never forget your original home with your mom and Daeyeol, you think you’ve found the beginnings of another home with Sungyoon.

You take Sungyoon’s hand, tangle your fingers through his. He looks at you with some concern but you don’t look back, just blink your eyes and take a breath.

You’re leaving your original home for a less certain one, a home bound solely in human attachment without the solid root of a house. It’s a little tenuous, a little shaky, but with your hands joined like this, you think there’s a possibility things might be okay.

It’s a chance you’re willing to take.

“Yeah.” You finally look up, squeezing his fingers once. You twist the doorknob. “Let’s go.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain two characters to stay alive)

[mjsakurea]

If Words Could Heal Scars (Fic)

"I'm sorry and thank you"

Wei Wuxian allows those words to convey every unsaid emotion, every word he cannot say. He has learned these phrases are the most important words one can say in one's life. He would utter them like a prayer for the rest of his life and it would still not be enough to make up for the pain Lan Zhan has endured on his behalf, but he can start with saying them thirty-three times.

Dedicated to @zelkam

Based on their absolutely amazing and heartbreaking art that just left me so inspired to write a fic. It broke me out of year’s worth of writer’s block so thank you so much for making it! I hope this fic can capture the same feelings the art induced. 

Read on AO3 or continue reading below

Wei Wuxian knelt in front of his makeshift lotus pond. He had just finished hauling buckets of water to fill it. It would be time to plant the seeds soon. The weather was growing steadily colder by the day which meant he had to work tirelessly to get them planted before it was too late in the season. As he looked at his pond—less a pond and more a mud puddle—he sighed. It would be a miracle if any of the seeds sprouted, but, attempting the impossible was what his—well, his former clan was known for. If he thought too long about his brief visit with his adopted siblings, he knew he would start to get homesick for Lotus Pier. He knew he would most likely never return there and see the endless lakes filled with lotus blossoms ever again. Best to get to work and not dwell on the fact, Wei Wuxian thought.

“Wen Ning,” he shouted, “hand me that trowel.”

Wen Ning’s head perked up from where he was helping bag fresh turnips. “Yes, Young Master Wei!” He snatched the hand trowel and jogged over to the lotus pond. As he was about to hand it over to Wei Wuxian, his foot caught on an exposed root and he fumbled with the trowel. It slipped from his hands as he attempted to regain his footing. It missed Wei Wuxian and landed in the mud pit with a spalt, slashing some mud up on Wei Wuxian’s face and robes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Wei Wuxian heard Wen Ning repeatedly mumbling as he flicked the mud off his face. He reached into the shallow pool and delicately lifted the drenched trowel between his thumb and middle finger.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Ying said to interrupt the still muttering man, “it’s alright, no need to be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wen Ning said looking down at his feet.

“Now what are you sorry about? Stop saying sorry so much, there’s really no need.”

“Sister says, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’ are the two most important phrases you can say,” Wen Ning admitted.

Wei Wuxian smiled softly. “Well, your sister is very wise, but don’t tell her I said that,” he said.

“Tell me you said what?” Wen Qing said, appearing out of nowhere to catch Wei Wuxian at the worst possible moment as she does best.

Wen Ning greeted his sister excitedly while Wei Ying tried to escape admitting he ever paid Wen Qing a compliment, trowel incident and apologies forgotten.

He takes it back now, Wen Qing was not wise, she was an idiot, an absolute fool. Wei Wuxian writhed on the stone slab which served as his bed in Demon Subdue Palace. He fought desperately against the toxin flowing into his body through Wen Qing’s needle, keeping his body stiff and limbs immovable. Wei Ying screamed at Wen Qing and Wen Ning as the siblings revealed their plan to him. They were going to turn themselves in. They would be executed without a doubt. They knew this, they must have, so why, why would they want to face certain death and leave him all alone.

His screams slowly turned into sobs. Wei Wuxian begged them not to go. He should be the one to go instead. He continued pleading as Wen Qing knelt next to him and flicked a sleeping spell on his forehead. His eyelids suddenly felt heavy. He forced them to stay open with fading strength.

