#anyways this took all night please like it i need validation to survive

[parkerwhitmore]

𝑮𝑶𝑫𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑵 𝑴𝑨𝑵 𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫 … a parker whitmore playlist

i. american idiot — green day;     ii. normal fucking rockwell — lana del rey;     iii. loser — beck;     iv. let’s spend the night together — david bowie;     v. the ballad of me and my friends — frank turner;     vi. troublemaker — weezer;     vii. the less i know the better — tame impala;     viii. you! me! dancing! — los campesinos!;    ix. walking on a dream — empire of the sun;     x. no. 1 party anthem — arctic monkeys;     xi. pork and beans — weezer;     xii. cpr — the walnuts;     xiii. take me out — franz ferdinand;         xiv. ringtone — 100 gecs;         xv. electric feel — mgmt;         xvi. money machine — 100 gecs;         xvii. you told the drunks i knew karate — zoey van goey;         xviii. do you want to — franz ferdinand;     xix. hand crushed by a mallet — 100 gecs;     xx. compensating — amine;     xxi. dumb bitchitis — yung cxreal;     xxii. 25 bands and a gecco — 100 gecs;     xxiii. smack a bitch — rico nasty;     xxiv. blackjack — amine;     xxv. say so — doja cat;    xxvi. spiderwebs — no doubt;     xxvii. dennis — roy blair;     xxviii. money in the grave — drake;     xxix. hey ya! — outkast;     xxx. shine — amine;     xxxi. 1, 2 many— luke combs;         

( 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 )

american idiot —  green day.

“don’t want to be an american idiot, one nation controlled by the media. information age of hysteria: it’s going out to idiot america.”

norman fucking rockwell —  lana del rey.

“goddamn man child, you act like a kid even though you stand six-foot-two.”

loser —  beck.

“and my time is a piece of wax: falling on a termite that’s choking on the splinters. soy un peredor. i’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me? (gettin’ crazy with the cheese whiz!)”

let’s spend the night together —  david bowie.

“i’m going red and my tongue’s getting tied. i’m off my head and my mouth’s getting dry, i’m high, but i try, try, try.”

the ballad of me and my friends —  frank turner.

“and if you’re all about the destination, then take a fucking flight. we’re going nowhere slowly but we’re seeing all the sighs. and we’re definitely going to hell, but we’ll have all the best stories to tell!”

troublemaker —  weezer.

“i’m such a mystery, as anyone can see, there isn’t anybody else exactly quite like me. and when it’s party time, like 1999, i’ll party by myself because i’m such a special guy.”

the less i know the better —  tame impala.

“she said: ‘it’s not now or never, just wait ten years we’ll be together.’ i said: ‘better late the never, just don’t make me wait forever.’”

you! me! dancing! —  los campesinos!.

“i always get confused, because at supermarkets, they turn the lights off when they want you to leave. but at discos, they turn them on. and it’s always sad to go, but it’s never that sad. because there’s only so many places you’re guaranteed on getting a hug when you leave. and on the way home, it always seems like a good idea to go paddling in the fountain. and that’s because it is a good idea. it’s like rousseau depicts man in a state of nature: we’re underdeveloped, we’re ignorant, we’re stupid but we’re happy.” 

walking on a dream —  empire of the sun.

“we are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it. always pushing up that hill, searching for the thrill of it. on and on and on we are calling out and out again. never looking down i’m just in awe of what’s in front of me. is it real now? when two people become one.”

no. 1 party anthem —  arctic monkeys.

“and it seems as though, those lumps in your throat that you just swallowed have got you going: come on, come on, come on. come on, come on, come on: number one party anthem.”

pork and beans —  weezer.

“i’m gonna do the things that i want to do, i ain’t got a thing to prove to you. i eat my candy with the pork and beans, excuse my manners if i make a scene. i ain’t gonna wear the clothes that you like, i’m fine and dandy with the me inside. one look in the mirror as i’m tickled pink: i don’t give a hoot about what you think.” 

cpr —  the walnuts.

“and when i start to move. it’s not me, it’s just one final, desperate twitch. and when i don’t come to, punch the air and curse you god but please know it’s not your fault. you did your best.”

take me out —  franz ferdinand.

“so if you’re lonely: just know i’m here waiting for you. i’m just a cross-hair, i’m just a shot away from you. and if you leave here, you’ll leave me broken, shattered, i lie. i’m just a cross-hair, i’m just a shot, then we can die.”

ringtone —  100 gecs.

“my boy’s got his own ringtone, it’s the only one i know, it’s the only one i know. 27 missed calls, lighting up my cell phone. sending you text saying “call you when i get home.” taking off my work clothes, working in a cold one.”

electric feel —  mgmt.

“all along the eastern shore, put your circuits in the sea. this is what the world is for, making electricity.”

money machine —  100 gecs.

“hey there pissbaby, you think you’re so fucking cool, huh? you think you’re so fucking tough? you talk a lot of big game for someone with such a small truck.”

you told the drunks i knew karate —  zoey van goey.

“i am drunk and on a ladder, not the smartest way to start my night.”

do you want to —  franz ferdinand.

“when i woke up tonight, i said: i’ve got to make somebody love me. got to make somebody love me. and now i know, now i know, now i know, i know that it’s you. you’re lucky, lucky, you’re so lucky.”

hand crushed by a mallet —  100 gecs.

“i was trying to find a way to kill time. i didn’t even get to tell you goodbye. i was trying to find a way to kill time. now you’re gone and i can never say goodbye. this feeling’s going to my head, i’m thinking things i should’ve said. you’ve circled me inside my room, i couldn’t go another day.” 

2am —  bear hands.

“i would never ask you to do something i wouldn’t do. i would never lose you, at least i’d never choose to. all your friends are sober, yeah we’re getting older.” / “making love is fine but all i want is to forget how old i am. nothing good happens past 2 am. i put the ball in your court, text me back, i want a full report, i want cash in hand.” 

compensating —  amine.

“i fucked up once again, and you know that i’m never too proud to beg. it’s hard to admit that i made my bed, but you know imma always wish you the best.”

dumb bitchitis —  yung cxreal.

“i’m a dumb bitch, i ain’t done bitch. you better run bitch. ‘cause i got dumb bitchitis.”

25 bands and a gecco —  100 gecs.

“i’ve got 25 bands and a gecko, and i've got 25 cans of the pesto, and i've got 25 mans but they're dead though, and I've got 25 cans of the Red Bull.” / also. the dog bark solo. very parker. 

smack a bitch  —  rico nasty.

“she hatin' 'cause i’m up, you can tell on her face. i been eating so much, i've been saying my grace. when the times was rough, i would look up and pray: thank god i ain't have to smack a bitch today .”

blackjack —  amine.

“i’m too fly to fight, can’t afford my price. this a white tee, bitch bite me. i’m on the high, they on the low. you killin’ my vibe, get out my zone.”

say so —  doja cat.

“day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment, i’d let you had I known it, why don't you say so? didn't even notice, no punches left to roll with, you got to keep me focused, you want it, say so.”

spiderwebs —  no doubt.

“sorry i’m not home right now, i’m walking into spiderwebs, so leave a message and i’ll call you back. a likely story, but, leave a message and i’ll call you back. and it’s all your fault! i screen my phone calls.”

dennis —  roy blair.

“if you knew how many songs, i'd sing on the roof above my dad's garage. i'd probably quit it, singin men in the parks till the sunset. it was Ramadan, neighbor's rules, played hide and seek, hid underneath the poly chairs downstairs, had a swing set on the tree above my window. don't know which way the wind blows.”

money in the grave  —  drake.

“it's a big gap between us in the game. in the next life, i'm tryna stay paid. when i die, put my money in the grave.”

hey ya! —  outkast.

“now, what cooler than being cool? ice cold! i can't hear ya! i say what's, what's cooler than being cool? ice cold! alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright alright!”

shine —  amine.

“i don’t wanna feel like i need ya. you’re a catch, but i’m not a receiver. i’m nervous what this might turn into, know my skin glows whenever i see you. that’s why i’m shining.”

1, 2 many  —  luke combs.

“there's no stoppin' me once i get goin'. put a can in my hand, man, i'm wide ass open. the tick-tock of that clock is like a time bomb. by half-past-ten, i’m half past tipsy. at quarter-to-twelve, man, i done had plenty. the countdown's on when the first beer hits me. 5-4-3-2-1 too many.”

[mellowswriting]

Nightmare

pairing || Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary || Bucky struggles to calm down after a particularly rough nightmare - it’s a good thing you’re there to lend him a hand.

word count || 1,799

warnings || hurt and comfort, love confessions

a/n || So I started writing this before the first episode of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier even came out (because I’m incorrigible) so if it’s a little off, that’s why. As someone who’s gone through all that fun trauma-based therapy, seeing Bucky working on himself is validating as fuck. I tried to emphasize that while a good relationship can help after trauma, it doesn’t complete the healing process or suddenly make a person whole. Anyway, enjoy!

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

“Bucky?” Your voice cracked, still thick with sleep. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I…” Bucky started but his words failed him. He couldn’t find a way to tell you about it without feeling like he was gutting himself, without bringing the images right back up to torment him all over again. The vulnerability left him trembling, dog tags clinking quietly against his bare chest with every heaving breath.

