#WRITER IS 27 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damn-stark · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 27 The field of stars

Chapter 27 of Moonlight

A/N- And when I say she’s depressed would you believe it?

Warning- talks of pregnancy, angst, FLUFF, fluff, and more fluff, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

You’re still in that lake. Even if you’re miles away, you’re still there in the cold water in search of Aemond.

He hurt you, he betrayed you, he killed your family, he indulged the darkest parts of you, and he didn’t listen, but you’re still there, searching, hoping that by some miracle he survived that blow to the head and is coming to meet you when the reality is that you need to let him sink in the depths of those shallow waters.

“May I come in?”

Cregan.

You get up from your seat to give your back to the entrance and draw in a deep shaky breath whilst you wipe the tears off your cheeks and rub your nose before you exhale, and invite him in.

“Yes, come in.”

The flap opens and his heavy footsteps find themselves inside before they stop and the flaps close behind him.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he takes in the sight of your back to the entrance.

You nod softly and rub your nose with the back of your hand before you turn and face him, feigning a smile. “I’m just…letting these twins get their kicking in. They’re pretty restless right now.”

Cregan meets your gaze right away before you avert it and manages to catch the redness in your eyes left behind by tears, which means you were crying. Again. It was the third? Time he’s caught you crying. About what? He has an idea, but his jealousy of a dead man doesn’t let him accept it.

“Maybe it’s all that gold aligning your gown,” he says with a teasing tone and a smile to accompany his rather serious face. “It’s weighing them down even more.”

“Pft,” you scoff and flash him a second of a smile which isn’t much, but he managed to get something out of you and he’s proud of that.

“Unless they want to meet in the afterlife then they need to get used to it,” you quip and he walks in with his head hanging low as he speaks softly but with every word laced with frustration.

“It hardly protects you.”

And there it is, what he’s been holding back.

“It protects me enough,” you rebuttal and walk back to sit on the cot, catching him shaking his head stiffly and tapping the wooden post with his knuckles as he shares a frustrated chuckle.

“But that’s not enough for you is it?” You point out as you watch him make his way to you.

“If I could I would throw you in a carriage and send you to your mother,” he retorts and snaps his heavy gaze on you. “But alas your dragon would eat me alive.”

You flash him a smug smile and quip. “I’m not my brother, I would use my dragon to intimidate you.”

Cregan holds your eyes with that heavy intensity that doesn’t move you, not now. He notices that so he eases and sits down beside you without furthering the argument. Instead, he chooses to slide his hand over yours to gently cup it.

Now rather than matching his fire, you feel the need to cry as you feel his comfort and don’t feel his frustration radiating off him. However, even if tears prick in the corner of your eyes, you hold yourself back by inhaling sharply and instead focusing on another matter.

“They really are kicking,” your voice quivers no matter your efforts. “Feel,” you say and pull your hand out from under his to cup it and lift it off the bed to press it against your side.

“That’s Daenerys,” you let him know. “She’s smaller than her sister and has developed a little bit behind her, but she’s still feisty,” you share with a growing excitement. “You feel her?”

Cregan focuses on the little flutters and a smile flashes on his face as he feels who you’re talking about kicking like she has somewhere to be.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly. “Yes, I do.”

You beam at your belly and the moment you do Cregan sees a glimpse of it and can’t help but watch you instead. Yet it’s while he’s admiring you that a thought that’s been building up in his mind makes itself loud and present, managing to escape the depths of his mind and slip past his lips before he can even think about stopping. “These twins…are they mine?”

And just like that your beaming smile dies and the contact you had slips as you shift away.

“I have been thinking about it,” he continues to say and makes you uncomfortable. “And it would align. We lay together before you left the North, and that was seven months ago, so tell me while we’re alone if these twins are mine.”

You get up from the cot and bring your hands together to start fiddling with your rings. “Cregan,” you warn him, but he gets up and goes after you as you wander away.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell a soul,” he tries to assure you, but that’s not what you need. You need him to stop.

“Just tell me. I can protect you. I will protect you,” he keeps saying, causing you to stop fiddling with your rings to turn around sharply instead and grab his biceps to make it clear to him.

“These twins are Aemond’s,” you press, but not because you know that for a fact, but because what other choice is there when you don’t know? What other choice is there when he was your lawful husband when you slept with Cregan, and even thinking that the twins could be bastards could get you and them killed?

“It aligns with him too so they’re his Cregan.”

Said man clenches his jaw and his eyes start to harden, but he doesn’t seeth or hiss, he talks in a colder voice, but he’s still very gentle. “Are they? You do not need to lie to me. No one will know. No one will hurt you. Not while I’m alive, so tell me the truth. Confide in me.”

His words have a way of enticing you even through the persistence you try to hold so he won't question you about it any further.

“Cregan,” you mutter and fight hard with yourself to not indulge him, to not get his hopes over something you don’t even know, but as he looks at you with those grey eyes of his, and as he tells you with a look alone to trust him; how can you not give in?

“I don’t know,” you whisper and slide your hands off his biceps. “Maybe one of them can be yours, but I don’t know.”

Cregan’s eyebrows briefly meet together as he’s overwhelmed with confusion over what you just said. “What do you mean by one? Is that even possible?” He asks.

You shrug. “I don’t know,” you repeat yourself. “But maybe it is possible and maybe just one of them is yours, but I don’t know, I won’t know until they’re born or not at all.”

His confusion heightens to the point he can’t think of anything to add.

“But Cregan listen to me,” you press further and lean in so you’re all he sees. “Even if one is yours. Even if they both are, the truth of the matter is that they won’t ever truly be yours. Not by name, and not under the law or the eyes of the gods because when we lay together I was married, so they will always be Aemond’s. They will have the last name Targaryen even if they happen to look like you.”

This time that confusion he did feel slowly leaves his face and a deep ache replaces it. “Will they?” He mutters back even if he knows how things have to be. “How do you intend to hide that? If they look like me?”

You swallow back nervously and share the solution you have had in mind since you realized that the twins or one of them could be Cregan’s and can come out looking like him. “My grandmother was half Baratheon, they have dark hair, and Alicent is a Hightower, they have dark hair too. She’s red of hair because of her mother, but Hightower’s tend to have dark hair. That’s what I will say, it’s what I have to say unless you want me to die.”

Cregan backs away with his head slowly falling and he shakes it lightly to give your comment a response.

“But that’s only if they come out with dark hair, if the gods are good they’ll have silver hair. They need to,” you whisper against your fingers as you gnaw on your fingers, making him drag his eyes up to meet your gaze with a deep sorrowful look that aches your heart to see.

“Cregan,” you whisper and reach out for his arms, expecting him to back away and storm off like Aemond would have, but he lets you grab his arms and actually holds your elbows to talk through his pain.

“I know how things have to be, but it doesn’t mean I will take away my protection. If they are mine, or if one of them is and she looks like me, I will protect her with my life. You know that,” he says sweetly, making you smile at him and lift your hand to stroke his jaw.

“I know,” you say back softly.

He hums and cups the hand you have on his face before he parts his lips to try and utter two certain words, but he then stops as he sees the remnants of your grief clinging to your eyes.

“Forgive me,” he blurts. “You were grieving and I was selfish. I’m sorry.”

You gulp and nod in agreement. “You know,” you laugh dryly. “Aemond and I used to have these terrible fights. He never would hurt me, but they were nothing like this. We…just…had so much to say. So much going on…” you trail off and lower your head, letting Cregan caress your knuckles in an attempt to comfort you even though you’re talking about someone who still makes him seeth.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble and slowly face him. “That’s the last thing you want to hear.”

He scoffs. “He was your husband,” he says out loud. “And he’s gone now. It’s alright.”

You sigh with relief and glance down, mustering a faint smile as you watch your belly. “What would the people say if they keep seeing you walk in my quarters, Lord Stark?”

He scoffs. “What would they really think with the condition you’re in?”

You giggle and he watches you with a smile.

“I’m just a friend taking care of his Princess,” he reassures your worry. “That’s all.”

You draw out a heavy breath and then meet his gaze to offer him a soft and comprehensive nod. “That’s right.”

He lets out a small breath and finally shares what he was supposed to share in the first place. “The Lord of the Keep is ready to meet with you, so whenever you’re ready we can walk in to meet with them.”

You nod. “Okay, I think I’m ready now. Should I change into a different gown? One with no protection since it is heavy?” You tease, causing him to flash you a charming smile.

“Funny, I’d rather have you wear it than see you without it,” he retorts and walks around you without losing the attention of your gaze as you follow him with your eyes—“I’ll let them know you’re ready then so we can move on quickly and hopefully arrive at our next location by nightfall so you may rest.”

Since you know you won’t change his mind you nod in agreement before he walks out and leaves you to your lonesome, letting you put on a golden headpiece that has pearls dangling over your forehead before you take Blackfyre with the intention of hanging it over your shoulder, but as you hold the pommel you lose yourself on it and for the first time, question taking it with you, and ask yourself for a fleeting moment why you want them to fear you?

You look at your reflection painted on the Valyrian steel blade and remember how loved you wanted to be if you had been chosen heir since the beginning. You wanted to be loved and looked at with admiration and hope. Now what is hope? And can you really be admired when people can’t even meet your eyes?

Hm.

Alas, the thoughts are fleeting. You force yourself to push them away before you secure the sword over your shoulder, thinking now that you need a prettier sheath, one that looks good with your gowns. Maybe you can replace the strap with a golden chain?

It would hurt, but it wouldn’t ruin your entire outfit. The black leather just stands out against the lilac…

Whatever.

You step out and get greeted with a small squadron of men lined up and ready to accompany you, which is courtesy of Cregan and Ser Cane’s over-protectiveness—Their need to make sure you’re protected aligns so no detail is left out.

“Here, I can carry the sword,” Ser Cane immediately offers his assistance and doesn’t fret, he reaches for it, albeit you then step back so he doesn’t grab it.

“What if I need it but I can’t get it because you’re carrying it?” You query with a quirked brow.

“Well,” he sighs. “If you happen to need it would be after our squadron of men is dead,” he says and makes you smile. “And that’s not going to happen, but just so you may be assured, I will be right behind you at all times.”

“Like a shadow,” you tease and start to let the sheath slip off your shoulder. “Maybe you should smile then, Ser, so you may be less intimidating.”

“I’ll smile when there's a need for it,” he retorts, making you laugh.

“Okay, okay,” you roll out and hand him Blackfyre. “Let’s go.”

He hums and just as promised he’s right behind you and honestly it’s one of the best comforts when you're far from home.

“Addam, did you figure out what you’re going to say?” You ask the man as he makes his way to your side.

“Yes,” he affirms and right away finds Lord Stark as he catches up to you both. “Every question has a response. You need only step in if they keep refusing.”

It’s better that way, nowadays you tend to respond too bluntly, and with impatience and anger which doesn’t bode well when you’re trying to convince a Lord or Lady to lend some of their fighting men to your army, so it's good that Addam is glib of tongue. He says he isn’t but he took after your grandfather in that aspect, they’re both so good at talking to people, at reassuring them, and or convincing them to do something they need.

You can admit that you have never had that skill, you grow impatient too quickly and tend to get right to the point. It’s a skill you need to practice especially now that you’re heir…

It’s still an unbelievable title.

It's so surreal after wanting it for so long and only having it in your deepest desires. But now that you wear the title in all its glory, you can’t muster a single flicker of glee for it. It’s too heavy of a title to find much pride or joy in…which would have upset your younger self.