“No, Wen Qing,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t tell you many times, but today, something needs to be said,” Wen Qing began. Wei Ying shook his head, pleading with his eyes. “Or from now on, I won’t have a chance.”

“No,” he said, feeling his eyelids droop closed against his will. He could no longer fight the spell pulling him to sleep. Her final words drifted to him as though from afar.

“I’m sorry, and thank you.”

  Wei Wuxian leaned up against a tree to catch his breath after running into the forest with Jin Ling. His eyes flickered across the surrounding terrain. Despite Jin Ling telling him Fairy would not trouble him, he still had his doubts. After all, dogs could not be trusted, even this so-called wonder dog. He had a feeling Jiang Cheng bought the dog for Jin Ling just to spite Wei Wuxian. After his run-in with Jiang Cheng earlier, it was clear his hatred had not abated in these 16 years Wei Ying had been dead. Jin Ling confirmed that as he told Wei Wuxian of the numerous times his uncle had caught those under suspicion of being the reincarnated Yiling Patriarch.  Luckily, Jin Ling’s skepticism saved him from Jiang Cheng’s wrath for now.

“I tell you, you have saved me indeed, but I won’t thank you,” Jin Ling shouts at him. Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. It was his fault this kid grew up without learning any manners, he supposed. If he must, he would try and teach him some himself.

“Young man, in a person’s life, he must learn to say two phrases,” Wei Ying began, stepping in front of his nephew.

“Which two?”

“Thank you and sorry.”

Jin Ling scoffed at him. “I just don’t want to, what can you do with that?”

“You will say it while crying someday.” Trust me, I know from experience, left unsaid. Wei Wuxian paused, taking a deep breath. “Jin Ling, I’m sorry.”

  Wei Wuxian struggled with his words. His heart was full with all he wanted to say to Lan Zhan. After his enlightening conversation with Zewu Jun, he regarded Lan Wangji with a different light. He had resented Lan Zhan’s constant criticism back then, back in his first life. But now, he knew Lan Zhan’s actions were out of love. Even now, every little thing—bringing him Emperor’s Smile, playing this soft, familiar melody on the guqin—was done with love. Lan Zhan loved him. Wei Wuxian chuckled at the revelation, gazing absentmindedly out at the glittering snow falling on Cloud Recesses. That realization should have shocked him, he thought, but if anything, it calmed his racing mind. He realized with perfect clarity, as well, that he loved Lan Zhan. Wei Ying did not know what words could possibly begin to convey all his love, his adoration, his regret, and his sorrow. However, he took a swig of Emperor’s Smile and made an attempt.

“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, and thank you,” he whispered from where he leaned on the doorframe of the Jingshi.

Lan Zhan glanced up at him briefly with the barest hint of a smile before returning his eyes to his instrument. No, that would not do, Wei Wuxian thought. He took a step inside the room and turned to pull the doors to the Jingshi shut, barring out the cold winter air. Swiveling back to face Lan Wangji, he took a few steps forward while reaching behind to tug off his belt. Wei Wuxian knelt next to the low table, set down his jug of Emperor’s Smile, and shrugged his outer robe off his shoulders. Lan Zhan regarded him quizzically.

Wei Ying stepped over to the other side of the table. He knelt once again and gripped Lan Zhan’s shoulders, guiding him to stand. He slid his hands down the other man’s arms before clutching at his wrist with one hand. Gently, he pulled Lan Wangji towards the bed. Wei Wuxian sat down whilst pulling Lan Zhan down to sit in front of him. Reaching up to the back of his neck, Wei Ying delicately swept Lan Zhan’s silky hair to the side so that it draped in front of his chest. He smoothed his hands over Lan Wangji’s broad shoulders before softly gripping the top of his robes.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan questioned.

“Is this okay?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said with a slight nod, still seeming confused, but willing to go along with it.

Wei Wuxian nodded back even though he knew Lan Zhan was facing the wrong way to see him. Gripping the top of his robes, Wei Ying gently pulled them down, exposing Lan Zhan’s back. Wei Wuxian gasped as the scarred skin was exposed. He had seen Lan Zhan’s back from a distance in the Cold Springs but seeing it up close—even in the dim light of the Jingshi—was heartbreaking, especially now he knew the origin of these thirty-three whip scars. Each of these scars represented someone Lan Zhan protected Wei Ying from. Thirty-three people from his own clan, his own family who he fought to save him. Wei Wuxian idly traced the outline of a few of them with his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes. Lan Wangji dropped his head down.