But he didn’t need to say it. You just nodded and sat down next to him on the blanket he had spread out on the hard floor. Remnants still prickled at the back of his neck, images and echoes of gunfire and that wide open emptiness that cracked his chest on every mission, but he got some small peace from your presence. He felt just a bit safer at the feeling of your knee pressed to his lightly. You didn’t probe him about it, didn’t try to weasel out details, and he was thankful. Instead you offered him your hand and in turn, offered your quiet support, and he gratefully slid his fingers up your palm to curl with your own.

The pressure of your fingers holding him was grounding, kept him in the reality of what was actually happening around him. He wasn’t in that building. He didn’t have a gun in his hand. He wasn’t trapped behind a wall in his own mind. He was at home, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor. He held your hand in his, the softness of your skin against his a sharp contrast to the imagined bite of gunmetal.

He was right there. So were you.

Your thumb slid up and down over his as you tentatively started speaking. “I used to click my tongue to keep myself grounded after nightmares.”

Bucky glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yeah, I know it seems silly, but it worked for me more often than not.” You said with a small chuckle. “Sometimes I would have to tap if the clicking thing wasn’t working. It drove Tony crazy. He always said he could hear it all throughout the compound, but I think he was bullshitting. And if the tapping didn’t work, I would do sprints until my legs couldn’t hold me up anymore.”

Bucky took a long, deep breath the way his therapist taught him during their first session. Your voice was so calming. “Keep talking?”

“Of course.” You murmured. “It’s cheesy as hell, but they do get easier to deal with. The nightmares, I mean. The more you work at it, the less… vivid they are. I still get pretty bad ones every now and then, but even those are a little easier to come down from.”

“I hope you’re right.” He said.

“Well, you’re in therapy - even if it’s mandatory, you’re still showing up. Still putting in the effort. You’re sleeping semi-regularly, eating somewhat healthy. Trust me, you’re doing better than you realize. It takes a minute for you to ease out of survival mode, so it can be hard to tell how far you’ve already come.” You squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

A breath caught in his chest as he turned to look at you where you leaned your head back against the wall. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Well, you did save me from getting shot that one time.” You teased and Bucky laughed quietly, a genuine one that seemed to surprise you. “But seriously. You’re a good person, that’s all you have to do.”

“No, I’m not.” The laugh turned self-deprecating. “I don’t have to tell you that, either. I know you’ve read the files.”

“That wasn’t you. That was Hydra.” Your free hand pressed against his bare chest, right over his heart. “This is you. You aren’t what they put in your head. You’re the person who went out and bought me a new coffeemaker in the middle of the night when mine broke so I wouldn’t have to go without caffeine the next morning. You’re the person who's mowed Mrs. Franklin’s yard twice a month since her husband passed. You’re the person who is working their ass off to get better.”

There weren’t words. He didn’t have them, the ones that could tell you how much he appreciated you, how much you meant to him. So he covered the hand you placed on his chest with his own, wishing he could actually feel you, but the prosthetic had its limitations with the enhancements given by the vibranium. You nodded at him, a quiet acknowledgement of his thanks.

Silence fell over you both. It was a comfortable one, not the heavy, oppressive silence that curled around him in the moments after waking. Your hand fell away from his chest, much to his disappointment. The skin against skin was comforting. A moment later you shifted onto your knees, ready to stand and seemingly leave him there, and Bucky tightened his grip on your hand instinctually.

“Please… don’t go.” His voice was small.

“I’m just going to get you some water. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

And you did. You returned less than a minute later and handed him a glass of cool water, watching him take a few sips until you were satisfied, and then stole a sip for yourself. Bucky couldn’t help the small smile that found him at the sight as you settled back in next to him and offered him your hand once more. He took it, but didn’t interlock your fingers like before. Instead he lifted your hand to his face and pressed your palm against his cheek, eyes falling closed at your cool skin against his warmth. Your thumb rubbed small circles along his cheekbone and when he opened his eyes again, you were looking at him almost thoughtfully. Impulsively, Bucky tilted his head slightly and kissed the delicate skin of your wrist and he could hear your breath stutter in your chest.

“Bucky…” You whispered, worry suddenly played across your features.

“I talk about you in therapy, you know.” He whispered, his heart jumping in his chest at the prospect of telling you about it, admitting his vulnerability. “I told her about how you make me feel… seen. And safe. I told her about how I always think about you. About… kissing you. And making you laugh.”

You swallowed, the sound louder in the resounding silence of three a.m confessions. “And what did she say?”

“That she could tell I was in love with you before I would even admit it to myself.” He whispered the words as if breathing them to life would make the very earth crumble at his feet.

“I couldn't live with myself if I got in the way of your healing.” You said and his heart soared in his chest. You weren't rejecting him, weren't pulling away in disgust or fear. No, you were putting his needs first - or rather, what you perceived his needs to be.

“Part of my healing is supposed to be building relationships, you know.” There was a small smile on his face at the very thought of it - of falling asleep and waking next to you each morning, of finally getting to kiss and touch you like he craved for so long.

“So… we take it slow?” You said and Bucky watched your eyes flick down to his lips before meeting his gaze again, your body leaning closer as if drawn in by the very gravity that held you to the earth.

“Yeah, we take…” Bucky leaned in, meeting you halfway, your lips a hairsbreadth apart. “...it…” You brushed your nose against his gently and he sighed contentedly, eyes finally falling closed. “...slow…”

The first press of your lips to his was soft. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, the simple pleasure of a kiss, and the fact that it was you only made it all the better. He relaxed against you, pulling you closer by a hand on your waist and angling himself to deepen the kiss. Your gasp against his lips was addictive, something he could happily spend the rest of his life seeking out.

A shudder ran down Bucky’s spine at the feeling of your hand sliding up from his cheek to tangle in his hair, the short cropped style barely enough for you to grab onto. Fuck, you felt so good, he could lose himself in you without regret, could drown in the bliss that washed over him and -

He pulled away gently, offering one last peck against your lips as a parting gift, and pressed his forehead to yours to catch his breath, to calm himself down. He had to go slow and going slow decidedly was not dragging you onto his living room floor and finally letting his hands roam underneath your soft pajamas. You chuckled quietly and that was what got him to lean back and look at you again, dumbstruck by the dazed, happy look on your face.

“You’re good at that,” You whispered, earning you a bashful laugh.

“So are you.” Bucky sighed, the heavy weight of sleepiness gathering at his shoulders. “I need to try to go back to sleep… join me?”

“I think this floor would kill my back, sweetheart.” You teased and holy shit, his heart soared in his chest.

Sweetheart. He was your sweetheart.

“I was thinking we could share my bed, but if you’re gonna tease me -”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Barnes.” You surprised him with another kiss before climbing to your feet, your hand reaching out to pull him up with you.

He couldn’t help but feel amazed at the sight of you climbing into his bed, settling right into his rumpled sheets and looking up at him expectantly. He wasn’t going to leave you waiting, not when he finally got you right where he wanted you. You yawned as you brought him closer to lay his head against your chest and he melted right into you. Bucky curled his arm around your middle, effectively bringing your bodies completely flush against each other.

“You’re so warm, Buck.” You mumbled, sleepiness already warping your voice.

Bucky just hummed, his own exhaustion finally seeping back into his body now that the remnants of paranoid tension eased away at the steady sound of your heartbeat reverberating against his ear. Your hand rested against the top of his head to tease at his hair once more, and it was that gentle affection that had his eyes falling closed. At peace for the moment, his mind let him fall back into sleep, knowing that when the nightmares inevitably found him once more, he would have you there to help guide him back to where he belonged.

Right in your arms.

[sour--disposition]

Bad Girlfriend

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

@ketamineharry suggested a harry imagine based off of Anne-Marie’s Bad Girlfriend and voila

please check my pinned post for request/prompt info and my masterlist

You cancel plans for me - I cancel ours on you - Say I'd be back early - I don't get in 'til 2 - You ask me where I've been - I tell you something vague - Think I messed up again - What can I say

You were sick and tired of Harry and his behaviour. When you first got together, you chalked his actions up to being young and dumb. And then to getting used to having more money. Then you blamed it on having to deal with so much at such a young age. 

The excuses piled up, one on top of the other. You knew one day it would all come toppling down around you, drowning you and Harry in a sea of problems that you doubted you’d be able to survive. You’d excused cheating, been by his side during hangovers from hell and comedowns that took too long to make Harry realise that the high really wasn’t worth the pain. You’d rubbed his back and handed him bottles of water and paracetamol and nursed him back to health, only for him to go and get in the same state the next weekend and expect you to help him gather the pieces back together again.

You’d tried to patch things up. Every time that you went to Harry to air all your concerns, tell him that if he doesn’t get his act together that you’d leave, and he always promised that things would be better this time. But something would always happen. There’d be plans he’d forget or cancel. He’d get too drunk and end up with hands over another girl’s body. 

“Ooh, you look nice”, Harry commented as soon as you answered his FaceTime call. “What are you doing?”, he asked you.

“I’m off out with some girls from uni tonight”, you told him as you stood up from the sofa and started gathering your things together.

“I thought you were coming over?”, he said, a small pout forming on his lips.

“Sorry”, you said nonchalantly. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah”, you told him half-heartedly.

“Yeah, whatever”, Harry huffed. “Come back here after?”, he suggested.

“Sure”, you said, a small smile on your lips. “I’ve gotta go, their taxi just pulled up. Love you”, you rushed out, hanging up and shoving your phone into your clutch, along with your keys, card and some cash.

Harry 💕: where are you it’s 11?

Harry💕: y/n c’mon i miss you

Harry💕: am i waiting up for you or not?