Honestly, if you think about that girl, all you feel is grief. The life you always wanted was never in your reach like you thought it was, it turned out to be an illusion, and as you think about that now and think about who you were, all you feel is sad and bad for that girl with her head in the clouds. If you could you would tell her to come down to see what you do now, terror in the eyes of the people you wanted to love you.

It’s so loud and striking in everyone’s eyes. When you enter the hall of the rather small keep, and walk down an illuminated path made of fire posts that stand tall and proud with their dancing flames, all you see is their fear; it stands out behind the flickering flames, just like you stand out to them more than the raging flames they know you mingle with; and not in some graceful way like the sun against a blue sky, you’re like a terrorizing ball of fire that brings only destruction and death.

There’s nowhere to hide from something so rageful, but they find comfort in the shadows, letting the dancing flames only consume your presence and the presence of those who accompany you.

“My Lord, my Lady,” Addam greets the head of the house sitting before you in their wooden chairs set in front of even more fire that keeps the hall warm.

“We are honored by your greeting,” he continues and bows his head, letting you stand tall in the middle of the path, demanding their immediate respect that they give by getting off their seats and kneeling to you. And all without meeting your eyes; not even when they stand back up or offer you refreshments and something to eat. Their eyes dance around you. It’s such a noticeable thing and maybe it's because you pay all your focus on the way they all look at you, but you can see it clearly. All the awe and admiration are non-existent in their eyes. Even as you stand under the illuminating firelight in the dark hall, all they see is someone to fear, and someone to be cautious about. They see all that you feared people would see, and it makes the bright firelight dim in your eyes.

“…we still grasp onto the hope that the rightful ruler will win the war and end this tyranny,” you catch the Lord of the Keep saying after tuning out the conversation they had while you were lost in the looks behind the flames.

“No,” you blur, causing Addam to slowly look at you with panic after not expecting you to utter a word since you were so quiet—“there’s no such thing as hope.”

A heightened tension grabs a tighter hold around everyone’s throats at the sound of your tragic words.

“We alone pave our own path. Hope has nothing to do with it,” you share and cause a sadness to strike in Cregan’s heart as he hears you say words he thought you would never say.

“…and it’s why we will win. Your assistance will just make us stronger than ever before,” you say and at last the eyes of the Lord find a way to fall on you without strain, seeing the way you illuminate so hauntingly against all the glimmering fire.

“But it's not a guarantee?” He rebuttals. “If I give you my swords will it be a guarantee? I already lost so much with the previous wars, what makes this one any different?”

You draw in a deep breath and roll your shoulders back as you slowly point your nose in the air to show your arrogance. “Addam and I will be fighting with our dragons this time. That’s the difference.”

The Lord taps his fingers on his armrests and looks to Addam as if thinking over what he had said for a moment before he sits up straight and nods. “So be it. I will give you the fighting men but leave a handful to protect my home.”

A weight can be felt lifting off the room as the Lord does what everyone hoped he would do to avoid being bathed in dragon fire in the same way your Kinslayer of a husband terrorized the Riverlands.

Actually, if you’re being realistic, if you sit and think about the reality, that’s why the Lord was so easily swayed because he feared you turning his family and his home to ash. That fear painted such a beautiful picture in his eyes and the eyes of everyone that was in that hall.

Then again maybe it’s because as the day passes all you can do is think about how clear and easy it was to see, like fire in the darkness.

You would ask yourself why if you were oblivious, ignorant too, but you’re not either of those things, you know why they fear you, you basked in that persona. But the question that you do ask yourself is if you want them to keep fearing you...

You look at the fire. You admire its beauty against the night-consumed earth swallowing everything in darkness but the piece of land you sit on, and know that you don’t want to give up the power you hold, and why should you? Men don’t have to give up anything to appear less threatening, people welcome that aspect from a man, so why don't they welcome that from you too? You’re in a war, you can’t just sit by and do nothing while you have a dragon and the ability to touch fire without getting hurt. You have to take advantage of it, so why can’t they love you despite it?

Why do they fear you? What can you do to appear less threatening and rageful, and more warm and trustworthy instead?

Then again can fire be anything but the embodiment of rageful, threatening, hot, and untrustworthy unless it's snuffed out or starving?

“You’re not meant to be out here all alone,” Addam interrupts your moment of silence, causing you to crush the dry flower you were burning to ash in your hand before you slowly peer back and watch him make his way to your side on the piece of land you're plopped on.

“I have Blackfyre and my fierce need to protect myself,” you try to assure him, but that doesn’t ease his annoyance. “I’m not far from camp,” you add and drift your eyes away to watch the fire burning on your torch instead as he falls on his ass beside you.

“And it’s secluded.”

“So you say,” Addam remarks. “One of the men said there’s a lot of bandits in these parts. What would be of you if they kidnapped you?”

“Well,” you sigh and pull the torch off the ground to stick it at your other side so you can lie down on the ground. “…They would either blackmail Cregan or my mother for money to release me. Or I would have watched them burn.” You shrug mindlessly and watch him take his turn to lie down next to you.

“Quite an easy day huh?” You change the subject and smile brightly as you watch Astraea and Seasmoke fly overhead.

“Yes, it was,” he agrees as he folds his arms behind his head and watches the sky with you. “Considering the Keep is small I thought they would put up more of a fight, but they gave in without a fight. Maybe that’s why I got that vision of bringing you along. The gods knew your presence would make it easier.”

You let out a dry chuckle and shake your head in protest. “They fear me,” you mutter almost shamefully. “I don’t fill them with inspiration. They are scared of me. It was obvious.”

There’s a moment of silence that creeps over you and Addam. It lingers, letting you have no other option but to watch as the dragons dance with the stars as they fly high in the sky.

“They fear the unknown,” Addam finally shares the thought he was carefully forming; a thought so pure and sincere that there’s no hint of malice—“they fear all the things they hear, that version of who you are, but it’s not who you are. As long as you know that you keep trying to prove that to them. That’s all you can do, you can’t beg them or force them, just keep trying to be the person you are, not the person they hear about. Or else you’re more of the same.”

And he would know that. He was a smallfolk up until a couple of months ago when he bonded with Seasmoke.

“So no more walking through fire?” You question him as you turn your head to look at him, making him then look at you as he feels your stare.

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “We’re still at war, just be less…Aemond. Be more you, who you were.”

You scoff and turn your head away. “You did not know Aemond,” you remark and watch the dragons again, but this time you watch them flying out of view.

“No, but I knew of him. He sounded like a terrifying man. Who burns their own brother?”

“Someone who was bullied all his life by that same brother,” you defend Aemond quietly as you can feel the jabs of pain by just thinking about him. “He was not…scary,” you say and swallow back the lump that was forming in your throat.

“I’m sure he wasn’t to you,” Addam begrudges you, keeping you quiet instead of trying to argue with someone who wouldn’t understand. No one would.

Thus you leave it be and admire the sky until slowly you let your head loll to the side to slowly take Addam in and watch him as his eyes and mind get lost in the cloudy night hiding the sea of stars, but not dull even for a second that glimmer in his dark eyes. He carries not the moon and the stars, but the warm sun that’s missing so often in this part of the country. He carries warmth that could melt the frost that blankets the earth in the early mornings…just like Jacaerys could.

He is everything your brothers were, being with him is like having a part of them back. He could never fill the void they left, but he is a reminder of that warmth your brother's death took from your soul. And it’s because of that reminder that you know you can trust him with the dire request you need to ask of him.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” You ask with the person you trust the most with this matter.

“Of course,” Addam says without hesitation or truly knowing what you’re going to ask for.

Even still, you continue. “As you know I’m seven months along with these babes,” you start saying and slowly have him turning his head toward you—“and something I learned from my septa when I was young was that twins sometimes come before nine months. So…maybe in a couple of weeks I might give birth, and with that comes a risk.”

“Yes, I know,” Addam says breathlessly as he thinks about the tragedy of birth. Yet he hasn’t grasped the full picture when it comes to twins so you interrupt him.

“No, when it's twins there’s a higher chance for me to die,” you say without a pause, just a small crack in your voice. “And if that happens, if something happens to me on that birthing bed and the babes come out looking like...” You trail off for the first time and take a deep breath as if what you’re going to say is weighing you down. But then that’s because it does.

“…Cregan,” you finally give Addam that insight he had been missing, and what he had been suspecting since the moment he saw Cregan and you reunite—“I need you to take them, mount Seasmoke and fly far away.”

This time Addam sits up in a flash and stares down at you hard, making you slowly push yourself up and meet his gaze with desperation instead of shame or anything else that you might feel when admitting that you cheated on your husband, and now want Addam to run away with your children.

“Aerion will be taken care of by my mother, but the twins,” you insist with a vulnerability he can clearly hear in your voice. “If they turn out to be Cregan’s and I am not here to protect them they could be killed, or live their lives ostracized and belittled. And without me in their lives to protect them and scare those demons away, their lives will be a waking nightmare.”

Addam’d face falls, losing that initial shock and surprise and instead showing his concern and confusion. “But what of Lord Stark?” He can't help but ask as if that’s not something you have already thought about. “He can protect them, and your mother can and would too.”

“Did you not hear me?” You quip. “No matter where they live, their lives would always be about them being bastards. And I know it’s my fault, I am to blame for sleeping with a man that wasn’t my husband, but…they don’t deserve to pay for my sins. And I know my being here wouldn’t change much, but at least I could protect them. I would be the face of all the people’s scrutiny, but if I’m not here…if something happens to me, I need you to take them. I need you to protect them and raise them. Promise me.”

Addam’s disbelief looks like a raging storm behind his brown eyes while you look into them, so you quickly look away, missing the way his face falls before he shares his disbelief. “But why me? I know that even if we win this war with our efforts, the people won’t look at me differently. I will always be a bastard, so I understand your need to protect your children from that, but….why do you trust me to take care of them?”

You tilt your head down in an attempt to meet his gaze with a softened look of your admiration. “Because you’re a good man, Addam,” you reassure his insecurity. “Because you have a good heart and you’re everything my brothers were, and everything I want my children to grow up to be. That’s why.”

Addam slowly picks his head up, meeting your gaze to share his gratitude with his glistening eyes and a small smile.

“You would risk your life so if you don’t want to take this responsibility say it, I won’t be offended and they would be looked after either way. It’s just a precaution, a path that I am willing to take, or have someone take.” You add for his own benefit. “Or if you want to consider it, just tell me.”

Addam averts his gaze for a moment, looking around thoughtfully before his gaze hardens and he looks at you with a fierce dedication. “I will do it,” he says and catches you by surprise with how quick he was to make such a heavy decision that should have taken him days to weeks to decide. Especially because it comes with so many risks, and so much sacrifice for someone he’s known for such a short time.

“You mean it?” You ask, and he offers you a sweet smile.

“Of course. I know how it feels to be ostracized, I know the looks and all the bad that comes with it,” he says, causing your own face to fall as your heart sinks deeper.

“Then it makes me a terrible mother for putting my children at risk,” you mumble so it’s barely audible, but he catches what you said and quickly rebuttals.

“No, unless it was on purpose,” he rolls out so you can trail on with an explanation.

“No,” you do as he wanted you to do. “When I lay with Cregan it was not out of malice to get something out of him or to possibly fall with child. I was lonely and he was there. He was everything I needed. He was all the love I left behind, I didn’t think of it as a payback against Aemond for killing Lucerys. Cregan was and is a light in the darkness so no it was not on purpose.”