“Your brother told me what happened,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “Lan Zhan, I—”

“Wei Ying, it is—”

“No,” Wei Ying interrupted. He could guess Lan Zhan’s intention to say it was okay or it was fine. “Just—just let me—.” Wei Wuxian was not entirely sure what he was asking Lan Zhan to let him do, but Lan Zhan nodded his head anyway, glancing at Wei Ying over his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian lowered his head to rest his cheek against Lan Zhan’s back. He felt Lan Zhan flinch under him as he felt a cold tear slip down Wei Wuxian’s face and onto his exposed back. Then, he froze as Wei Ying turned his head and pressed a faint kiss to one of the scars.

“I’m sorry and thank you.”

Another kiss.

“I’m sorry and thank you.”

Another kiss.

The routine continued for each individual scar. Wei Wuxian pressed his lips to the raised skin and whispered his endless sorrow and gratitude. With every utterance, he conveyed unspoken words from his heart. He spoke with unbridled reverence and worshipped every scar with each kiss.

I’m sorry you were hurt because of me.

I’m sorry I left you behind.

I’m sorry I took so long to come back to you.

Thank you for waiting.

Thank you for protecting me.

Thank you for loving me.

Wei Wuxian could think of a unique reason behind every single apology and thanks. He owed Lan Zhan everything. Thirty-three sorry’s and thank you’s could barely scratch the surface. He could scream it from the clifftops for the rest of his life and it still would not be enough.

After the last scar, Wei Wuxian lifted his head up while letting his hand linger against Lan Zhan’s back, rubbing in lazy circles. He stared, but his eyes were unfocused.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, sensing his troubled mind.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. He paused before continuing, “You could have died.”

“I did not,” Lan Zhan stated.

“But you could have! Lan Zhan, I’m not going to ask you if these hurt because I know you’d lie to me, I know they must have hurt. You were in so much pain. All this for me, and you might not have even made it out alive. I’m not worth it, Lan Zhan. What if you died. It would have been my fault—”

“If I died, it would have been fine.”

“Lan Zhan—”

Lan Wangji twisted around to fully face Wei Wuxian. “It would have been fine because I would have been reunited with you, Wei Ying,” he said, staring directly into the other’s tear-filled eyes.

Wei Ying laughed softly and swiped a tear from his eye. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Wei Ying, I—”

Wei Wuxian put a finger up to Lan Zhan’s lips before he could continue. “I know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I love you too, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s face shifted in a genuine smile, one that to anyone other than Wei Wuxian might not have even been noticed as a smile, but Wei Wuxian saw it for what it really was, a smile brighter than the sun. “Then,” Lan Zhan began, “you should know that there is no need for apologies or thanks between us.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “I know, I know, just let me get it out of my system.” He reached up to delicately hold Lan Wangji’s face between his palms.

“I’m sorry and thank you,” he said for the last time before he closed the distance between them and kissed Lan Zhan. He worshipped his lips as he worshipped his scars, kissing Lan Zhan tenderly. Lan Zhan kissed him back just as passionately, yet not rushed. Sorry’s and thank you’s behind them, they had all the time in the world to prove to each other that those words were no longer necessary between them.  Even so, Wei Wuxian would know the importance of those two phrases for as long as he lived.

[taechaos]

That scenario was really good😱 Yeonjun’s last line made me GASP lolol

can you do another scenario where Yeonjun gifts OC roses and a teddy bear through a delivery service so she is shocked when she receives them, how would Jungkook react? 😱

I love jealous/pissed/possessive Jungkook 🥵

YALL JUST REALLY LOVE THE DRAMA 💀💀 making my man suffer like this,,, you'll be hearing from my lawyers

im gonna be including this bit in the scenario so 😎

"Is this for you or me?" you ask Soyeon who can barely keep her eyes open after waking her upon seeing a bunch of gifts when you opened the door of your dorm room to attend your morning lecture. It's a teddy bear holding a bouqet of roses in its fluffy paw, sitting on the hall floor to provide you with today's first surprise.