Harry💕: its 2am

You didn’t read the texts until you were swaying on the spot in the lift of Harry’s apartment building. Your vision was fuzzy as you tried to find the right key for their front door. “Y/N?”, Harry asked, opening the door.

“Hey”, you slurred, stumbling towards him. “I couldn’t see your key”, you told him.

“Where’ve you even been?”, Harry asked, voice dripping with distaste and disappointment.

“Here, there, everywhere”, you giggled. 

“Come on, go to bed”, Harry said sternly. “I have a shoot tomorrow and Josh will kill me if I’m late or lacking”, he told you.

“Oh, I am so very sorry”, you drawled, exaggerating all of your words, much to your own amusement.

“I’m not being funny, Y/N. Go to bed or go home”, Harry said sharply.

Your face dropped, the small square inch of your brain that was yet to be drenched in vodka and whatever else you’d been drinking lit up with anger. “Fine”, you snapped. You stormed down the hallway, sure of your footing this time and not stumbling once.

“Where are you going?”, Harry called after you.

“Home!”, you shouted, wrenching the front door open and slamming it behind you as hard as you could.

You shivered in the cold, late night wind of London as you waited on the curbside for your taxi. As soon as the car pulled up, you slid into the backseat and rattled off your address. The street lights and neon signs of London passed by in a blur of alcohol and anger and regret. “Thanks. Keep the change”, you muttered, handing a note over to the driver and getting out of the taxi.

Once you’d got back into your apartment, you changed into some pyjamas and took your make-up off as quickly as possible. You crawled under the covers, pulling them around your body and getting comfy in the middle of your bed. 

Part of you felt a little guilty for how you’d treated Harry, but a bigger part of you couldn’t find the effort to care. You’d put up with Harry acting like this for 6 years, he could tolerate you doing it once or twice.

-

You wanna meet my friends - I say another day

“Another day, Harry”, you sighed, heavily, turning back to the work you were trying to get done for your classes.

“You always say that. You’ve been on this course for, like, a year”, Harry whined.

“I know but I really need to focus on work at the moment, Harry”, you told him. “I started my degree later than I wanted to anyway and then I didn’t commit to it like I should have last year because of…”, you trailed off.  “Another day”.

“Because of what?”, Harry asked, voice taking a combative edge as he sat up straighter.

“Harry, I don’t want to get into this again”, you sighed heavily, slumping into your chair.

“Well, you started it!”, he argued. “So finish your sentence. Go on!”, he goaded.

“I couldn’t commit to my degree because I was too busy looking after you!”, you shouted. “Is that what you wanted? Me to lash out? Fucking well done”, you spat. You gathered up your things as quick as you could, closing your book and shoving things into your bag.

“Where are you going now?”, Harry asked frustratedly.

“Home. I have an essay to do for next week”, you muttered as you shoved past Harry.

Things between you and Harry were only getting worse. You knew about the other girls, but the both of you just pretended that you didn’t. All of his friends saw Harry as some sheepish kid with a loud mouth girlfriend, but they never got to see the Harry that you were seeing more and more. The Harry that held things from years ago against you, the Harry that was becoming more controlling by the day, the Harry that would raise his voice when things went even slightly not his way… The Harry that wasn’t the same Harry that you fell in love with.

-

'Cause I'm one in a million - More like in a billion - I don't think it's cheating if I'm kissing other women - I do some shit you can't forgive - And you better get used to it

The more you and Harry argued, the more his friends didn’t like you. They hid it well, especially Simon and Josh since you were such good friends with Talia and Freya. But you noticed the side glances you’d get anytime you laughed a little louder than usual, any time you’d say something that would make Talia or Freya cackle. You’d notice the looks that they would send Harry when you had the audacity to go and dance and your own, or when you’d be on your phone whilst everyone else was fighting to keep you out of the conversation.

You had no doubt in your mind that Harry was telling them bare-faced lies about you and hiding the truth about himself. You knew that they had no clue about Harry’s cheating, about how bad his drinking and substance abuse had truly been, how much he actually relied on you for day to day functioning. All they knew was that you were loud, argumentative and didn't give Harry the time of day when it came to uni work.

“Do you think she knows she’s punching?”, you heard Ethan ask JJ.

“I mean, it’s so obvious. Harry’s miles out of her league. C’mon man!”, JJ laughed in reply.

You looked to Harry to see his reaction. You knew he’d heard what was said, but based on the look on his face, he couldn’t care less. You didn’t need the validation from your boyfriend’s best friends, but it would be nice if your boyfriend would at least defend you or reassure you.

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave the table, heading towards the toilets. You were facing the mirror, touching up your hair and make-up, when Freya and Talia walked in. “What happened?”, Talia asked.

You told them what you’d heard and watched as their faces contorted into looks of horror. “Oh my god!”, Freya exclaimed. “What did Harry say!?”, she asked, coming closer to hold you hand supportively.

Your silence answered their question perfectly. “I can’t believe him”, Talia huffed, wrapping her arms around you.

“Things haven’t been great, but I never thought he’d just sit and let his best friends slag me off practically to my face”, you told them. Your eyes were watery.

“Hey, babe. Don’t let your mascara run”, a dark haired girl told you, handing you a tissue. “Whoever is letting someone slag you off is stupid”, she assured you.

“My boyfriend”, you said sadly. 

“I hate boys”, she laughed darkly, rolling her eyes, before rejoining her group of friends.

You, Talia and Freya emerged from the toilets around 5 minutes later, once you were sure that your tears had dried and weren’t going to restart. The three of you walked towards the table, Freya and Talia immediately sliding next to Josh and Simon.

“Where’s Harry?”, you asked, not seeing him anywhere. Ethan gave you a look and pointed towards the dancefloor before turning back to his conversation with JJ and Vik.

You glanced over towards the dancefloor, hoping you’d see Harry. Thankfully, he was towards the edge, back turned towards you. You watched as he turned around, ready to try and grab his attention. His eyes met yours, briefly filling with panic, before darting back down to the girl in his arms.

“Fuck this”, you muttered, as Harry’s friends and Freya and Talia all watched as he tried to assess the situation and what to do.

He watched as you walked closer, looking ready to send the stranger away. Harry’s eyes followed you as you sailed past him and towards the middle of the dance floor. You could feel eyes on you as you began dancing to the music, letting the beat mix with the alcohol and take over your body.

“Did you sort things with your boyfriend?”, a female voice asked. It was the girl from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes somewhat playfully at her.

“No”, you snorted. “I came to speak to him and he was all over another girl”, you told her. Your eyes darted over to where you’d last seen Harry. “That’s him there, sucking face with the blonde”.

“I hope he’s your ex-boyfriend now”, she told you, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s complicated”, you admitted, looking down in shame. It wasn’t news to you that you were letting Harry treat you like a doormat, but you had yet to muster up the courage to leave him. Just as you looked up, ready to offer to explain it over a drink, someone behind you shoved you, sending you catapulting into the girl’s arms.

“Careful there, can’t have you falling for me already. I’ve not even started flirting yet”, she told you with a smirk. “Martha”, she said politely, holding out a hand.

“Y/N”, you told her with a shy smile as you accepted her outstretched hand.

“Care for a dance?”, Martha asked you, pulling you closer with the hand that was still in hers.

You didn’t care if Harry and his friends watched as your bodies rolled together. Harry had never danced with you on a night out like this, never held you shamelessly in a club for everyone to see. Harry had never held your face so securely as he pulled you in for a kiss in front of everyone around you.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”, you heard beside you.

“Is this the boyfriend?”, Martha asked once she’d pulled back and let her eyes flutter open, eyeing Ethan up and down as soon as she had.

“The boyfriend’s best friend”, you told her, preparing to step out of her hold.

“Last time I checked, the boyfriend was preoccupied with someone else. Get him to come and find me when he wants his girlfriend. We’ll be right here”, she said, voice powerful and allowing no argument as her arms held you closer.

Harry never came to find you. The two of you left the club in separate taxis and you left with a new number saved in your phone.

-

You should be with someone else - Someone who is not myself

“Harry, you deserve so much better”, you heard a voice say as you walked into Harry’s apartment. You walked down the hallway quietly, lingering just behind the door frame to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“We’ve been together for so long, though”, Harry sighed.

“Did you not see what she did the other night? She was all over some other chick!”, a voice, Simon’s, exclaimed.

“Maybe it was just a mistake, y’know”, Harry tried to reason.

“She’s not good for you, Harry”, JJ, this time, said.

You’d heard enough. You turned the corner, coming face to face with all 7 of the boys. “Y/N…”, Harry trailed off.

“No, no. Carry on talking about me, it’s fine”, you said, voice lathered in artificial sweetness.

“Damnit, Y/N, it wasn’t like that”, Harry snapped, surprising everyone but you. “What are you doing?”, he asked as you started gathering a blanket off of the back of the sofa and plucking a hoodie off of the back of a dining room chair..

“Getting my shit and going”, you hissed.

“You’re being dramatic”, Harry scolded.

“No, Harry. I’ve put up with your bullshit since we were 18. I’m sick and tired of it. I’ve put my life on hold for long enough. You need someone, but I’m not that someone anymore. I’m sick of looking after you and letting your friends hate me just because you’re too much of a coward to tell them the truth”, you spat.

“We know everything, Y/N”, Ethan said smugly, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

“So you know that I started my degree late because I had to get Harry sober? You know that he’s cheated on me more times than I can count? You know that I’ve tried for 6 fucking years to get him to love me as much as I love him and it’s never fucking worked!?”, you all but yelled, shocking everyone in front of you.