“Then no,” Addam assures you while also finally understanding the connection between Cregan and you. He at last understands the lingering looks and stolen glances, he understands why you dance around each other when you talk, and finally understands Cregan’s protectiveness that made him appear like a threatening wolf trying to keep Addam away from what Cregan cherishes the most.

“It doesn’t make you a terrible mother,” he continues sweetly. “A bit thoughtless? Yes, but you’re young and you love him.”

“I did not love Aemond any less,” you quickly explain yourself as if that makes the situation any better.

“I know, you don’t need to explain it to me. I know.”

You nod faintly in comprehension and sink down on the ground to once again stare off at the flames dancing on the torch as you still feel so terrible for possibly putting your twins at that risk after seeing how your brothers were treated all their lives.

“But what I don’t understand is why you’re taking precautions when you know you’re going to live past this war,” Addam finally shares his thought out loud.

“Alys says our lives are already a story,” you say as you keep looking at the fire. “Everything that will happen is already set, but…I can’t rely on that knowledge when I have not lived it yet. I need to think of it as a possibility or else I will get caught up in it and live mindlessly.”

Addam hums and you hear him shift against the grass. “If that’s so then…if I die—”

You snap your head toward him and shoot him a pointed glare. “Don’t say that, Addam.”

He puts his finger up and interjects right away. “If I die, return me to Driftmark. I want to rest by the sea, not in some wetlands.”

You keep passing him your glare and grumble. “Tumbleton are not wetlands.”

“Swear,” he presses and disregards your comment.

You roll your eyes away but you still throw out your response. “I’ll do it, but I don’t believe you’ll die.”

“Oh—”

“Because I’ll die first so you can miss me,” you cut him off and laugh quietly. “You’ll miss my siren song. Who will fill your heart with such amazing music then?”

Addam scoffs and chuckles dryly, making you look over at him with a smile.

“I have yet to actually hear you sing,” he remarks. “So until then, it’s all a myth.”

You raise a brow and nudge his arm. “Don't worry I’ll bless you with my song soon enough. Not now though. We should return to camp now.”

You proceed to try and push yourself to your feet but with all the extra weight you struggle, causing Addam to jump to his feet swiftly and then grab your hand to assist you in your endeavor.

“Yes let’s,” he follows up by saying. “I wouldn’t want someone to be lurking about the woods ready to rip me to shreds,” he teases you about Cregan and you can't help but let out a fake laugh—“really, he’s got this really piercing stare. I feel like he’s devouring me.”

“If his stare is piercing then he can’t really devour you, more like…pierce you,” you correct him, causing him to stop as he’s grabbing Blackfyre for you to stare deep into the abyss of your soul.

You proceed to swipe the torch off the ground first and then catch him staring with a judgmental look that makes you giggle without fault.

“You sound like the maester,” he grumbles. “And very snobby too.”

“Oh haha,” you feign your laugh and kick dirt at him, but he doesn’t react, he shrugs and stays true to his word.

“You are very snobby and pretentious, you know that? It’s a miracle you don’t float away with your nose always stuck in the air,” he says as he mocks the way you talk.

“My other great traits keep me anchored,” you play along and spin around to start walking back to camp with him behind you.

“Aha, your big head.”

You snort and nod eagerly. “Exactly!”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

Days pass and between that several miles have been crossed that bring new Keeps of Lord and Ladies you only knew by name. All who are different in their own way, for example, in the way they speak, the way they greet their guests, the way they carry themselves, and the different arguments they bring up when met with the demand to lend their swords to your army of men. However, no matter the differences, they all share a key similarity in their eyes, and that is fear.

They all look at you like you’re wildfire, a spark they need to be cautious of and keep calm so it doesn’t develop and consume everything in its path. It’s only because of Addam’s glib tongue that they find some ease in their choice, so you’re grateful for him. What would have this journey turned out to be without him you have to wonder.

You probably wouldn’t have inspired as many Lords and Ladies to lend their fighting men. You are like the push Addam’s speeches need, or like the threatening dragon in the back guarding him. But you alone wouldn’t have persuaded them like him. You would be here with Cregan and his army, that's something you’re certain of because you still would have tried to make it right for your mother, but you wouldn’t be greeted with open arms or curiosity.

You also would be in the forest, that’s something you are also certain about. You would be out under the cloudy sky, breathing in the brisk air, listening to the birds chirping in the trees they call home, avoiding the mud to not get dirty, taking breaks as the twins are getting heavier by the day to carry, and you would have your bow and arrow out to stalk a fish as you wonder if killing it to eat it is really right.

You look at the fish, you admire its pretty blue scales glimmering under the water's surface, and can’t build the courage to let your arrow go. It doesn’t feel right, so you loosen your aim and rest the bow against your swollen belly to watch the fish instead.

Only, in the minutes that follow you gasp when the blue fish turns around and swallows a smaller fish whole, causing you to quickly change your mind and pick the bow back up to let the arrow go and hit the fish before deciding to retreat back to camp with the single blue fish. And once you are back in camp you come to find Cregan and Addam walking and talking together so you waddle toward them and announce your presence by throwing your arm over Addam.

“My dearest uncle,” you greet him and earn both of the men’s attention.

“You’re back, and with,” he pauses and you show off your trophy. “…a single fish.”

You beam at him and peel away from his side to spin on your heels and face them as you walk backward. “It ate another fish after I was going to spare it so I shot it and now I’m going to eat it, or feed it to the hound.”

Addam hums and Cregan passes you an amused look that’s also filled with slight judgment, but you let it be and instead bring up another matter. “Addam today is your lucky day.”

Said man lifts a brow and probes. “How so?”

You flash him a smile and then giggle before you respond. “Tonight Ser Cane agreed to play the lute, isn’t that right ser?”

“Twisted my arm,” he deadpans and you chuckle since you know that’s far from the truth because the campfire was the idea he shared with you. He said he wanted to play the lute as long as you sang, so how could you deny the request?!

But you'll let him act all nonchalant.

“And!” You clap. “I’m going to accompany him by singing, so boys you are invited to our campfire, there will be singing, dancing, and lute playing!” You exclaim. “Oh! And women as well, the healers are going to attend. I have persuaded them, so Addam put on your most charming smile.”

Addam rolls his eyes and grumbles. “There’s no time for that.”

You ignore him and proceed to taunt him. “Oh? Rhaena you say?”

“No!”

“Well I’ll say Rhaena is the best choice for you, Baela is a bit too tough for you,” you keep ignoring him. “She might bite your head off, but Rhaena is more gentle, so yes I agree she is the right one.”

Addam shakes his head and you bounce your eyebrows and share the idea you had already told her. “And if you don’t make a move when we see each other again, just know I will put something in your breakfast and shove you in a boat so you may drift to the middle of the sea and be forced to find a way back to shore together because nothing screams romance like a good adventure!” You exclaim dramatically and grab his arm to shake him. “You will fall in love, thank me when you wed, and name your first daughter after me!” You giggle and then squeal. “I can see it already.”

Addam pulls his arm out of your grasp and tries to share a glance with Cregan, but he is too busy looking at you with a smile in his eyes to even pay attention to Addam.

“As to why people fear you? I don’t know. They should fear how annoying you are, you know that? Why don’t you worry about your own love life now that you’re a widow.”

“Oh, my love life is decided,” you joke around and flash Cregan a smirk, catching a frown flicker on his face. “My mother has given me the freedom to choose my next husband so I will find my Tyroshi knight whom I had a crush on when I was a little girl,” you say and touch your chest to pretend to be swooning. “He was tall, buff, with very black hair, and green eyes. And when I was young I would purposely take the long way to the library to pass by his post so he could greet me.”

Addam passes you a disgusted look and Cregan scoffs.

“He left not so much later after I discovered I was fond of him so I’m going to search for him and marry him,” you add with a teasing smile.

“Good luck,” Addam quips and you bow your head in return.

“Thank you. As for now though I’m going to cook this fish, think about him, and get ready for later,” you let them know before you spin around and head toward your tent, expecting to ruminate in that hint of joy you were riddled with, but it’s hard.

When you’re in the warmth of your tent, hearing the day pass around you, remembering the faces of everyone you met, the joy slowly burns away. You watch it turn to ash in the fires that keep your tent warm, and in doing so, also bringing forth this exhaustion from the ashes that makes you want to do nothing else but sleep it off as it all gets too heavy to carry. Just staying awake is a trudging effort, but you fight hard to push down that nagging exhaustion and get ready instead, while also making sure to tug on a smile before stepping out without carrying that weight on your shoulders to be like one of the stars that miraculously make an appearance tonight.

“Hello and what a joy it is to see all of your faces tonight,” you address the crowd with an ever-so-blinding charm that you’re using for the night. “I would do my signature bow, but,” you sigh and then click your tongue. “Alas my twins won’t let me, so no bow, but you do get a smile and my ever-so-royal presence.” You say and flash them a beaming smile, causing some of the men in the crowd to hoot before you you lean back and drive all your attention to Addam.

“I would just like to point out a very special person here in the crowd with us tonight, my uncle, and my dearest friend, Ser Addam of Hull!” You exclaim with words that flow easily out of your mouth. “He said one of his dreams was to hear me sing, so today is your lucky day, my friend!”

Said man shakes his head to deny your false claim told to interact with the crowd.

“But I will say,” you continue and lean forward. “My grandfather, Lord Corlys said that when you hear a siren song in the sea you know you’re in danger. Are you in danger tonight, Ser?”

“No, because we’re not in the sea!” He retorts, making you and the crowd laugh.

“Then it is your lucky day!” You exclaim. “Because this song is just for you!”

You proceed to look back at Ser Cane and he starts strumming his lute before you start to sing the words to your absolute favorite song. And with not so much effort or much time later, the atmosphere around the campfire explodes like embers exploding in the fire; going from a standstill and just watching to dancing and singing along with drinks in their hands. And it’s because you see the crowd enjoying themselves that you get drunk off their glee, going from exhausting smiles to a genuine smile that hurts your cheeks. There even comes a point when Addam joins you and sings the last few lines with you as he watches you from the crowd.

Yet nothing makes that bright smile reach your eyes like seeing Cregan finally join the celebrating crowd.

“Okay, okay,” you calm the crowd down when the song comes to an end. “I need you all to listen well because this next song is one I myself translated from Valyrian for someone close and dear to my beating heart,” you share and never once tear your eyes away from Cregan parting through the crowd without once saying excuse me. The people move for him and make space so he can make his way to the front where he stands next to Addam and becomes all you can focus on because there's nothing brighter, or more interesting than him, the person the song is about.

“Is it me?!” One of the men exclaims in the crowd. “If it is, I will marry you!”

You squint your eyes and search the crowd until you find the daring culprit to be Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the excited young boy from before. “You would marry me?” You play along. “While I look like this?”

“Of course! If the song is for me, why not?!”

You giggle and tilt your head to the side. “Aw well how sweet of you, but I cannot say who the song is about or it will ruin the mystery,” you let him down in a smart way. “Sorry darling. Maybe one day.”

He hollers out of excitement so you flash him a grin before you straighten up and continue to address the entire crowd. “Dance if you want, cry, or sing, I don’t know. Do what your heart desires and enjoy because I will soon leave this stage and join you all,” you proclaim before you peer back and give Ser Cane a gesturing nod that lets him begin to strum his lute so you can start singing your song.