You know Soyeon is single, and you know Jungkook like the back of your hand: his romance doesn't extend to these cheesy gestures. It may seem rude to not even think of the possibility that it might be your boyfriend's doing, and despite being such a hopeless romantic, you're certain it's not from him.

Soyeon grumbles drowsily as she stretches before rubbing her eyes with her fists. "What?" she yawns tiredly.

"That," you point past the open door and she follows the direction of your finger with puffy eyes.

"Definitely not," she answers with a sleep strained voice. "Look for a card." She doesn't leave room for a response before turning on her side to face away from you and fall back asleep.

You listen to her advice and crouch before the toy to search for anything that would reveal the identity of the delivery person. It's with close inspection that you find a white card stuffed between the roses.

In your hand it reads: Good morning, beautiful. Can't wait to see you in Human Anatomy.

There's your clarity, and you can't doubt it's Yeonjun when Soyeon doesn't even take this course. It's pathetic, you think, to try and court someone who's already in a stable relationship. This isn't him going after you, but beckoning you to go to him just like he said you would before calling your boyfriend a cliché. It more or less sounds like a mind game, and you're stuck between ignoring his advances completely or confronting him about it.

Yeonjun seemed like an understanding guy; he did say he wouldn't go around you asking for a date, and for two days, he hasn't. If he takes orders so well, it wouldn't hurt to tell him to leave you alone once and for all.

That's your reasoning to march down the hall and find Yeonjun after crumbling the note and leaving the gift on someone else's doorstep. Front rows are your go-to spot to not miss a single detail in your lecture, and it's no shocker seeing Yeonjun sitting on a front row bench.

You clench your fists and scowl to intimidate the creep before stomping over to him. Dismissing your demands is out of the question when your stance nothing short of angry. He needs to know you're not playing around, that he can't manipulate your naivety like he's attempting to.

His eyes twinkle the moment they land on you and he stops spinning his pencil to give you his utmost attention. Good, he's listening. You don't trespass the barrier in the form of a stretched out table between you two as you glower over him.

"I'm gonna make this short," you glare with slit eyes, "I don't want anything that has your fingerprints on it nor do I want to hear you speak to me ever again. Leave me alone or I will report you for harrassment. Say yes if you understand."

The light in his gaze dims momentarily as his awed smile falters. "Y-Yes." He appears afraid and innocent, but your gut denies it. "But may I ask why?"

"Oh, you know why," you scoff in a hushed voice, "I don't want your stupid cards and your stupid gifts, and most of all, I don't want you. Get that through your thick skull."

He never knew you could be this mean, and it almost throws off the sweet impression he has of you until he remembers that you're just loyal. He loves that you're so faithful, and he wants you to be faithful to him only. He craves it so deeply, but he says nothing of the sort and instead stammers, "I-I understand. I-I'm sorry, I'll leave you alone if that's what you wa–"

The slam of the lecture room's doors echo in the spacious hall, and you hurriedly take a seat on the edge of the bench to distance yourself from Yeonjun as much as possible. He has to bite his lip to stop a smile from growing on his face from having you sit next to him.

But just as you requested, he doesn't interact with you throughout the lecture except for a few glances to drink in the sight of you being so close to him. Instances like these are the only time he can feel intimate with you, but it'll only get better on from here.

Because the professor assigns a pair project before you're dismissed.

"Before you leave, by the end of the term, you will have a report submitted in pairs regarding senses that affect the human system in a topic of your choice. More information on the college website, along with the assigned pairs. You can go."

"I already checked," Yeonjun whispers to you, making you immediately wear a distasteful expression, "I'm your partner."

"Nuh-uh," you deny childishly before taking out your phone as you stand from the bench to leave after packing your stationaries. You log onto the site just as you receive a notification from Jungkook.

the love of my life ♡: no good morning text? sus

You have to swipe it away out of worry that you'll actually be forced to spend time with Jungkook's new nemesis. The site loads. You scroll past the details of the task and finally land on the pairs.