“You think I don’t love you?”, Harry asked, voice frustrated and angry.

“I know that you don’t love me as much as I love you”, you told him simply. “You cancelled 3 anniversary dates to go on nights out with the guys. You made me cancel a weekend away because you wanted to go to Dubai. You get annoyed when I try to do my uni work. You let Ethan and JJ slag me off, practically to my face, and didn’t say a fucking word”, you told him.

You looked at Harry, waiting for a reaction. “Do you know how heartbreaking it is to hear my boyfriend’s best friends, people I’ve known for 6 years, say that I’m punching and that you deserve better? Did you think about how much it hurt me when you didn’t even flinch at what they said?”.

Harry’s face lit up in anger. “It’s not like you’ve been a good girlfriend!”, he spat.

“Because being a good girlfriend to you is like a full time job. It’s a full time job and I haven’t had a day off in over 5 years. So yeah, I’ve been a bad girlfriend… Boo fucking hoo”, you grumbled.

Harry remained silent, a sheepish look crossing his face. “We can try again”, he suggested quietly.

“We have! Over and over again!”, you exclaimed, tears welling in your eyes as you spoke. “I’m exhausted, Harry. I’m tired of looking after you when I’m just as hungover as you. I’m tired of not making plans because I literally can not afford for you to cancel on me anymore. You don’t value me or anything that I do. Your friends hate me and you don’t care. I’ve been your last priority for years and I’m sick of it. We’re done. I’ll put your stuff in a box and bring it round”, you told him, voice losing more and more strength as you spoke.

“Y/N…”, Harry tried, reaching for your arm.

“Don’t”.

[soupbabe]

Could I get the Bucci gang and Diavolo with a ghost sibling? (like the one you did with Dio and the Crusaders) I really appreciate your writing and you've inspired me to try to write my own reader stories sometime!

Ghost Sibling HCs: Bucci Gang Edition! (+ Diavolo)

Oh my god that's so nice of you to say!! I think it's so cool that I actually inspired someone!! Ily so much anon!! <3 My only impression of Diavolo just has been his fight w Bruno, so I just wiki'd everything for him. So I apologise if he's not entirely in character!! Also, I genuinely had nothing for Abbacchio so he's not in this one. I really hope you don't mind

Warnings!: Goes into how reader died, Spoilers for Part 5, and Mentions of abuse from Giorno's part! Please stay safe !

Bruno Bucciarati

You were an older sibling of Bruno and you also stuck around with your father when the divorce came along

You commonly worked along with your father and ended up getting murdered when the gangsters infiltrated the boat

While your father was able to survive, you died at the scene. Your soul set to haunt the surrounding dock

Although it was tricky trying to see you due to the lingering fear of potential gangsters, Bruno always managed to find a way to visit you

It was hard for the younger Bucciarati, he cared about you as much as he did his father

Almost every visit was paired with a somber undertone, no matter how normal you tried to make it

But you were proud of Bruno and the man he's become today and you two still keep in touch

I do believe that as he gets older, he'd look at this place with a bit more fondness. Replacing the tragic memory of you and your father with all the times you tried to be there for him

When he became Capo, Bruno made certain to keep tabs on the small fishing village, making sure your resting place is in pristine condition

He's well aware that you might not get to pass on and he just wants to do what can to get you the best

Giorno Giovanna

You were Giorno's older step-sibling, having there be a 5-8 year age difference between the two of you

You were well aware of your father's abuse and did what you could to protect your little brother

Of course, your father didn't take too kindly to your behavior and it only made your punishments worse

One night, your father took out most of his anger onto you and it ended up killing you

Your soul latched onto Giorno, wanting to keep on protecting him even in death

You were there for him through everything and you were happy that he was able to find better family through the gang

And even in the gang, you were able to find your own peace in a way

(mostly) everyone welcomed you with open arms and it was a nice change of pace from talking to only Giorno for the past 10 or so years

Pannacotta Fugo

You were an older sibling, praised by your parents and used as an example for Fugo to follow

He never really resented you because of it though. You were helpful when he had the toughest lessons and treated him with the care that your parents never gave

I can imagine Fugo accidentally killing you during one of his rages, you got too close and he lashed out at you

As if he wasn't freaked out and panicked over your murder, seeing your ghost wasn't any better

He ignored any note of your presence, leaving it up to some hallucination rather than a ghost of all things

It took him a while to actually accept the fact that you're still with him and it was really awkward for a while

It made his guilt about the situation worse tbh, like it's been too long that he can't really apologize for what he did to you

And I don't imagine you being too happy either. Spending your eternity with your murderer and have him deny your existence for a couple of months does hurt

It's just one of those cases where your relationship couldn't be repaired after death, leaving you both to spend each other's company with an awkward weight on each other's shoulders

Both of you were never well taught in emotions so trying to cope with something as strange as this is not likely.

Narancia Ghirga

You were Narancia's twin sibling

you were just as loyal as him so you didn't bat an eye when he proposed that you both take Polpo's test

It's not like he would do it without you anyways, you two were a package deal

What he didn't take in account was you not surviving the stand arrow

It really did break Narancia seeing you dead and then seeing your ghost, looking like nothing happened

I feel like you haunting him furthers his denial of your actual death. That it doesn't actually matter since you're still next to him and able to laugh like nothing happened

It would be a combination of you and Bucciarati to help him with his grief, but he was still joyful to have you around

Even though you couldn't interact much with the physical world, he still invited you to his math lessons with Fugo and treated you as a valid member of the gang

Guido Mista

You were Mista's younger sibling that haunted his apartment

He'll admit that it was a bit freaky dealing with you at first, but he managed to adapt to it pretty quickly

He was able to live his usual carefree lifestyle, the added money from being apart of Passione was used for making the house a bit more comfortable

He felt bad that you couldn't leave and tried to make it more bearable

Plus he did it as an apology for all the times you cleaned up the pigsty that is his room

He also enjoyed that you were also free home security

He's made a couple of enemies in his time and having someone who can't be injured through typical means was helpful

He always enjoyed the occasional stories you told of the intruder's terrified faces at the fact that their guns and knives had no effect on you

But even if you were already dead, he'd ask for the faces of the idiots who disrespected and tried to kill to you.

Just because you're dead doesn't change the fact that you were still his family and he needed to teach those losers a lesson when you can't do it yourself.

Diavolo

Oh my god I'm so sorry for you

Listen, this man was not above attempted murder of his own daughter to hide his identity. You would've been one of his first targets

When he'd see that you never actually died, he would use whatever he had in his arsenal to get rid of you

But of course nothing worked, having to come to terms that you were a ghost

I don't think this could make his paranoia worse because technically you are gone and you can't go outside without him/Doppio, it's just a great inconvenience

He usually acts like you don't exist, yelling at you if you were to interact with the mafia boss

To Doppio you were only known to be a close friend of the boss and nothing else

He would happily chat with you, blissfully unaware that he was talking to a corpse

I think being anywhere near Diavolo in this state is a fate worst than death

Being around such a dark and negative energy already isn't good for the living, imagine how the dead feels

Plus not to mention the rough period of occasional murder attempts, all in new ways for Diavolo to get you gone for once and for all

[julyarchives]

Thicker Than Blood || (M) || Ch. 01

Growing up in a tough neighborhood had you learning to deal with hard situations, the occasion leads you to cooperate with the mafia organization that took care of your neighborhood - Pentagon. Looking after yourself and valuing your safety brought you to adapt to the moment, but the line between working for them and protecting yourself is very blurry when you are forced to live under their roof.

→ Pairing: Pentagon OT9 x Reader

→ Genre: Smut; Mafia AU.

→ Words:  2.2K

→ Contains: Mentions of Alcohol; Mentions of Violence.

→ A/n: So this is our Pentagon Mafia AU Series! This story will be multi-chaptered and we will add more tags as the story goes on, we have big plans for it! We hope you guys like it and it is worth the wait!

→ Index: 01 • 02 • 03

Chapter 01 - The Collectors

The cute jeans and red t-shirt you wore barely matched the bar you currently were on behind the counter. The place was quite nice but it was still too rustic for your liking, too brown and dark. Usually, the customers were rustic as well, and had a certain grumpiness to them, just like the place. You shrugged for the nth time while lost in thoughts. Working at a bar on a Tuesday night was the perfect situation for boredom, and bored you were.

Thinking back, you barely understood how you got the job anyway, walking in there one day to kick your friend's ass for drinking while you had a job to do with him and the owner liked your style. He needed someone behind the counter, you needed the money, it was perfect. You were rather young and sweet, you knew that often resolving some complicated shit and arguments in the bar but you also knew how to answer when needed and to take no one's shit home, you still stood up for yourself. Ok so maybe working at a bar was the perfect job for you.

Not wanting to dwell on how you wanted a better paid perfect job, you busied yourself by watching the entrance. It was Tuesday, so you've been kind of anxious the whole day waiting for them to show up. You almost gave your excitement away when two figures entered the bar and sat in front of you on the bar stools.

"Hello, boys. The usual?", you asked them with a bright smile.

"Please, Y/N".

"Right away", you chipped as you turned to get them their cold drinks. It'd be funny to see them drink a sweet cocktail instead of anything stronger if you didn't know them a bit better.