And this time around, as you stand in some field in the middle of the Riverlands as a widow and no need to hide your connection from anyone anymore; you hold Cregan’s grey eyes with a soft glistening admiration and dedicate your smile just to him, finding nothing more heartwarming or heart pumping then that small smile he offers you as you are the sole captor of his attention and shine in his eyes like the morning and evening star, the sun, the fire in the darkness, and the moon in every single phase of its cycle.

Anyone with eyes would see how the wolf is so enamored with the dragon, but everyone is so busy in their own happy states that they fail to notice the sparks that give life to a different fire elsewhere. Even Addam’s attention is stolen, so for as long as the song lasts only Cregan and you exist under the starlittered night. The campfire blazing in the distance is only meant to keep your bodies warm, and the music is just meant to make your hearts dance.

Do you wish that moment stolen from time could last forever? Yes, you both want to prolong this moment, but alas, the song comes to an end and other singers and musicians take the stage, letting the men caught up in the moment pull you away from Cregan’s sight to make you dance along with them. And even though you do lag behind with the twins weighing you down, you don’t let that weight from before keep crushing your soul, you become weightless to be a part of the moment, and find joy in this stolen moment on a random night because there’s nothing more exciting and memorable than stolen moments is there?

Yet you can’t truly be lost in the crowd, you don’t blend with your white-silver hair glimmering like diamonds against the fire blazing in the center, but Cregan doesn’t steal you away from the crowd to avoid diminishing your excitement. Cregan stands in the back of the crowd where the light barely touches him, but where he can see you clearly as you’re pulled around the campfire from partner to partner until you land in Addam’s arms and laugh with him like you don’t harbor any sadness or grief.

That’s all Cregan could ever want, your happiness. How can anyone be so cruel as to want you to suffer? Why do the gods find amusement in your pain? Can’t they see you shine your brightest when you’re happy? Don't they like to see you smile and be happy like he likes to?

If only this moment could last forever, or at least linger for a few more days so he doesn’t have to see that weight crushing you or the dark shadow of grief cast over you again, but alas, it can’t last forever so he basks in the now and continues to watch you from the shadows until suddenly you make your way to him with a cocky smirk playing on your lips.

“Come dance with me,” you don’t say it as a request, but more as a demand. “Just this song.”

You reach him and grab his hand to pull him with you regardless of what his response might be.

“It’s not a request is it?” He asks nevertheless as he's taken away from the shadows and becomes a participant in the events of the night.

“No,” you giggle, and once you make it back near the campfire, you bring him to a stop and face him before you pull your hands up as they stay interlinked, and start to walk around him to follow the beat of the new song.

“Dance Lord Stark,” you demand again and nudge his foot, causing him to sigh before he matches your pace and starts walking around you with your hands interlocked in the sky.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments you as you get lost in each other's eyes.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly and offer him a matching smile. “You look quite handsome yourself under this starlight.”

He scoffs and hides his smile by pointing it to the ground. The song then starts to pick up so you don’t falter, but he still finds it in himself not to lose sight of your eyes, he holds your gaze and you get lost again, finding nothing more comfortable than the depths of his eyes that reflect the roaring fire behind you and make him look that more passionate.

“Is it okay if I steal you after this? I want to talk to you,” he reveals, making your heart jump. “Or we can wait until this is over if you’re enjoying it.”

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No, we can go after this song,” you assure him because honestly, you can’t take the anticipation. And until then you stay in each other's proximity, not daring to change partners or ever look away out of fear you’d lose each other if your eyes weren’t as interconnected as your hands are, but can you blame each other for being so attached? There’s finally nothing holding you back, your paths are meeting up to intertwine and become one once and for all. Why would you be anything else but attached to the hip?

When the song comes to an end and the time comes to part away from the clamoring crowd, you don't even let go of one another, you’re like kids in love again refusing to be too far from each other and wanting nothing else but find one special place to hide and be alone without getting caught or disturbed.

That’s perhaps something no one could take away from you because it was your special thing just like going to the roof was yours and Aemond’s thing.

“Come on just over here,” he lets you know as he keeps his hand secured around yours so you don’t fall behind.

“Hey, what did you think about that last song I sang?” You ask as you blindly follow him through the thick of the woods, and he huffs softly before you catch a glimpse of his eye as he peers back at you with a rather timid smile.

“I found it in this book of ballads and songs I was gifted and it reminded me of you,” you share shamelessly and make his grip around your hand tighten as you receive silence. “I was planning to talk about it through a letter, but alas our paths crossed again.”

“Well it was popular amongst the crowd,” he finally says in a softened tone. “But most of them were getting drunk.”

You hum and keep your eyes on him to await his answer with your heart starting to race since he doesn’t say anything in regards to your question.

“And those who weren’t drunk probably thought it was about your husband,” he says and there’s a bit of roughness that makes an appearance in his tone for a second, so you interject.

“But it wasn’t. You know that?” You say it as a question rather than a comment, making him look at you over his shoulder to look into your eyes and get the reassurance he was missing before he nods and flashes you a charming smile.

“I do, It was a beautiful song. I liked it,” he finally fills your heart with bliss as he responds to your question before he lets himself be flirty. “You should sing it again but in a more private setting this time.”

You grin at him and offer him an agreeing nod before you look ahead with the intention to finally question where it is he’s dragging you to, after all, all the walking is starting to exhaust you, but the moment you look past his shoulder a gasp escapes your lips as you see a clearing just ahead where the moon bathes the field of grass in its illuminating glow.

“Look at that,” you muse and quicken your pace to take the lead and step into that grass field kissed by the moon's hue.

“I came walking and I discovered it,” Cregan shares quietly as he admires the way you admire the clearing. “It reminded me of the clearing we would escape to in Winterfell.”

You spin around and face him with a taunting smile. “Are you still using me as your midnight rendezvous, my Lord?”

Cregan scoffs. “No, not anymore, but,” he sighs and smiles ever so softly that it barely shows on his face, but his eyes, they smile the brightest. “…I thought it would be special.”

You hum softly and take one more step back before you sit on the ground and pat the spot next to you even though that’s the exact spot he was going to take regardless. You then want to comment on the fact that the small piece of land is breathtaking especially as the moon seems to shine just for the field of grass, but you’re so caught up in the bliss and peace of the moment that silence brings that you can’t bring yourself to break it just yet. You simply take in and release the crispy air of the night and get wrapped in the comfort of Cregan breathing beside you.

You get so lost in the moment in fact that you forget the world past the perimeters of the field of moonlight, it’s just him, you, the moon, and the field of stars in his eyes. When Cregan is not paying attention you steal a lingering look at him and admire how beautiful his grey eyes are as they reflect the beautiful painting of the field of stars above your head, reminding you of the endless field of stars in the North, and those warm and cold nights you would spend selfishly under them with only each other as company as you tried not to but failed at not falling in love with another.

You wish you could go back to those nights. You wish you could be back there again where it was just you and him. And for a moment it does feel like you are but only for a moment until you peel your eyes away from him and remember that you’re far from the North and that life you once had.

“Can I ask you something?” Cregan brings up, cutting through the silence, but not the bliss, and making you hum as a response without tearing your eyes away from the sky, in doing so, missing the way he admires the way your silver-white hair glistens under the moon's hue like the pure untouched snow in the North.

He actually wishes he could be back home now with you at his side and at last sharing his family name. You would be happier there because you were always happy when you were in Winterfell. Alas…

“Do you really not believe in hope anymore?” He asks such a heavy question that kills your smile and makes you blink in disbelief before you face him.

“It’s just what you say worries me,” he continues to share. “It’s not you.”

You look at him for a while as you try to gather your thoughts and try to come up with some lie to not include your grief and your agony that have taken turns stripping at that hope you used to cherish, but as you look at him you see your best friend, someone you can trust, and have told everything to, so why would you lie about this?

“There’s just no point in hoping,” you share quietly as you blink and slowly bring your head down. “Hope did not save my brothers or my grandmother. And hope has not won this war, the people fighting in it have, so no, hope is not something I believe in anymore. We carve our own path.”

Cregan sighs and scoots himself closer to you to grab your chin with a gentle touch before he then tilts your head up so you’re looking into his eyes softened by the sorrow you make him feel. “Darling, you can’t give up on hope. I know the losses you have suffered have taken a piece of you with them. The way your story has unfolded has not been pleasant or merciful, but we need hope just like we need to breathe.”

You shake your head and feel your eyes sting as tears start to well in your eyes. “I have hoped,” your voice quivers. “I have set my heart on hope, but…the world is set on seeing me and my family suffer. If I cling to hope again I will be crushed and there’s hardly any of me left. I can’t…I need to keep my guard up.”

A deep breath leaves his nose and the hand he had on your chin slides up to your cheek whilst the other one gently cups your other cheek so he can hold your face. And it’s that gentle hold that causes you to break into a quiet weep as you melt into his grasp.

“It’s made me a monster, hasn’t it? I wanted power, I wanted to be looked at as a warrior like the woman that came before me, but they all hate me now. They fear me, Cregan. And you do too.”

Cregan leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, but at that moment, your head droops so his face is pressed against the side of yours. “No, no,” he whispers. “Never. You became who they forced you to be, but it does not make me fear you or look at you any differently. You know that,” he says and his breath unfurls over your cheek as he speaks, bringing goosebumps to your skin. “And as for everyone else, you will show them exactly who you want them to see when you win that battle. I know it’s not now, but give them time, okay? They’ll see, they will all see what me and those men that respect you do, hm?”

You blink repeatedly, shedding more tears that make him look cloudy as you pull your head up to look at him. And as you do you accidentally brush your lips against his.

“I need to ask you something else,” he whispers against your lips as he looks between them and your eyes with this temptation starting to burn within him.

“Okay,” you say breathlessly and watch his eyes darting between your lips and your attentive gaze.

“I know,” he breathes out and licks his lips. “…you said to give you time. And time is what you will get, as much as you need, but I need to ask you now that I can, now that nothing is holding us back…” he trails off and you feel your heart skip a beat before it starts to race whilst your eyes slightly widen with curiosity even though you suspect where he might be taking this.

“…marry me,” he says and steals your breath even though you felt it coming in the same way he says winter is coming before the first winter winds blow—“It does not have to be right away, I can wait until after the war, but I just want you to be mine already by promise at least. I don’t want to lose you again. I want…to take you back home after this war,” he says sweet words that make butterflies flutter in your stomach, and make a warmth start to unfurl all over your body.

“I want to love you without having to hide. I want to see your belly swollen with a child of our own,” he continues, making you chuckle and hold onto his wrists for stability. “I want to share my life with you until I take my last breath when we’re old and grey.”

You let out a deep breath as your heart swoons and brings an awe-struck smile to your face. “I want a life with you too,” you assure him. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want to know the son we will share.”

You both chuckle and he also reaffirms his grasp on your face.

“I just…can’t kiss you right now,” you almost feel pain to say. “I want to but I can’t—”

“I understand,” Cregan cuts you off and gently caresses your cheek. “I do because you’re mine now.”

You beam at him for a second before your face falls as you close your eyes and just take in the moment.

“Please don’t leave me,” you barely form into an audible sentence because it’s so laced with fear. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “I would be mad to leave you. Death can’t even keep me away from you.”

Your lips twitch to a smile before you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into an embrace you melt into as much as you can.

“I love you,” you whisper as you hold onto him tightly out of a deep fear he will be taken away from you like so many others have.

“I love you too, my darling,” he doesn’t hesitate to say back as he rubs your back with one hand and gently cups the back of your neck with the other.

A peaceful silence then proceeds to roll back in, and in that shared bliss as you sit interconnected with one another under the moon's illuminating light, you both find yourselves back home.