And there it is—your name next to Yeonjun's on the screen.

"No," you exhale to yourself and rush out to the hall to avoid Yeonjun. "No, no, no."

Below the names explicitly states: No changes in the assigned pairs. It's too big of a coincidence for you to think it's just your bad luck—you're certain bribery is involved, and how lovely that you can't do anything about it.

You take pride in your intelligence, but you can't outsmart him in this situation, especially when your grades are being held over your head to force yourself to be around Yeonjun. Jungkook would get arrested for murder if you involved him in it, and he surely wouldn't leave you alone if you told him about it.

But then again, you promised—no more secrets.

You: good morning kookie!! i was a little busy so i couldn't text you :< did you sleep well?? <3

"Fuck, fuck," you shriek to yourself as you keep walking, not paying attention to where your feet are leading you. Just as long as you're safe from Yeonjun so Jungkook wouldn't find you with him. You need to tell him when the guy isn't around, so you need to wait until his lecture's over–

Yeonjun calls for your name softly while running past the roaming students, and you stop on your tracks with the desire to spit out every insult you have in mind to his face.

"You asshole!" you grit the moment he faces you while breathing heavily. "You planned this, didn't you? I said–"

"I-I'm sorry, but I had nothing to do with it," he pleads with that innocent expression of his. "I promise I-I won't act like before! I'll respect your relationship and stop being weird!"

"Good," you jab a finger at his chest as you seethe, "I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to."

He frowns with a jutting bottom lip, looking like a kicked puppy as his eyes turn glossy. You are so mean, and he hates it, but his only leverage is that he can be meaner—not to you, never you, but to Jungkook. He's a step ahead of you, and you can shower him with all the bad words you can think of until you heart is content, but he sees it as just a step in the process of owning you.

You think he's submissive and persistent, but no, he's just manipulative.

—

"Don't get mad," you warily caution while lying down on the grass next to your boyfriend, basking in the sun to last the peaceful atmosphere a little longer. His arm is under your back and his hand on your chest as you hold it.

He has his eyes closed as he says, "no promises."

"We promised to tell each other everything, and there's nothing you can do about this one so please don't get mad at me." He quirks a brow when he opens his eyes to see your timid face. "Remember Yeonjun?"

"You have to be fucking kidding me," he groans angrily as he sits up, prompting you to do the same. "You talked to him, didn't you? I specifically fucking said–"

"Can you just listen?" you sigh. "We have a project together." His brows scrunch intimidatingly, making it harder to say what's on your mind. "And this is unrelated but... he brought a gift to my doorstep."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. "Is there anything more I should listen to? Are you done?"

"H-he said he'd stop acting weird and respect our relation–"

"Fucking bullshit. What, did he also say he just wants to be friends? That he's not interested in you anymore?"

"He didn't say that–"

"And you didn't tell the professor you wanted a different partner? Did you keep the gift too?" he sneers mockingly.

"Jungkook, I can't switch, and no I didn't keep the freaking gift," you defend, feeling offended. He can be so provocative when he's mad. It isn't even your fault! "I'm telling you, there's nothing I can do except to convince him to work together online. Isn't that better?"

He grabs your jaw and pulls you a little closer. His grip is bordering on painful and you hold back a wince. "Are you fucking hearing yourself? You can't even be around him and yet you're not allowed to switch? Listen to me. You go to that fucking professor, tell him this guy is harrassing you and that you can't work with him, and if they don't listen, you go the headmaster. You hear me?" he slightly jolts you to command an answer.

"Y-Yes, but–"

"Don't make any fucking excuses," he hisses and lets go of your face. "If you don't do something about it while I'm giving you the chance, then I will."

You hold onto your chin as you meekly question, "what will you do?"

"Things don't need to escalate," he shrugs as he lies back down. "I'll threaten him with my pocket knife and one wrong word from him, I'll use it."

"Like kill him?" you exclaim in shock.

He rolls his eyes. You take him too seriously sometimes. "No. Just send a message. Now go run off to your professor before I ask Yoongi to be my alibi."