Wooseok and Yuto were young. Sweet and awkward boys that most older people liked and wanted to pamper. That's what you heard anyway whenever you spoke to the neighbors. You also knew they were attached to the hip, always together and always messing with each other. They had a third part to their best friend dynamic and you only saw him a few times at the bar, but you knew they clearly loved each other as brothers.

But that information didn't add up to the other information you had on the boys. The reason you expected them every Tuesday was because of their work. And that was what confused you. As every person in the region knew, there was only one force to respect and listen and that was the Pentagon gang. No, not a gang. It was straight down mafia business and these two cute young boys were their collectors. So every Tuesday they went out to collect the fee from every block and at the end, they'd crash at the bar to chat and drink something.

Seeing them every week made you realize how nice they were and quickly put the whole mafia business behind them. You, better than anyone, understood that you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Since then, Wooseok and Yuto became more open with you and always brought back gossip when they had a good day. After all, mafia men were still men. Well, boys.

"Here you go, guys", you placed the drinks down and smiled sweetly.

"Thanks, Y/N", Yuto had a deep voice and it always managed to startle you.

"So, any gossip?", you chuckled and the boys followed, lowering their heads as if to share a secret with you.

"Guy from the butcher shop was working alone", Wooseok said, "caught his employee with his girl".

"No way!", you truly were shocked at the irrelevant news.

"Yep", he said while Yuto nodded. "Oh, and someone's trying to get inside our territory. We saw a warning at a wall, directed at us and, well, at all of you".

"What?!", you shouted and they looked at you like you just offended their entire family. You were confused. One, why were they telling you information that may be confidential? Two, how could they speak about something dangerous so casually?

"We have orders to let you know, actually", Yuto said as if he was reading your mind. "We know who these people are but not their faces. We thought maybe they'd start by frequenting a place where they can get more intel on our people".

"Here then".

"Hm, yeah", Wooseok nodded. "The warning only said to be careful who is loyal to us or the community would show us. We guess they want to turn people against us"

"More people, more money. An entire neighborhood against us wouldn't be controlled by usual methods. So, that's when you come in".

"If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then no way". You were bold enough to talk back and they only raised their eyebrows at you.

"We only need you to be on the lookout for someone different", Wooseok clarified, "if there's at least one person asking the wrong questions about the community, you gotta let us know".

"Helps if we can identify a face", Yuto shrugged.

"Do I have a say in this?", you already knew the answer.

"As much as you do about our fee, Y/N".

"Fine. But if they come for me, I won't wait for your boys to come to rescue me. I'll bolt", you said with a sigh in defeat.

"You won't be alone", Wooseok said as Yuto typed away on an old phone. "You'll be getting a visit from tomorrow on, he's our shapeshifter, blends in wherever".

"If you have a guy like that, why put me to watch anyone?"

"Y/N", Yuto sighed and looked straight into your eyes. "We could burst into any safe house right now and do whatever we pleased with whoever was in our way. But we do value our community, that's why we got hold of this business in the first place. The bar is where everyone comes for information and you know that. Don't forget why you're behind this counter, to begin with. We need the bartender to do her job and chat with her customers as she does. The info will come to you".

"I-", you were starstruck and kept glancing from Yuto to Wooseok, hands on the counter. "I- this is the most you have spoken to me since we met". It came out accidentally and you wanted to slap yourself.

Wooseok laughed and Yuto smiled at you. You could feel the heat on your cheeks but only nodded to yourself, still processing everything. They finished their drinks in one big gulp and got up, Yuto nodding at you still with a cute smile on his lips, one that didn't match his previous words. Wooseok watched as Yuto walked out of the bar and chuckled at your expression that slowly was turning grumpy.

"I know you'll do just fine. It's not like us to put people in our business but to protect people, we need you", he was leaning forward, as if to make you see him and only him. "So, congratulations, you got promoted!", he laughed.

"Yeah, I'm the lookout kid", you definitely were grumpy now. "You need me to protect people but who protects me?".

"Me", Wooseok said a bit too fast. "I mean, Pentagon does. And you'll have the right company for that, don't worry. He'll be here tomorrow night".

Wooseok smiled at you again and turned away from you, leaving you to your thoughts. Why the hell was this happening? You got why this way was safer to find out who was behind the threat but you still were unsure. Well, it's not like you could say no without a valid reason. And apparently, your safety wasn't one.

You watched Wooseok leave and sighed. Getting their glasses to clean up, you kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong but also all the things that could go right. Part of you wanted to impress them and come out as a hero, it'd give you something else to do instead of just being the bartender. You laughed at the absurdity of it all and quickly shoved it all in the back of your head, deciding to let the future self deal with the situation and this guy who'd meet you tomorrow, slipping back into the boredom of a Tuesday night at the bar once again.

Laying on your bed, your mind raced nonstop and you couldn't sleep no matter how much you tried. Yuto's words kept coming back and you felt even more deflated each time. "Don't forget why you're behind this counter, to begin with". You knew your upbringing was shitty and you had to fend for yourself a long time but you honestly thought that it didn't matter much until now.

Your parents fled when you were eight. They had some issues with themselves and suddenly having a family became too much of a cage for them and they fled. They left you with your grandmother and never came back. Your grandma was a saint, she was sweet and loving but she was sick enough to not be able to work, so you toughen up and started bringing money home by twelve years old.

You smiled thinking about how she raised you with such care and love that you managed to get that trait from her even if the streets treated you like shit. You discovered soon enough that all the love your grandma had was all the love you could get because no one liked a little girl who put her hands on whatever she could find to sell and get hers. You met a few people while you grew up and managed to turn out just fine even if it bruised you more than you liked to admit.

When you were around seventeen your grandma passed, you thankfully blocked whatever memory you had of her suffering and only focused on her happy memories. Since then you got her small and simple house and got more involved in the community, everyone who respected your grandma finally understanding why you were a kid like you were. Fast forward a few years and you got the job at the bar and things got a bit better.

You got up from the bed and scoffed at how things were mostly shoved on your face enough that you had to go with the flow every time. Fucking Pentagon taking over the neighborhood when you were a kid and now this. You heard more than participated in the whole protecting mafia business when you were younger, but the situation wasn't strange to you. Getting around in the streets you knew things and the most important one was to follow the organization's rules.

When you were twelve and started to hit the streets, you knew very well to not mess with the men from the org. But also soon enough you learned that the best way to earn anything good was to be on their good side. So you started to run a few errands for them and earned a good amount. Of course, you had nothing to do with them but still, it was a good connection. You didn't know much about the members in the hierarchy but you were sure that no one from the time you were a kid was still in their ranks.

You were sure mafia business was very harsh and violent but the boss was too violent once upon a time and things got out of hand. The neighborhood they swore to protect was being targeted and they brought the fight to all people. Fortunately, it ended after a few months of much fear and blood around the streets and you heard they all changed members. Rumor had it that it was their kids that took over when the parents died during the more violent times, at least in the high ranks. But you had stopped tending to them a few months before it went down so you had no idea for sure.

You only knew that Pentagon had a hard time getting people's trust again and started a more gentle approach with the community, hence why Wooseok and Yuto were dear to some people under their wings. They went over to everyone who had helped them directly and formally thanked and apologized for their trouble. Of course, they still terrified people who walked out of line and when the community respected them again, it was clear they were in charge. But now it seemed like they only cared about their own business and getting richer with their schemes instead of getting involved in a bloody gun war.

You realized you were standing in the middle of the corridor getting lost in thought and laughed to yourself before finishing the path to the kitchen to get water. The cold water helped you calm down and soon you were too busy sitting on the couch looking for any silly reality show to get lost into.

Halfway through the episode, you felt the sleep taking over you but being comfortable on the couch made you just pull a cover you kept there over you and stayed there, falling asleep in seconds. It was a very rough and long day, so you welcomed the slumber gratefully. Little did you know that while you succumbed to sleep in the living room, your phone buzzed in your bedroom, a small text that should be completely out of line appearing.

We trust you to do this safely but count on me to help. -WS.

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Killahead, Part 2 | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  5,258

Warnings: B A T T L E 

A/N:  HAPPY HOLIDAYS KIDS!!!!!  also, i swear to god this was written a month ago, before aaron confirmed the skulls and wizards thing

Taglist:  @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman @tales-of-hisirdoux​ @blixeon​​ @yagirlcheesely​

It was about as surreal as you thought it would be.

As a child you were trained to fight; to stab, to slice, to claw, and to bleed.  You were taught that humans were the root of all evil and that the Gumm-Gumms would one day take what was theirs.  Now you were fighting with the humans, the evil, the oppressors, against what had been your home, your people.

And it was going surprisingly well.  It turns out having insider knowledge is very helpful on the battlefield.  You were able to block everything they threw at you, to dodge and weave through their attacks and land some pretty good hits of your own.  Douxie had your back, of course, blue light striking down as many opponents as it could take.  In return, you took out anything that even threatened to get too close.

It was going well.  But it didn’t last.

“WHERE IS THE WITCH SPY?”

“Oh no.”

“(Y/N), stay behind me,” Douxie’s voice was a dull hum against the roar around you, and of course, the screaming troll in front of you.

“JOIN YOUR BROTHERS AGAINST THIS PATHETIC ARMY!!”

“Oh god.”

Douxie noticed the fact that you weren’t even close to listening to him and took action, moving in front of you, striking any Gumm-Gumm soldier who even looked your way.

“RETURN HOME (Y/N) (L/N)!”