A/N- Blue fish, blue fish what do you symbolize???

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

125 notes · View notes

rocketqueen1989x · 2 months ago

Text

I want him to read me one of his poems

41 notes · View notes

strangersteddierthings · 2 years ago

Text

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

679 notes · View notes

creatingnikki · 10 months ago

Text

3 am and you're sitting on the kitchen floor and you keep your phone aside and everything is silent and you realize that this is the first time in a week that you've had silence alone. Have you missed it or have you been avoiding it? A bit of both, always a bit of both. It's been a while since you made spaghetti and it's March already — the moon has missed you (and other lies to hide your irrelevancy). twenty seven is old enough to not repeat a mistake for the third time and yet young enough to say fuck it and do it anyway. there's not much I know now, there's not much I want to know. I just want to be on the beach when the days are gorgeous and eat food without my body hating me and read books that speak to parts of me that can't articulate for themselves. I just want to hug my friend and make my mother smile and write a few lines that will be understood by someone somewhere. It's still these very things. It's always been these very things. Even at 27 when I'm sitting alone on the kitchen floor at 3 am. Especially then.

#spilled ink #writerscreed #poeticstories #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #3 am thoughts #3 am ramblings #3 am feelings #3 am shit #late night thoughts #late night #late night ramblings #spilled thoughts #growing up #27 #spaghetti #creatingnikki

80 notes · View notes

ad-venturism · 1 month ago

Text

He said, she said. Our feelings for each other haven't changed, but circumstances have. We are both older but the distance between us remains. Sometimes it entices, sometimes it terrifies. I love you, too – I'm not sure if you knew that. There is nothing to prove. There is no proof against how love grows, how desire fades, how time passes. Water is life, water also rusts, disintegrates what was once solid, held a shape for what is uncertain. He said, you're hard to resist. She said, you're doing a good job.

23 notes · View notes

stripedstarsblueflags · 4 months ago

Text

shoutout to @escapentropy for this post and the brainrot rpf spiral i went into immediately after <3

anyway here is the fic about logan’s appearance on an instagram story and how alex may or may not have felt about it

The spaces between the stars

George knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the story.

For one thing, it was two in the morning. Not an abysmal time for anyone to be on social media, just abysmal for Alex. George still thinks it’s hilarious that Alex has screen time limits on his phone like an internet-addicted teenager, but he’s listened to enough lectures about the detriments of blue light and sleep cycles to bring it up anymore. And anyway, it’s not like Alex is any more responsive during the day. Over a decade into their friendship, and Alex is one of the worst texters George has ever met. If Alex isn’t texting back at 2 am, he definitely isn’t engaging in the cesspool of the internet. That had been a red flag in and of itself.

The story itself had been an even bigger hint: camera pointed straight up, showing a slightly blurry close-up of the night sky. If it was a constellation, George hadn’t known it; there was no tag, no caption, nothing. There also hadn’t been a hint of a horizon line or any indication of where the picture had been taken, but George hadn’t needed one.

He calls Alex a few minutes after he’d gotten the notification, and of course Alex picks up immediately.

“Get off the roof,” George says in lieu of a greeting.

Alex doesn’t say anything for a bit, leaving an awkward, staticky murmur on the other end of the line. Finally, he protests sheepishly, “I’m not on the roof.”

“You are,” George insists. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re at that little deck with the telescope and plants that no one’s watered in a month, and you’re not supposed to be there.”

Alex makes a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Would you believe me if I told you I finally paid for roof access?”

“No.”

Alex laughs again, but his voice sounded jagged and painful, rough around the edges.

“Come on,” George prompts. “You hate breaking rules. You only go up there when you’re stressed about something.”

“That’s…” Alex tries to begin, then trails off.

“Did you only post that star story cause you knew I would see it?”

The silence is enough of an answer.

George sighs. “Get off the roof. I’m coming over.”

“Really?” Alex’s voice is timid, almost a whisper. He sounds weak, like all the wind has been knocked out of him and he hasn’t had time to recover.

It hurts George just to listen to. “Yes, really. Someone needs to make sure you don’t engage in more criminal activity.”

“Fine, I’ll get off the roof!”

When Alex opens the door, he looks exactly how he’d sounded on the phone.

“Mate, you look terrible,” George informs him.

Alex rolls his eyes, then steps aside to let George in. “Thanks. Your commentary is always appreciated.”

George ignores the back talk. “Have you slept at all?”

Alex knots his fingers in his hair and pulls distractedly. He shrugs his shoulders, looking like he’s trying to curl into himself. “It’s not that late.”

“It’s late for you.” George steps forward and takes Alex by the shoulders, forcing him to stay still. “Alex.”

Alex struggles to meet his gaze. There are shadows under his eyes. Even under George’s hands he’s trying to fidget, shifting his weight, hands twitching at his sides.

“I didn’t come here to listen to you lie to me. You basically sent up the bat signal.”

That gets a laugh, Alex playfully trying to shrug George away. “Right. I forgot. You’re the British Batman. Who gets summoned by… stars.”

“You’re making me sound so poetic.” George claps him on the shoulder and pushes him gently in the general direction of the couch. “Sit down. I’m making us tea, and then you’re going to tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Is that an order?”

George looks over his shoulder at Alex’s smirk. “You know what? For old time’s sake, yes.” He finds a small stuffed cat toy on the counter and throws it at him.

When George brings in the tea, Alex is already surrounded by cats.

George laughs at the sight, Alex leaned back into the couch with two cats fighting for space on his lap and another draped lazily in some anatomically incorrect position over the armrest. “They gonna make room for me?” he asks, holding out one of the mugs.

Alex sits up straighter to take it, and one of the cats flicks its ears haughtily and strolls across the room.

“Your presence offends her,” Alex explains. “So yes.”

“I’m heartbroken.” A friendlier cat nuzzles George’s hand; he scratches it behind the ears. “You gonna tell me why you went up there?”

Alex looks away from him, slowly chewing his lower lip. He stares at the wall as if the picturue frames will tell him what to say. George waits patiently.

“Well, I should definitely stop,” Alex says at last, trying to laugh at himself. It falls flat quickly and he gives up. “I got in trouble for it, once, a few years ago. I think it belongs to only the top floor, not the whole building…” He boops one cat on the tip of the nose and it wrinkles up its face, swiping a paw over its eyes. He smiles at it. “Anyway, it’s one of the highest places in Monaco. You can see the stars better there than anywhere else– that I’ve found, at least… I don’t know, it just, it feels really peaceful up there. It helps me think clearly.”

George knows he’s not being given the whole story; Alex knows it too. George sips at his tea and says nothing. Alex doesn’t like silence; the longer George stays quiet, the more Alex will say just to fill the void. It’s not a very nice tactic, but letting Alex deflect and ramble and run away from his feelings isn’t helpful either.

Alex drinks his tea, pulling his sleeves over his hands and holding the mug close to his chest. “And I’ve got good memories, too… not like, that roof in particular– just, stars in general, I guess. That sounds stupid. Everyone has–”

“What’s the memory?” George asks softly.

Alex looks over at him then. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the gratitude is plain on his face, the shine in his eyes. Then he casts his eyes back down to the cats. “Last Christmas,” he begins “they did this video thing with me and Logan, just a bunch of questions, you know…” He waves a hand vaguely. “This interview thing. It was so silly, I don’t even remember a whole lot of it. But the thing way, the setup they chose was like this tiny inn in the middle of nowhere– I mean nowhere. And by the time we were done shooting it was night, because of course it was, and I remember we stepped out and there were just so many stars.”

Alex tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling, like if he reaches far enough into the memory he can bring the stars back with him. He takes a deep breath. “Y’know. Because there was less light pollution…”

“Yeah, so much gets washed out in the city,” George offers.

Alex nods. “Exactly. And I’ve been in like, less bright areas before, it had just been a while since I’d been able to see that many. And I remember I looked over at Logan cause I was gonna say something, like ‘Holy shit, it looks like we’re in space’… and he was just.” Alex stops, swallows heavily. He looks back into his tea, breathes out, watches the surface ripple. Then he leans over and places the tea, barely touched, on a side table. He rubs at his eyes and tries to pass it off as scratching an itch; George doesn’t call him out.

“He was just looking up at the sky,” Alex continues, voice softening with nostalgia, “and… and there was this expression on his face like I’d never seen before. He just looked so, like… fascinated. Enchanted.” He laughs a little, eyes far-away, and tucks his feet under him. One of his cats meows frustratedly at the change of position before settling down again. “I mean, he looked like a little kid. Like he’d never seen a night sky before, just smiling up at it… And I think I probably teased him in the moment. ‘Do they not have stars in America’, or… something.”

George feels a cat pawing at his shins and sits back. The cat jumps into his lap and turns to stare attentively at Alex. Even the animals are drawn in by the story, the way the emotions in Alex’s voice have started to fill the room like morning fog.

“But I kind of wish I hadn’t,” Alex adds, shuddering, “because I thought back after and I realized I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen him that happy.” His hand, in the middle of stroking a cat, falls limply to his side. “Relaxed. Not for the cameras, not playing anything off. There was just this moment where he was genuinely just happy about something. And I didn’t figure this out until later, but… I think it hit me so hard because I realized I hadn’t thought I was ever gonna see him like that again. Like, the season had been so tough for us, and especially toward the end it was really dragging him down, and I just sort of expected that. The way he used to look at everything like, no light in his eyes. Gone.”

George says quietly, “He never looked at you like that.”

Alex shoots his gaze over, focus sharpening to a razor-point. “Don’t,” he chokes out in a wavering, inflamed voice. “I’ve told you. You can’t make me… think like that.”

George puts down his tea so he can shift closer to Alex. “Mate, I’m just saying the facts. We’re in the same paddock. I know you know him better, but the rest of us aren’t blind. This season, when you two are together… he looks at you like–”

Alex puts his hand up.

George sits back, spreading his palms. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Too far?”

“Sorry.” Alex sniffles, then tries to hide it with a cough. “It’s just–” He nudges a cat off his lap so he can pull his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through a couple photos until he pauses on a screenshot, then reaches out and shows it to George. “Have you seen this?”

George looks at the picture. “Not the original. I’ve seen it reposted, though.”

It’s the last thing Logan’s posted on his story, shared from someone named Zack Justice (George doesn’t know if he’s supposed to recognize that name) and it’s a picture of Logan. Playing golf.

The sun is shining. The sky is a perfect, picturesque blue. The green stretches on to the horizon, unbroken color that contrasts elegantly with the sky above. The horizon line is right at the halfway point of the image. It couldn’t be more aesthetic.

Logan isn’t too close to the camera, but he’s still recognizable. He’s also not wearing blue.

Alex takes back the phone but doesn’t turn it off. He stares at the photo, glassy-eyed, blue light throwing stark shadows across his face. His expression is lethargic, unreadable, but George has known Alex long enough to tell when he’s spiraling into his own thoughts.

Carefully, he takes the phone form Alex’s hand and flips it face-down onto the couch. An additional cat, seemingly from nowhere, plops onto the couch and sits between them, covering the phone with its tail.

Alex smiles, gentle and hurt. “Point taken.” He looks at his lap and twists his fingers together until another cat head-butts his hands. “This was the first sign of, like, anything. Sign of life, I guess. Since the… since Tuesday.”

“You haven’t talked since then?”

Alex shakes his head, and the motion is abrupt, almost violent. “Every message I send turns green, I… I think he blocked me.” His voice is almost completely shattered, words thick and effortful.

George doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and rests his hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Alex finally loooks back at him and clasps George’s hand between both of his own.

“You miss him,” George murmurs.

Whatever chains Alex had been wrapping around himself snap and the tears fall like a storm. Dark and churning and unforgiving. He’s silent when he cries, teeth gritted, shoulders shaking.

George squeezes his hand, and Alex squeezes back. He’s clutching hard enough to hurt, but George doesn’t pull away.

Alex takes a deep breath and coughs on the exhale. He speaks like his voice cuts his throat on the way out. “He’s happier now, I think… I mean, he got away from it all. He got out.”

“It wasn’t you he was trying to get away from,” George insists fiercely. “He needs space.”

“Fucking hell, I know he needs space,” Alex spits out, voice rising. George tugs on his hands a little, shaking him, and Alex forces himself to take a deep breath. “But I need him.”

George stays very still.

He has to choose his next words carefully. He’s known about Alex’s feelings for months, had his suspicions long before that. He’s the only one who does, because Alex wouldn’t trust anyone else with the secret. He’d told George that, point-blank. And George had kept his word, obviously.

He’d worried for Alex, though. Has been whole time. Between Williams and Logan there was a ticking time bomb, and if George could’ve saved Alex from the shrapnel he would have. But hopes that it was just a phase, that it was just temporary infatuation that would fade over time, were dashed quickly. Whatever Alex felt was serious, and it was going to get him seriously hurt.

After the one confession they had barely spoken about it– not in explicit terms, anyway. As the 2024 season staggered on, their conversations started edging closer to the subject. Any mention of Logan was entangled with references and hints and what had practically become a code between them, all so Alex didn’t have to look the truth in the face. George wished it wasn’t happening; he wished his friend wasn’t setting himself up for heartbreak like this. But it wouldn’t have been fair to tell Alex to change and George would never hurt him like that anyway.

But this night, Alex’s talent for sidestepping reality is dead and buried. He’s hurt and he’s lost and his vulnerable, so George won’t say his own truth:

This was doomed from the start.

You’ve let yourself be hurt by things out of your control.

You can’t race with your head like this.

You need to move on.

Instead he only says, “He’ll come back to you.”

Alex releases one hand to nudge a cat closer to his chest. He lowers his head, voice muffled by the fur. “I wish I could believe you.”

45 notes · View notes

evermorepeyton · 4 months ago

Text

here it is CHAPTER 26 of SILVER ARROWS TO THE HEART

The formula 1 dan and phil fic of your dreams (maybe?) 🏹🩶

if you read it i will be so happy, and im on medication so you know my brain doesn’t just do that for free!!

24 notes · View notes

anonpolls · 4 months ago

Text

AP: We are helping someone with their research today!

Thanks, Anon!

-submit your poll!-

36 notes · View notes

kybercrystals94 · 11 months ago

Text

Stories

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 27 | Prompt 27: Left for Dead

Rated: G | Words: 1624 | Summary: Crosshair sees his opportunity and takes it.

“Crosshair! We’ve been looking for you,” Omega announces, unabashedly intruding on Crosshair’s peace and quiet.

Crosshair cracks open one eye to glare at his sister looming over him. He had found a lush patch of grass under a tree about a five minute walk from their Pabu abode, hidden from the prying eyes of curious neighbors and meddling siblings. Well, evidently not hidden enough.

“We?” Crosshair drawls, closing his eye again and shifting to get more comfortable.

“Yeah, me and Tech!”

Crosshair sighs. “Why?”

“We found an uninhabited island on one of Phee’s maps. We wanna go explore.”

“That doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with me.”

When Omega doesn’t immediately respond, Crosshair opens his eyes to see her looking away, a despondent expression on her face. “Well, Hunter and Wrecker are working today…and Hunter said we could only go if you went with us because,” she pauses miserably, “you know, Tech’s still recovering, and if anything happened…”

Omega outright stomping on Crosshair’s stomach would have been a softer blow for all the dread and regret that boil up at the hesitant explanation. Tech, his adventurous, capable brother, still recovering from a botched rescue attempt…an attempt to save Crosshair. Tech almost died. Had died in the minds of their siblings until he got a distress message out weeks later.

And now he’s reduced to hoping Omega can convince their wayward brother into joining them for something as mundane as a nature walk on another island.

Crosshair pushes himself up to a sitting position, not missing the way Omega’s face lights up, dispelling any shadows that had lingered there. “Thank you, Crosshair! Tech didn’t think you’d say yes, but I told him you would,” Omega tells him, her hands immediately latching around his wrist to haul him to his feet, as though he needs any help.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” Crosshair grumbles, if only to put off the undeserved gratitude.

Omega is unfettered. “I already packed a picnic and everything. Wrecker helped me make sandwiches this morning, and Hunter said we could bring that sweet drink Lyana taught me how to make.”

It seems Omega is not the only sibling who believed Crosshair would go, which simply aches more.

Only Tech had doubted, and another dull ache throbs in Crosshair’s chest as he allows Omega to drag him up the trail. Too soon, they are entering the house, Omega’s voice ringing through the small space, “Tech! I found him! He said he’d come!”

Tech appears from the common room, a spanner in one hand and a small part in the other. He looks surprised. “I am just finishing up on the proximity alarm I am repairing, but it should not take more than a minute or two.”

“That’s fine,” Omega tells him, “I still need to put another container of juice in my pack for our picnic.” She skips into the kitchen happily humming a local tune.

Tech doesn’t immediately return to his work, regarding Crosshair with that calculating look that makes the ex-sniper want to squirm. “I hope Omega didn’t pressure you into agreeing to come,” he says after a moment.

Crosshair scoffs. “Unlike Wrecker and Hunter, I know how to say no to Omega’s tooka eyes.”

This gets a smirk out of Tech before he walks back into the common room. Crosshair hesitates a moment, and then follows. Tech’s work table looks as Tech’s work tables have always looked: cluttered chaos. However, Tech is able to see through the mess, plucking up parts and tools as though they are exactly where he means for them to be. A method to his madness, Crosshair thinks fondly, before squashing down the sentimental emotion.

“I told Hunter that I am recovered enough to handle such a small expedition on my own,” Tech says, not turning to face Crosshair, “but the local healer does not agree…and apparently my own medical experience and knowledge is of little weight in the matter.”

Crosshair leans against the back of the couch. “I don’t mind coming, Tech.”

“It’s not…” Tech starts, his voice taking a sharp tone. He takes an audible breath. “I am not helpless.”

“None of us said that you are.”

Tech huffs a deprecating noise, but does not offer a verbal retort. The room becomes occupied by stiff silence and the soft clattering of Tech finishing his work. Until Omega bursts in, a large pack strapped to her back. “We’re ready whenever you are, Tech,” she chirps.

Tech sets aside his tools and turns, giving Omega a small smile. “I am ready,” he says, going for his own pack that is propped against the table. Crosshair almost offers to take it; however, he doesn’t want to confirm any of Tech’s ill founded ideations. But the allowance doesn’t negate the feeling of guilt when he sees his brother stagger slightly under the weight.

Even in civilian clothes, Tech has incorporated a utility belt, which he clips his well worn data pad to. He looks at Crosshair and Omega in turn. “Shall we?”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The island in question is small. Small enough to walk around at a leisurely pace in an hour. Small enough that Tech is barely able to land the Marauder on the widest part of the narrow beach. Small enough that Crosshair wonders why it was marked on a map at all.

“In her notes,” Tech says, data pad in hand, “Phee states that there is a rare variety of flora native only to this hemisphere, and then only to a few select islands. This being the closest to Pabu. Phee says she has come a few times to look for it, but has been unable to locate it.”

Crosshair and Omega exchange glances, and the tilt of mirth on Omega’s lips nearly sets Crosshair laughing outright. All this to find a flower for Phee. Crosshair is not remotely surprised. But who knew Tech, of all his brothers, would be the hopeless romantic among them.

“Do you have a holopic of it?” Omega asks sweetly at Tech’s elbow.

Tech tips his data pad in Omega’s direction. “Merely a crude sketch; however, it is sufficient.”

They begin their trek into the forested center of the island. Omega, having relinquished her pack to Crosshair when he wordlessly put out his hand for it, is unburdened, darting off ahead to “scout”, as she calls it. Crosshair begins to protest, but Tech shakes his head. “I assure you, this island is perfectly safe. She will be fine.”

They walk shoulder to shoulder, eyes wandering their surroundings in search of the elusive species of flower.

“It should be evident now,” Tech says after a long period of silence, “that Omega and I would have been fine on our own. Your coming was entirely unnecessary.”

Crosshair bristles, disguising his hurt as a bitter retort, “If you didn’t want me to come, you could have just said so. I’m sure the kriffing flower could’ve waited until Hunter or Wrecker were available.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Tech is quiet a moment before he bites out, “You felt obligated to accompany Omega and I out of a position of guilt. I do not desire your pity.”

“That’s not–”

“Do not deny it, Crosshair. You forget that I know you.”

With a step and a sharp turn, Crosshair cuts off Tech’s path, forcing the splicer to come to an abrupt stop. He shoves a finger into Tech’s chest. “And you forget that I almost lost you!”

Tech glares up at him. “I was not aware that you could lose something that you gave up.”

The words crush like a fist around Crosshair’s heart. “I protected you, all of you, after Kamino fell,” Crosshair hisses, the words feeling like fire in his throat.

“We didn’t want your protection, we wanted our brother.” Tech keeps eye contact, doesn’t flinch away. “And when the opportunity arose that we might save you, I readily gave up protection in favor of you. And I would willingly die again and again, for any one of our family.”

Before Crosshair can respond, Omega’s voice breaks through trees. “Tech! I think I found them! Come see!”

Tech pushes past him, trudging through the undergrowth towards their sister’s voice. Crosshair takes a steadying breath before trailing after.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Crosshair lays on his back, staring up at the cloud strewn sky, listening to the tumbling of waves and the animated voices of his siblings down by the shoreline. They’d found Phee’s flower, and carefully transplanted it in a container Tech had brought especially for the occasion. It sits next to Crosshair now, its petalled head bobbing in the salty breeze.

“Crosshair!” Omega’s voice calls out, sounding far away over the roar of the tide.

He lifts his head to look at the girl, up to her knees in the lapping water. Omega waves her arm wildly, motioning for him to come. Tech isn’t in the water, but he stands just short of its reach, inspecting a shell in the sunlight.

“I’m good up here,” Crosshair calls back lazily, dropping his head back on his arms.

“Aww, you’re no fun!” Omega taunts.

Crosshair chuckles and closes his eyes. “I can live with that!”

A few minutes pass, and someone sits down on the blanket next to him. Crosshair doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it is Tech.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he says, softly.

”Pardon?” Tech asks.

“About why I came,” Crosshair says, “It wasn’t guilt.”

“Why then?”

“Omega told me stories about…while I was gone.” Crosshair pauses, swallowing back the emotion that creeps up. “I’m not gone anymore, Tech. And when Omega tells this story…It’ll be my story too.”