So, that was it.  That was what had kept you in the dark as a traitor for at least a hundred years.  The very sentence that made you avoid Britain with all your strength.  The thing that drove a wedge between you and the man you now loved.

Four words were all it took.

“(Y/N)??  (Y/N), love, please, answer me!”

You jerked your head, snapping back to reality.  No matter what events were relevant to your personal history, there was still a battle going on.  You had to keep fighting.  You struck down another few Gumm-Gumms just as Douxie used some of Archie’s fire to dispose of another, another few.

“Ha, I've always hated those twits!”

“Valid!” you cried as you ducked under an opponent’s strike.  You took out their knees, rising again, just in time to see Morgana descend from a sky wormhole.  Just what you needed.

“Night has already fallen.”

“Oh, really?  Couldn’t tell.”

Douxie rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, but you could see the grin on his face.  That boy loved you and all of your shenanigans.  You were shaken from your thoughts, however, when Morgana started firing spells into the crowd, yeeting her magic around with reckless abandon.  

“Morgana’s returned!  She’s enemy number one!”

“Go!” Jim yelled, “We’ll hold the bridge!”

“Hisirdoux, with me!  I-You!” oh no, he was talking to you, “I take you in as my apprentice, spare your life from the sword, and this is how you-”

“Master, they didn’t have a choice!”  Douxie grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him as if to shield you from Merlin’s wrath, “It was a matter of survival!”

“Survival!  What-”

“Please, Master, let them help.  If we leave them here, any of the nights might try to attack them!”

“And why should that matter!  They are a traitor, are they not?  Death on the battlefield is more merciful than anything they might receive after the battle is won.”

“I won’t let anything happen to them,”  Douxie’s voice was calm, but you could hear the anger behind it, “(Y/N) has proved their loyalty to me hundreds of times. They’re more than capable and I trust them with my life.”

You broke from your reverie, eyes painted with concern.  How could he trust you so easily?  Why did he, even after everything that had happened?  This shouldn’t have come as such a shock to you.  He did love you, after all, and yet, you still found yourself surprised by this revelation.  You couldn’t help the hesitant smile that crept onto your face as you squeezed his hand slightly.  He really did love you, didn’t he?

Merlin grumbled something, probably regretting that binding spell right about now, before motioning for you to follow him.

You cast a wave back to the kids, a silent wish for their luck, before you ran after Merlin, your hand still entwined with Douxie’s.  He didn’t let go until you reached a small group of ruins, at which point you, your wizard and the old man stood, backs facing each other, all of you peered out into the darkness.  Archie flew above you, dragon eyes finding nothing out of the ordinary.  Not yet, anyway.  You kept your sword out in front of you, and you could tell that Douxie was doing the same with his brace.  You had no idea what Merlin was doing, but you never did, so that wasn’t a big deal.

“I feel dark magic.”

“It means she’s close.”

You and the familiar both gasped as something ran through the trees.  A chill made its way into the woods, surrounding you and raising goosebumps on your skin.  You felt your heart begin to race as strange echoes continued to ring out through the air.  They soon morphed from a collection of noises into a laugh- Morgana’s.

“An old man, a foolish boy, and a traitor; lost as always.”

Your small group moved slightly, scanning the forest for any sign of the sorceress.  You could feel her presence, but there was nothing there.

“Do you dare run… or face my vengeance?”

Oh.  There she was.

“Um, is there a third option?”  Archie asked, sounding much too calm for the situation at hand.  You couldn’t blame him though, you would have done the same.  But you weren’t doing the same.  You were looking over your shoulder just as a collection of roots shot out at you.  Thanks to your little turn, you had an advantage, cutting the offending plant parts before they could get to you.  Douxie and Merlin, however, were not so lucky.  The latter was pulled to the ground and stabbed through the shoulder with a particularly sharp root.  He barked out an order for Hisirdoux to run, which he could not do because of the roots clinging to his shoulders.  You used your sword on what you could, and a blast of green energy from Merlin took out the rest.  A little anticlimactic if you ask me.

Despite your escape, Morgana cackled, even as Douxie fired spell after spell at her with little success.  While he made his attempt, you helped Merlin to a standing position, a task that became easier when Douxie rejoined you at the old wizard’s other side.

“Merlin, you’re injured!  Badly…  (Y/N), is there anything-”

“Hisirdoux, if I should fall this day…”

Merlin handed his former apprentice a scroll, one which was covered with notes and instructions about building a tomb, and the heart of Avalon.  Your brows furrowed as you read over Douxie’s shoulder.  That wasn’t ominous at all.

“Why are you giving us this?”

“Foreseeing the future means preparing for the worst of it,” he glared at you for a moment, and you wondered what exactly he could see.  He clearly hadn’t seen your act of treason coming, but there were other things that made you wonder.  Your thoughts were interrupted by more ominous Merlin content, “That includes your wounded friend.”

“Jim?  What about him?”

“The corruption in his heart has no cure.  When he returns to the future, it will overtake him.”

Oh.  Oh.  

Oh no.

You’d had your suspicions, but hearing it from the master wizard himself brought it to another level of reality.  There was no cure.  There was no solution.  You were going to go home, and you were going to kill Douxie.  Or you’d try to, at the very least.  Maybe, now that Douxie was a master wizard himself, he could do you both a kindness and kill you where you stood.  

…

Yeah, no.  He wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon, but a witch could dream!  You feel his hand on your back, a gesture meant to comfort you that only made you sick.  How he still cared about you, even after all of this would confuse you for years to come.  For now, though, you just accepted it.  There wasn’t time for much else with an evil sorceress on the prowl.

“No, no there must be some other way!  I made a promise to them, to Claire, to get them home alive, all of them!”

“Yet, to save time itself, you all must return home, even if it means James Lake will be no more.”

That wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought.  While a distance stemming from your past had momentarily sprung up between you and the kids, the gap between you had since closed.  You loved those little monsters like they were your siblings, and you’d do anything for them.  The thought that Jim would have to die, to make another sacrifice when he’d already given up so much, was just another thing that killed you inside.

“And there’s no other solution?” you tried to keep quiet despite the rage that boiled inside you, not at anyone in particular, but at the situation as a whole, “There’s no way to fix this that doesn’t get Jim killed?”

Merlin shook his head, but you didn’t need that confirmation.  You already knew the answer.

“Such is the burden of a wizard,” the old one spoke as your small group made its way deeper into the night, “To make the hard choices mortals cannot,” he grunted, slouching forward slightly, reminding you that you should really take a look at that stab wound at some point.  Merlin, however, paid no real mind to this, instead, continuing his little monologue, ���Now it is yours to bear.”

You looked away from your wizard companions to see a giant skull, lodged between a rock and… well, another rock.  Some may call it a canyon, you called it fucking ominous and terrifying.  The skull was lit from within, orange light seeping through the space where eyes had once stared out into the world.  You wondered, for a moment, how these old bones had ended up here, and how they had stayed.  What was the last thing this being saw?  Was it the sky above, or the ground below?  What could kill something as large as this?  You didn’t ask your questions.  It didn’t seem like the right time.  

And really, it wasn’t time for anything other than nerves and anxiety.  Without a word, you followed Merlin across the rocks until he stood in front of the skull, on top of an odd sort of contraption.  You stood a few steps behind, safely off the weird cage thing.

“Morgana, reveal thyself!”

Before you could question the logistics of giving yourselves away, a portal, ringed with gold and made of shadows appeared, releasing the queen of the apocalypse onto another rock.  Yep, that sure was an evil sorceress.  Just what you needed at this time of night.

“Look what has wandered into my web,” nice starting point.  Threatening, but not over the top.  You cast your sarcastic thoughts aside for the moment, as valid as they were, preparing yourself instead, for a fight.

“These are dark powers you medal with, Morgana.  Who granted them?  Who resurrected you from death?”

“Wizards beyond your ken,” ah shit.  Just as you suspected.  ‘Wizards beyond your ken,’ was mysterious witch for ‘The Arcane Order.’

And then she was gone again.  Dope.

“So, uh… we should head into the big skull of doom?” you asked, eyebrows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion.

“Yep, let’s go.”  You and Douxie nodded at each other before helping Merlin scale the rocks and get into the skull, asking Archie to stand watch for a moment, just to secure his safety.  He agreed only once you’d promised to call him if things got rough.  

Inside of the first skull, you found a second, slightly smaller skull.  What the hell was it with magic dudes and skulls, huh?  Morgana had this as her lair, the Arcane Order’s ship was a skull, Douxie had his whole vibe and Merlin kept skulls in his office.  Shit, even you kept bones around, though you were a doctor and arguably had the best excuse.  Your thoughts ran wild as you examined the space around you, but they were interrupted by the reappearance of your least favourite murder-witch.

“Morgana!”

The two wizards prepared for battle, but you hesitated.  Something was wrong here.  Morgana was crying, no-sobbing.  You recognized this, whatever this was.  You’d seen it in yourself back in the 1300s.  Yep, something was wrong alright, and judging by this, someone was probably dead.

“It’s your fault!” She cried, “You’re the reason Arthur is gone!” 

Oh, so you were right.  That didn’t really explain how Arthur’s blood was on your hands though.

“What?”

“Gone?”

“Uh, guys?  It kinda sounds like the King is dead.”

Your companions had no time to respond as Morgana rose through the air, seeking misplaced revenge instead of proper justice.  She fired a spell at the three of you, which Douxie ran to shield you from.  Merlin joined him a second later, limping towards the younger wizard with your help.  The second he stood on his own, your magic joined theirs.