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Taglist: @amorfista @isthereanechoinhere96 @arctrooper69 @followthepurrgil @ezras-left-thumb @mooncommlink @nagyanna424 @proteatook @groguandthebadbatch @the-little-moment @merkitty49

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday27 #prompt 27: left for dead #star wars #the bad batch #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #pabu #stories #emotional whump #soft crosshair

57 notes · View notes

k-wame · 2 years ago

Photo

aaawww these wide-eyed princelings

#from emmerdale writers #worried they'll try some tragic gimmicky arc w/them as character building for arthur & i cant watch🤦#emmerdale #emmerdaleedit #arthur x marshall #lgbtedit #gay couple #gay #lgbt #arthur thomas #marshall hamston #alfie clarke #max fletcher #romancegifs #lgbtqia+#queer #queer characters #emmerdale 02 27 2023

255 notes · View notes

mvnvgedmischief · 4 months ago

Text

unremarkable days: Sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

archive tags: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Modern Marauders (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), ok so this is mostly just sirius trying to take care of a traumatized regulus, Modern AU, Sirius trying to be a father figure, to his brother who was just removed from his home, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Sirius Black, Writer Remus Lupin, Young Regulus Black, Past Child Abuse, Trauma, everyone is sad, Custody Battle, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Past Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Domestic Violence

words: 103,104 chapters: 27/?

this is kind of my baby in terms of fics i’ve written, i love it so much. it will probably end up around 30 chapters, but lord knows. artist!sirius x writer!remus in a modern take on a high society young adult recovering from his fall from grace while trying to hide his sexuality, take care of his brother, and fall in love. will his secret self destruction be the only thing that stands between him and the future he wants?

read it on ao3 here!

It was stressful to figure out what he needed, in the way of treatment. He had finally gotten things sorted today after several hours of meeting with Vincent Square and then following up with Orri. He would be spending the next weeks in the Orri PHP program, while he was working through supervised visitation with his parents, as well as the holidays. If, during that process, he needed a higher level of care, he had to take a bed at Vincent Square. If they decided, upon the completion of the holidays and the scheduled return to his life, January 15th, that he needed a higher level of care, he needed to take a bed at Vincent Square. None of this was binding or anything, but it was something he agreed to, so it wasn’t like he would be comfortable backing out. He wished he would, somewhere in the back of his mind, because he was just so much more comfortable at home, making the same disordered decisions he was making right now. He wanted to keep avoiding meals, expelling his demons with his purges, and destroying himself. But he couldn’t. No, if he wanted to continue to be Reggie’s guardian.

It was a long fucking year.

Sirius had crashed on the couch. If he was honest, he crashed on the couch more often than he slept in his bed. He was sure that it was overwhelming to Reggie upon his arrival here, but they were coming up on a milestone soon. Almost a year of the two of them living together, almost a year of his parents trying to ruin him. He almost wondered when they would start trying to laud him with money, considering nothing else had worked in strong-arming Sirius into giving them what they wanted. The worst part, if you asked Sirius, was that he would consider it. He would be a liar if he said that the amount of money he could surely get out of his parents could really change his life. He could buy his flat, and instead of worrying about rent each month, he could take the time off he needed to make sure that he got his head on straight, he could finally maybe stop feeling like he was a ghost haunting his own life. That would be nice.

Going through the motions was becoming exhausting for the artist. He was struggling desperately to be an active participant in his life, too bogged down by the static in his brain. His tether to reality had been fraying for a long time, and it had become dangerously worn. How easy things would be if he could give up. Sure, Reggie would be left in the lurch, which was why he didn’t. But giving up had a level of appeal to him that nothing else could. An end to his exhaustion, to his fear, was so far out of his reach. The only way out he could see from where he was right now was his end. As of now, he was staring down what felt like an unending torment of visits with his parents, meetings in court, stacks of work, appointments with therapists, and answering to Severus somewhere in the middle he would have to find time for maintaining his relationship with James, even though he was still resentful, trying to be supportive to Pete in the absence of his father, hopefully building a relationship with Remus– fuck he was overwhelmed. To die felt so much easier, but so completely unattainable.

The loud buzzing of his phone vibrating on the hardwood floor pulled him out of his restless sleep, and he answered without taking a moment to check the caller ID. He would regret that he was sure.

“Why did you answer, it’s four am?” No greeting. Typical Severus.

“Most people start with something like alright, mate? Greetings are a part of a civilized society.”

“Are you not sleeping again?”

“I cannot imagine you called me at four am to confirm I wasn’t sleeping, Sev. And for your information, I was sleeping.”

“And you’ve never heard of the do not disturb function?”

“What do you want, Sev?”

“I wanted to leave a voicemail.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

A pregnant pause met Sirius from the other side of the phone call. Sirius didn’t want to think about what it meant that Sev wasn’t answering the question. He wanted to let his brain keep blurring out of his understanding. He wanted to go back to living in his isolated, foggy brain. He didn’t want any of the struggle of actual interaction. “Please don’t make me humiliate myself by actually telling you to your face.”

“This is a phone call.”

“Close enough.”

“Why are you calling me, Severus?” Sirius was sure that the other man could hear the way his silver eyes were rolling back in his head. He wanted to go back to sleep. It felt as though Sirius was constantly in sleep debt, even when he had hours of sleep. Any number of hours greater than one felt like a win to Sirius. He was so exhausted, his eyes permanently half-lidded and glassy with his deprivation.

“Please,” Severus responded, and Sirius felt like he could taste the other man’s desperation. Maybe that was why the universe never let him sleep. Maybe his vigilance was some kind of superpower he unlocked when he didn’t sleep. He found his mind wandering back to the past, whirring on his time believing in something. He was never one for faith, never a true believer in god. He remembered the way his family forced him into itchy, uncomfortable dress clothes to sit on a pew that was far too uncomfortable. He remembered being eight, and the way that it would hurt to sit on that pew. He remembered the way he would shift, and be smacked by his mother for moving too often.

“Would you prefer I hang up and let you call back?” Sirius responded, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I somehow find that would be more humiliating.”

“Whatever,” Severus mumbled, and it was then that Sirius tasted the saltiness that was the tightness in the other man’s voice.

“Shit,” Sirius mumbled, sitting up on the couch. He was sure Severus could hear the crinkling of the couch around him. If he wasn’t full of a toxic mixture of existential dread and sleep deprivation, he would be confronted with how awful it felt to make such a noise. God, it was so stupid when he thought about it all honestly. How pathetic, to know that the way a couch moved would be enough to send him reeling. “ Areyoualright ?” The words stumbled out of his mouth all as one, for fear of leaving too much space in between them for the acrid taste of even more emotions. If he were on the other end of the phone, he may have heard it the way Severus did. He would’ve heard the way his voice was heightened and the way anxiety seeped into his voice. But he couldn’t hear that, it was drowned out by the ringing in his ears, and the way his blood was rushing up to flood his vision with stars. If he were like Remus, if he were a poet, he would say that the stars couldn’t wait to meet him, and he couldn’t wait to meet them. That all of his issues were an outward expression of his soul’s desire to take his rightful place amongst Canis Major. If he were a scientist, like Severus, he would say that he was starving his body of necessary nutrients and that these were the standard consequences of that. But he wasn’t a poet, and he wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t even sure he was an artist anymore. Artist implied some level of care, compassion, and vision. He didn’t have any of that anymore. All he had was a hollowed-out gnawing in his stomach, a desire to be swallowed up by the earth, and the pathetic rocking back and forth of his anxiety.

Whatever Severus said in response fell on deaf ears because Sirius couldn’t anything over the loud sounds of his stars falling all around him. It felt like they were careening into the leather around him, burning up on entry to his atmosphere and crashing to the tune of his heart hammering in his ears.

“– about you. I care about you a lot alright? I know I’m not Remus and I know you love him, but I just–”

“Severus?” Sirius interrupted, “You called me about this at four in the morning?”

“Couldn’t stomach the idea of you dying without knowing....” Severus mumbled in response, “Couldn’t stomach the idea of you dying at all.”

“I’m not going to die, Sev,” Sirius sighed, as shaky footfalls carried him out to the fire safety window.

“Could’ve fooled me, Siri,” Severus sighed, voice tight on the other end of the line, “are you seriously going out for a smoke right now?”

“You have a problem with smokers now?”

“Christ,” He mumbled, “I hate you.”

“Oi,” Sirius chuckled, “I thought you were calling because you didn’t want me to die thinking you didn’t care about me.”

“Fuck off.”

This was off-limits, and they both knew it. The easy banter between them wasn’t something they could have, and they both knew it. It was too much history, too complicated, and involved far too much of their shared trauma. Even if Sirius had wanted it, which he didn’t, it required sacrifices Severus could never make. He was too close to his mother to distance himself, and Sirius was too far from him to reintegrate. Severus had a tight, bitter, and stiff relationship with the Black family. Sirius couldn’t remember anymore how, but he was sure Severus’s mother knew his mother somehow. He knew that the Snapes were also very close with the Rosiers, and if he thought back on it enough, Sirius had fuzzy memories of Eileen, sitting in on the book club, or whatever it was, that his mother ran on Sundays after church.

“Sev,” Sirius mumbled, “Do you ever wonder....”

��What if?” Severus responded, his voice tight with desperation and disappointment, “What if it was all different? What if we met at school instead of at your mum’s house?”

“What if they didn’t hurt us?”

“Maybe, in that world, we would’ve ended up together.” Came Severus’s watery whisper, like he was afraid to even say it out loud. It wasn’t like Sirius never thought about it. Of course, he thought about it. He had thought about it when he was younger, more naive, trapped in both the literal and figurative closet with Severus. He had even thought about it before he met Remus when he first gained custody of Reggie because maybe it could’ve made everything make sense. But he never took it seriously, especially because back then, they were still hate fucking, as far as Sirius was concerned. He knew, sure, that Severus was all over him, and would get jealous about him, but he thought that they both viewed each other as a prize to be won, a conquest to be made, a dance they did before they fell into a familiar pattern. It was easier for Sirius that way. Finding a new partner, someone who he viewed as more than a sexual conquest, was something had long since given up on until he met Remus. Love had gone out the window a long time ago, and new sexual conquests had been abandoned since he welcomed Regulus into his home. It made everything easier, especially when he thought about the idea of someone new seeing his body under the soft, warm lighting of his bedroom, or the harsh overhead lighting of someone else’s. The thought of someone new seeing the twists and turns, hills and valleys of his body had made Sirius feel physically ill, and it was only when Remus came careening into his life that he considered welcoming someone new in.

“Don’t cry, Sev.” Sirius replied, his own voice sounding tight, “Maybe someday, it won’t hurt to think about it anymore.” He mumbled, “You’ll find someone who can love you the way you deserve. I could never do that for you, no matter how much I wanted to in the past.”

“I know, I see your family too often,” Severus mumbled back, with a tight chuckle. Sirius felt a tension in the pause between them before Severus’s voice came through the phone again. “You’ve wanted to?” The question hurt in a way he wished it didn’t. He had wanted to when they were younger. He wanted to, but he wasn’t brave enough to ask. He wanted to ask Sev to put distance between himself and Sirius’s family, he wanted to stop the game they played of irritating each other in front of their respective friends so they could storm off and meet in a broom closet, but Sirius was so insecure. He had been so scared of asking for something he couldn’t have, so he settled into their routine and never said anything. Eventually, he grieved what he knew he couldn’t have, and found his way into his life now.

“Sixth form...” Sirius mumbled in response, feeling his chest bloom with shame and his cheeks break into a blush.

“You never said...”

“Of course not. You hated me.” Sirius chuckled, his own eyes welling up with tears at the thought of their youth, a youth that was so broken and marred with problems. “Even if you didn’t really, I couldn’t fathom that.”

“But you should’ve –” Severus began before Sirius was quick to cut him off.

“Oi, I’m pretty sure you didn’t say anything until three months ago. Glass houses and all that.”