“She’s too powerful!  We have no choice but to seal her away!”

“I know.  I’ll try to buy some ti-”

Douxie was cut off when Merlin knocked you both clear across the room and out of the way of another spell, one which left the old wizard in chains.

You felt the impact that Douxie suffered and you were sure he felt yours.  Nevertheless, the two of you pulled yourselves up just as Morgana started on another speech.

“Oh, shame!  Little Douxie finally gets his staff, just in time to die with it!” 

She aimed her next attack at him, but you interfered, knocking her away with a shield made of your magic.  

“And you!  Traitorous little wretch!”  you weren’t exactly sure which treason she was talking about or who she learned it from.  You’d betrayed a lot of people over the years, she’d have to be more specific, “Why do you still fight alongside them?!”

You knocked away another attack before answering, “The shorter one is cute!”  With that, you went on the offensive, landing a kick to Morgana’s stomach and striking her again with the butt of your sword.  Your small victory didn’t last long though, as she struck back, the impact slamming you into the opposite wall and probably cracking a few of your ribs.  You’d have to apologize to Douxie for that one.

Morgana scoffed at you, looking down at your crumpled figure as you struggled to stand, “Only a fool would fight for love!” 

Her voice may have contained a little more rage than was necessary, and she may have been projecting a little bit, but she didn’t have time to say anything else.  Douxie handed a few hits with his staff, using surprise to his advantage, and holding up surprisingly well despite the pain you both were in.  Morgana turned her taunting onto Douxie, mocking him as they fought.

“You can’t even wield it!” you winced as she landed a hit, “You should stick to your usual tricks.”

You bit your lip as she struck him in the face- twice.  This really wasn’t a great day for either of you, was it?

“Use the power of your staff!  Make it your own!”

“Please, Douxie.”  Your voice was quiet, and there was almost no way he heard it.  Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but in the next second, his staff turned into a fucking guitar so that was probably it if you had to guess.  Or maybe it was the next second when he avenged you by smacking Morgana in the face with said guitar, sending her flying across the room.  You knew that as a doctor you shouldn’t hope for someone to crack a rib, but this was an exception you were willing to make.

“What?!”

“BABE!  THAT WAS HOT!!” you yelled, too shocked to say much else.

“Bleeding balroths!  This is nuclear!” your wizard said, spinning the staff around.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that as you pulled yourself up from the ground.  Of all the things Douxie had ever said and done in his life, that had to be the Douxie-est.

“Did you just strike me with a-a lute?!”

“Uh-uh-uh-uh.  No, uh-uh.  Spellcaster guitar, darling.”

You weren’t exactly sure what the fuck he just said, but you were 110% there for it.  He played a lil’ riff on his staff, and you had a very brief mental debate on whether or not that took the throne for the Douxie-est thing he’d ever done.

“Needs tuning though.”  He continued to play the riff for a solid minute, and you weren’t sure what was funnier.  The fact that this was, in fact, something that was happening, or how Done Merlin looked with literally everything at that moment.  It was both.  Both was good.

“I meant make it your own weapon!”

Douxie finished playing just in time to shield himself from another of Morgana’s attacks, “Well, this is technically an “axe!”  

“You are a huge geek!”

“And you love it!” your wizard yelled, playing again while running from Morgana, looking for an opening while avoiding a volley of spells.  He was right.  You did love it.  That’s why you were going to help at the next opportunity, your (and technically his) poor ribs be damned.  

“Hisirdoux!  This is no time for dreadful music!”

“Dreadful?”

“Absolutely infernal.”

“I mean, I thought it was good!”  you yelled, launching your own round of spells at Morgana, making it harder for her to land a hit on Douxie.

“No worries, this is just the opening track!”

“What do you hope to do?  Blow out our eardrums?”

“Well, pardon me if this rock is too freakin’ awesome for your medieval sensibilities!”    You had no idea how he did it, but he managed to land on one of the light fixtures (of all things) while you weren’t looking.  You couldn’t really see him from where you were, but you were almost certain that he was doing the sign of horns and sticking out his tongue.

“Enough of your noise!”  Morgana cried, blasting you to the side quickly before returning to her real fight.  You were lucky that this blast was not as strong as her first.  You were able to roll out of it without causing any real damage, a benefit to both you and Douxie.  Speaking of, your wizard found himself locked in a Harry Potter-style duel, two magics facing off against one another in a single stream.  It was not looking too good for your boi though.  He seemed to notice this, and jumped from the light and returned to physical combat on the ground.  Unfortunately, that did not end well either, and you bit back a cry as Douxie was thrown through the room.  Yeah, things were looking rough.  Time to call in the cat calvary. 

You swore you were only gone for a moment, but in that time, Douxie managed to get himself pinned against a wall.

“Do not fret, Merlin.  You’ll find a new apprentice to replace him.  Are people not dispensable, after all?”

“Ok, go, go now!”  you whispered to Archie, your tone intense, which was fair considering the situation.  The familiar did as told and flew at the witch, sending her fling off balance and keeping her away from Douxie.  Arch did a quick loop near Merlin, tossing the wizard his staff before circling around to land on Douxie’s shoulder.  Merlin and Morgana began their fight as you ran to your wizard and his familiar.

“Nice work my dudes, you think you can keep it up?”

“Probably!  Arch, light me!”  you liked the sound of that. You liked the sight of it even more as blue flames encircled Morgana, trapping her, and allowing Douxie and Archie to make their final attack, keeping the sorceress in place.

“Hurry, I can’t hold her that long!”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” you said, voice quiet as you threw your own spell at the witch from below.  Hopefully, that would make things a little easier.  It did.  Douxie was grateful.  

“You have lost yourself, Morgana!  Bound to dark magic.  I have no choice but to seal you away!  Sigilia infractum!”

It seemed to work for a second, but then, for like, the third (?) time in that battle you were blasted back, Douxie fell with you and hit the ground harder.  

“Man, this sucks,” you whispered as you pulled yourselves up, going to Merlin’s aid.

“Master!”

“She’s too powerful,” he groaned, “You have to finish this, together.”

“We can do that… we can do that!  Let’s go!”

You and Douxie moved in sync, matching each other’s movements exactly.  Using his staff, Douxie’s blue magic replaced Merlin’s green while yours froze the witch again, keeping her from attacking you.

“Sigilia infractum causera!”

Finally, the blast from the spell did not hurt you, instead, it did as it was supposed to, trapping Morgana.  You let your own spell ease up, instead, lending whatever strength you could to Douxie, God knows he would need it.

“I will destroy you all!  No matter what it takes, no matter where you go, I will end all that you love until you feel my agony!”

“Yeah, you aren’t the first person to threaten that!  Come up with something original, then we’ll talk.”

The witch roared and threw a spell in your direction, but it disappeared into a shadow edged with purple.

“Hey!  Hands off my teachers!”

Oh, Claire!  Claire had found you somehow, that was good.

“I swear on all your lives, I shall rise again!”

“Already seen it,” the girl cried, throwing some much-deserved sass Morgana's way, “You don’t win.  See you in 900 years!”

And with that, the spell was complete.  Claire opened another portal, dragging Morgana into it.  With that big historical event over, your adrenaline failed you and you staggered forward.  That was pretty convenient considering it let you catch Douxie, who was doing much worse than you were.  You noticed his eyes rolling back slightly, which was a cause for some alarm.

“Hey, heyheyheyheyhey, stay with us, you nerd, don’t pass out on me,” you weren’t sure you could handle the stress if he did.

“Douxie!  Are you okay?!”  Archie and Claire moved in, the former knocking Douxie back and licking his face relentlessly.

“Ugh!  That’s-that’s disgusting!”

You and Claire both laughed at this, glad that at least this part of the fight was finally over.  Douxie stole a glance at you and wondered if he had somehow died during the battle.  How else could there be an angel before him?

“Well,” he turned his gaze from your smile to Claire with only minor difficulties, “I think we just saved history.”

You sat back, all fears forgotten for now in a moment of relief and elation as you watched your boyfriend give the girl a high-five.

“And you took down a ninth-level sorceress.”

“Damn right,” you giggled, which was new, but not unwelcome.  You turned to Douxie, “Sharp work, samurai.”  Your friends rolled their eyes at your antics, though they did it out of love.

The excitement calmed for a moment, allowing Archie to speak, “Merlin would be proud.”

“Yeah, if he wasn’t out cold.”

“I mean, it’s not a great look for him, but full transparency?  I could probably take a three-hundred-year nap right now.”

Douxie laughed, but he wrapped a hand around yours and whispered, “Please don’t.”

You squeezed his hand, a silent promise that you would not answer your problems with sleep.  Not today, anyway.  To be completely honest, the problem immediately at hand could be solved rather quickly, by you, at least.

“Anyway, Merlin’s still been stabbed, so I’ll just-”

Fortunately, this was just a stab wound.  No magic, no tricks, no possession, just medicine.  That was what you knew, it was what you could deal with.  It was over too quickly.  Was that a thing you could say?  Could you wish for medical treatment to last longer?  Was that something you could do?  Not to mention that he was your boyfriend’s surrogate dad, which just made things complicated.  Either way, it was over too fast.  You returned to Camelot, mourned the dead, said your goodbyes, and that was it.  Time was up.  You had to go home.