“I don’t know, Siri. Thinkin’ it’s probably time for me to give up on love.”

“Sev, we’re way too young for that,” Sirius responded, taking a long pull of his cigarette. “I think it’s probably time you give up on me.” That pulled a broken sob out of Severus, which the former aristocrat hadn’t anticipated.

Why was Sev crying? He couldn’t understand that, even if an outsider would have to be blind to miss it. There was so much subtext in that kind of statement. Everyone knew that Sirius wanted them to give up on him, to let him starve himself off and die in peace. You’d have to be an idiot to miss that the statement twisted the knife in Severus’s chest, making him yearn just that much more for the world where he could have exactly what he wanted. Too bad Sirius was an idiot, and he couldn’t read his own subtext, let alone someone else’s.

“Why do you insist on saying that?” Severus snapped. Once again, Severus was beyond his understanding. “Why do you insist that everyone should just let you destroy yourself?” His voice was tight with his tears, but his tone was harsh. “The people in your life care about you, you fucking dickhead. I love you for fucks sake, and I keep tearing myself apart to be here for you even though you’re an arsehole, and your brother because you’re losing your shit. I let your tosser of a best mate run around saying I’m into his girlfriend, just so that nobody asks you a godforsaken question you don’t want to answer. Why do you have to beg me to give up on you all the time? Don’t you know how that feels?” A broken sob ripped out of Severus amid his rant, and Sirius couldn’t help the way he felt guilty.

“Severus, hey–” He tried to interrupt, but it was fruitless. Severus was going to keep saying his piece until he got everything off of his chest, and it seemed like he really needed to get the rant out, despite however much it hurt Sirius to hear. “Sev, it’s okay...” Sirius whispered into the phone, “I’m okay. ‘S not what I meant, mate.” He would be a liar if he said that none of that was new information. He knew Severus was into him, and always had been decently intro him enough to sleep with him, but he had been under the impression that Severus was in love with Lily, as was the widely held belief in his friend group. It never occurred to him that Severus would be trying to protect him. It never occurred to him that everything he said sounded like a veiled plea for everyone to just let him go.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Siri,” Sev whispered. Sirius could practically feel the earnestness in his bones, the whole conversation had grown bitter and sad.

“I wish you could see you deserve more than endless pining,” Sirius responded in kind, prompting them to sit silently. It was an unfair response because even though they both meant exactly what they said, they were subtle digs at each other. Severus knew Sirius couldn’t fathom anything but his own bitter hatred for himself, just like Sirius knew his endless chaos kept Severus’s wrapt attention.

He heard his door buzzing inside, which was his cue to wrap this up. “Thanks for calling, mate. I’ve gotta jump somebody’s buzzing and I dunno who could possibly be here at this ungodly hour.”

“Cheers, mate” Sev responded, although Sirius could tell he wasn’t happy about it. Granted, Sirius wasn’t exactly shocked by that.

He collected himself and made his way back into his home. It wasn’t the most comfortable for his tired joints, but he ignored their loud protests and climbed back into his living room, taking notice of the clock on the wall, when had it become 5 AM?

“Oi, do you know what time it is?” Sirius mumbled into the buzzer’s microphone.

“Can I come up?” Remus’s voice garbled through the speaker, and immediately Sirius was buzzing in the other man. God, he was glad Remus was here. He didn’t remember asking Remus to come over, but if Remus was here then he was sure he must have. Either way, he was glad Remus was here. He wanted to be held, to be loved, to be touched. He just wanted to feel okay again, even if he knew he wouldn’t any time soon. He unlocked his front door in preparation for Remus arriving at his flat. Sirius was overtired and he knew it, he was practically buzzing, and as he looked around his home, it struck him that his living room made him look like a slob. There were cups everywhere, his couch cushions were all kinds of fucked up, and his blanket was crumpled up in a ball. Bleary, wide eyes remained unfocused as he collected the dishes around the room, hoping to make his home look slightly less like a pigsty and more like a legitimate home.

Remus walked into Sirius’s home, his rambling steps ringing loudly in his ears, and the man felt ashamed. His voice cut through the white noise in Sirius’s mind, and he felt himself sinking deeper into himself.

“Shit, Siri,” Remus mumbled, “You alright, love?”

“Yeah,” Sirius mumbled, silver eyes cast down on his hands. God, he should’ve cleaned up more. He should’ve kept his home nicer, he should’ve kept himself together, he needed to be better. The subtext in his mind was always that better was thinner. “I’m fine,” He shrugged, “just tired.” It took him a moment, to step outside of his own selfish mind and notice what was going on. Remus’s eyes were rimmed with red, his skin had adopted a pallor, and his frail body was shivering.

“Re–” Sirius said, eyes trained on the other man. God, he wished this was easy, He desperately wished he could keep himself from spiraling or getting too worried. “Are you alright?”

“‘M fine,” Remus responds, grey eyes trained on the tile.

“I’m fine...” Sirius trails off, his eyes blown wide with a desire for the floor to swallow him up

The two of them were both sitting there, across from each other, trying to distract the other from just how out of it, and how fucked they felt. Neither was going to be able to shake this discomfort or fear. Sirius didn’t realize that Remus didn’t ask again, his mind too busy elsewhere.

Maybe he was distracted by his fears, his stress, or the ever-looming holidays. Maybe it was everything, maybe it was nothing. Either way, in an instant Remus was clamoring into his lap, pressing a hungry kiss to his lips. Sirius responded in kind, scabbed and angry fingers tangling in Remus’s golden hair. If he was just a bit more with it, just a little bit more aware of the world around him, maybe he would have noticed the way Remus’s hands shook as they tangled into the hair behind his neck or the fact that he only had a jumper on and it was freezing outside. It took Remus’s cold hands on the back of his neck to snap him back into the dark reality of the moment. “Moony, you’re freezing.” And my heat was off was a silent understanding between them.

“Then warm me up,” Remus responded, pulling on Sirius’s hoodie to bring them closer together. He was daring Sirius not to take exactly what he wanted, and god, was it hard. But Sirius could taste some kind of desperate fear in his overtired hypervigilant state, and he cared too much for Remus to wholly ignore it. “How did you get here?” He whispered, before pressing his lips to the hollow beneath Remus’s ear. In between leaving hickies in his wake, maybe he could get some information out of the smaller man.

“Ran,” Remus responded, a small gasp escaping him as he leaned into Sirius’s attention. However, the response prompted Sirius to pull away and stare blankly at the other man. “You ran over here? In this weather? With no jacket? From your flat?” He asked, voice blown with shock, “Fuck, do you need a cup of tea or something, love?”

“No,” Remus responded, his voice still dripping with a desperation that was starting to feel like one Sirius didn’t recognize. The fear that he could previously taste at the back of his throat was starting to creep further and further to his awareness, and he was starting to pay more attention to what was happening around him. Remus’s cold hands met the waistband of Sirius’s boxers, where it stuck out from his pajama pants, and whined, “I want to blow you.”

“Re–” Sirius mumbled, trying not to let his resolve to figure out what was going on crumble because of his desire for the older man. “Why didn’t you ask me to come get you?” He asked, steely eyes looking over the smaller man.

“What’s with the twenty questions, Sirius? Don’t you want me?” His voice was sharp with his insecurity. Sirius felt like he was watching in slow motion as Remus’s golden brown eyes welled with tears, and he whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” This time it was for once Sirius’s turn to hush him and press a gentle kiss to his forehead like Remus had for Sirius so many times before.

“What happened, love?”

“Nothing.”

“Moony, something must have happened...” He replied, his arms wrapping tighter around Remus.

“It’s fine, Siri...” He responded, “Just leave it.” Once again, he was closing the distance between them with a crushing speed. He let his hands wander down to Sirius’s waistband once again and pulled Sirius’s lower lip between his teeth.

Sirius pulled away, which elicited a high-pitched whine from Remus. “I’m serious, Moony. Something’s wrong.” It tasted like metal.

“If I wanted to talk about it I wouldn’t have run over here unannounced.” Remus snapped back, “I don’t want to talk.” He mumbled, “Did you get bored of me?” He whispered, golden brown eyes cash down and brimming once again with tears.

“No,” Sirius replied, a sad chuckle pulling from somewhere deep within him. “No, Moonshine, I’m not bored of you. I just want to know what made you so upset you ran several miles in freezing weather with no jacket.”

“I can’t have just wanted to see you?” Remus replied, pulling a smug smile.

“Not without a jacket, you can’t,” Sirius replied, “Let me get you a cup of tea, love.” He replied, scooping up the smaller man and carrying him to the kitchen. He knew he was pushing it with his body. He knew that this was a bad choice for him, as far as risking passing out again, but Remus was so cold he could feel it radiating off of him. He sat Remus down on the counter walked over to the thermostat and turned the heat on. When he returned to the counter, Remus pulled Sirius into another kiss. “Turning on the heat for me? How romantic,” Remus chuckles.

“Of course,” Sirius responded, leaning into Remus once more, “Moons, please talk to me.”

“Fen called me,” Remus replied, his eyes drifting off behind Sirius. He couldn’t look the other man in the eyes while he talked about this. Those three words made Sirius’s heart drop into his stomach. He immediately pulled the smaller man into his arms. “I didn’t know it was gonna be him. It was a Bangor number.” Remus mumbled, burying his face in Sirius’s chest and tightening his arms around Sirius’s waist.

Sirius wished he wasn’t reminded of how awful he felt about himself, about his insecurities about his body. He didn’t have time to dwell on his thoughts, about what was going on. So instead he focused on pressing kisses to the crown of Remus’s head and whispering sweet affirmations. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you here. He can’t find you here.”

“I just feel so awful.” Remus whimpered, “and weak.”

“You’re one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met,” Sirius responded.

“I’m so scared, Siri.” Remus replied, “What if he finds my flat?”

“Why don’t you stay with me until you go up north?”

“What about the PI?”

“They called off the PI when they won visitation. Now it’s up to if Reggie wants to keep seeing them and how Social Services feels.”

“O-okay...” Remus whimpered in response, “I don’t wanna put you out... I just– he knows Lily and I moved in together. I know he knows.”

“Baby, you should stay here.” Sirius responded, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It felt like the conversation was stretching on in a way that Remus hated. Sirius saw him bristle every time he asked a question, and every statement sounded like a whimper from a beaten dog. He knew that in Remus’s position, he wouldn’t want to talk about it anymore. He would want to talk about anything else. But he and Remus were different. While Sirius would run in this position, Remus had always been touch-motivated. Maybe that was something that happened before Fenrir, maybe it happened in the touch-starved years since, but Sirius noticed the way his brain stopped whirring at spiraling out of control when Sirius’s hands met the smooth expanses of his pale skin. Sirius put a finger under Remus’s chin, lifting it to pull him into a kiss. He didn’t mind that Remus’s eyes were rimmed red, or the tear tracks staining his cheeks. He found an overwhelming love for the other man, and all he wanted was to fix things.

“Let me take care of you,” Sirius mumbled, met with a hungry and desperate response from Remus. “Please, Siri. Please .”

It was explosive and beautiful and wild, and when the sun rose on that late December day when Remus’s thighs were covered in hickeys and his mind was fuzzy from pleasure, Sirius felt like things were finally unremarkable.

#unremarkable days #unremarkable days chapter 27 #my shit #wolfstar #modern wolfstar au #writer remus #poet remus lupin #artist x poet au #poet x artist au #sirius black x remus lupin #sirius black remus lupin #the black brothers

14 notes · View notes