Home.  What even was home now?  You knew the answer.  Home was Douxie.  Wherever he was, you wanted to be.  He made you feel safe, feel loved, feel every good thing that humans are supposed to feel, but-  To save the world, to save his life, you would have to leave him.  There was no other choice, either you stayed in the past and everyone died, or you went back to the future and risked his life by staying with him.  You had to go.  As soon as you got back, you’d have to run.  You didn’t know where, to-to Spain, or Japan, or Cuba, Vietnam, Egypt, France, somewhere, anywhere, just to keep him safe.  You didn’t want to do it.  You just wanted to stay by his side, forever, if possible.  But that was the thing.  It wasn’t possible.  And that broke your heart.

And if possible, these gosh darn kids were going to break you even more.

“Everybody, ready yourselves.  We don’t have much time.  I’ll dial us in for when we left.”

“But what’s gonna happen when we get there?  The danger we escaped, it’ll be waiting for us.  And Jim’s still hurt.”

You bit your lip as you and Douxie approached Jim and Claire. You really didn’t want to be the one who had to say this.  You didn’t want to be around when she heard the news.  Shit, you didn’t even want it to be news.  You just wanted your kids to be happy, and to not kill your boyfriend, and to live for once.  Maybe fate just didn’t like you.

“Claire, about that…  Jim is-”

“Ready to face the inevitable,” Jim held out a hand to stop you.

“Jim, are you sure?” Douxie asked while you maintained your silence.  You were pretty sure if you said anything you’d lose your composure. 

“Jim?”  Oh God, and now Claire was going to find out how screwed you still were.  This was gonna suck.

“Claire, the shard in-  There is no cure.  That’s what Merlin told me earlier.”

You winced at the horror on the young girl’s face.  She didn’t deserve this.  Neither of them did.

“That’s crazy!  We can find something!  I’ll learn a spell, we can stay here!”

“If we don’t all go back right now, the future won’t exist.  What kind of hero would I be if I sacrificed everyone else?  Not to be ironic, but we’re out of time.”

“No!  Douxie, (Y/N), tell him!  We can fix this!  You can fix this!”

You brought your hand up to hide your eyes from the sorceress.  She was right, you should have been able to fix this, and tears wouldn’t solve anything.  Your only solution was running away, and Jim-  oh God, Jim.  See, it was things like this that made you start drinking in the twenties.

“I’m sorry, Claire.  He’s right.  We must go back now, but when we do, we’ll find a way to reverse this,”  he stole a glance back at you, and your distraught state only drove him further.  He had to do this, to fix things when you got home.  He owed all of you that much, “I promised I would return you home, and I am, but the portal can only stay open for a few moments.  This is our one shot.  Trust me.”

A moment later, he joined you at the base of the ship before taking your hand and leading you onto it.

“We’ll fix this,” he promised, his voice low so only you could hear, “Together.  We’ll go home to the future, and we’ll fix this, and then-” your eyes met his as he paused, “And then, maybe, we could start our future.”

Despite the tears that threatened to fall, you smiled ever so slightly, “We’ll build a new one if we have to.”

It wasn’t until his lips met yours that you started crying.  It wasn’t his fault it was just- fuck you would miss this.  You smiled again as you pulled apart, though the tears hadn’t stopped.  It was for his sake, really.  Under normal circumstances, you might pretend that everything was fine, but for just one second, you wanted to believe it.

“I love you,”  your voice shook, and you hated it.

“I love you, too,”  his voice was strong, yet tired.  And you loved it.

You pushed a small smile onto your face, trying to cast the illusion that you were okay, and that everything was okay, and that no one would die when you returned.  Your attempts were quickly halted by a sting on your cheek.  That came from him, you realized, as you noticed a thin cut that ran across his cheekbone.  You ran your thumb over it, his skin patching together and healing under your hand.  At least you could still do that one thing.  Sure, you were a traitorous assassin, but by god could you heal a small cut.

Douxie smiled, his grin seeming more natural than yours.  He kissed you one last time before letting you go and taking the time map.  You watched him, not saying a word as he said something under his breath and activated the map and the heart.  A beam of light lit the night sky green, going on for a moment until it formed a portal.  You could almost see your time on the other side. That was it.  That was how you would get back to the future.  Yay.

It was weird.  You’d known Douxie for so long, and hated him for most of that time, but now?  Now you were dreading going back to your time, going back to general safety because it meant that he would die.  It was just odd to think that there was a time where you would have wished for this, for a chance to kill him and avoid the blame.  If you wished for anything now, it would be another way out.

You followed Douxie onto Merlin’s airship and walked past him, standing as far away as you could.  You didn’t know what would happen when you crossed that barrier.  You might try to murder him instantly, you might be able to control yourself, you might be able to fight off your curse entirely.  The point is, you didn’t know, and distance was the best solution.  So, you stood alone and stared off into the night as the ship moved off towards the portal until Steve’s ramblings returned your attention to your friends.

“Man, Camelot was crazy!  Why don’t they ever talk about that in the history books?”

Douxie gave the blond kid a pat on the shoulder, and you watched as Steve headed towards the front of the ship where Jim and Claire stood.  The girl was looking back towards you, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.  Her boyfriend was doomed, and there was nothing you could do about it.  And you would have done anything.  For those kids, you’d give your own life in a heartbeat, but that wasn’t an option.  Not now, not yet.  Douxie, however, met her eyes, though only for a moment.  You didn’t have to hear him to know what he was thinking.

“My burden to bear.”

And with those final words, the world turned green, and you were gone.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? XII

A/N: So I'm... not *entirely* satisfied with this chapter, at least the back half of it, but I didn't quite know what else to do with it without rushing it XD Anyway, here it is, and I think the next chapter will be a lot better! Already have plans for it, and I think now that I'm back in the swing of things with this one it'll be better going forward xD Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive… she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

--

What I Wish I’d Known

The silence in the room felt far less awkward than Ivar had expected it to be. It was no less anxious than any other silence had been between them, as they both had much to say, and yet very little idea on how to say it. They were sitting in their living room again, side by side on the sofa, slightly angled toward each other for ease of communication. Well, if only communication could come easily.

Freydis finally decided she had had quite enough of the anxious silences, and so she took a deep breath to start talking. Someone needed to start this thing, and if it wasn’t going to be Ivar, then she figured it would have to be her. Much to her surprise, then, the moment Ivar realized she was going to speak, he cut her off.

“Freydis,” he began. When she began to try again, he shook his head, reaching over to put a hand on hers, and lifting his head to look her in the eye. “Please, let me speak.” She nodded, swallowing. “Before this past month, I believed we would have all the time in the world to come back together, to say what needed to be said, but then…” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “I truly believed I had lost you, Freydis. And when you woke, I realized the Gods were giving us a third chance, giving me a third chance to do this right for you. I don’t want to mess this up again and lose you for good.

“I should not have handled… anything, with you, the way I did. You did not deserve for me to treat you suspiciously, or coldly, or to blame you for anything that happened. You are right, I did not know you. Not your favorite things, and certainly not your heart. And for all of that, Freydis, I am sorry. I did not love you how I should have, and if you would give me the chance now… I would like to love you how you deserve.”

Freydis couldn’t help but smile at his words, at the way he spoke them and what he said. “You can,” she told him. “And I don’t mean that I am just giving you the chance, but also that I know you can love me that way. Ivar, when I was asleep, I had a vision.” Ivar watched her curiously, nodding as if to encourage her to elaborate. 

“We were in Kattegat,” she said. “And… we still had Baldur. He was your son, and mine, and… and he was healthy. Our kingdom was thriving under our rule. Baldur grew, and then… King Harald came. He took you, and he took Baldur, and my life halted. I did nothing but try to find you, until Lagertha came, with your brothers Ubbe and Björn. They ended up helping me retrieve you and Baldur from King Harald, and we all came to a truce. There was peace in Kattegat again, and they lived among us happily. Everything was good.

“But it was a dream. A beautiful dream, but still… that was all it was. That is not to say it had no meaning. The Seer was there, and it was through talking to him, and… surprisingly Lagertha, that I came to realize the meaning. Beneath the anger, beneath the betrayal, and the hurt, and the fear, I still wanted everything we could have had. That was why my dreams had taken that form. My desires laid bare of any distraction or bias I may have. And then… the message.

“I still love you, Ivar. You had time after I died, to think back on everything, time I never had, and so… I cannot say yet that I am ready to forgive you. But I do hear you. I hear you, and I want to be happy with you again. I will just need time- time to learn how to trust you again. If you can give me that, then I will do all that I can to give you my heart once more.”

Ivar nodded, and though it wasn’t as complete a resolution as he had hoped for, it was a resolution nonetheless. They both wanted their relationship to work, now, which was far better than what they’d had before. He couldn’t begin to guess, nor even imagine, what it was her powers had done, what they had shown her truly, aside from the things she’d told him already. But, whatever it was, it was bringing her back to him, breaking the walls built between them down, the very walls that for him had been demolished in Kiev.

But, just as she had said, she’d not had any experience which would have brought down those walls, not until she was reminded by her own subconscious of what she lost in locking out any chance of being hurt again. Love meant pain. Ivar had learned that in loving Igor, who he’d had to leave to rule Rus, and in loving Katia, who had chosen to stay in Kiev. In loving Hvitserk, whose life he saved by sacrificing his own. To truly love another person, one had to be willing to risk being hurt. He had hurt Freydis, and in return, she had hurt him. But now, he knew he was open to her again, even if it meant she hurt him again, because he never wanted to love her less than she deserved. That, he would never do again.

When night came, Freydis didn’t shut him out again, instead choosing to let Ivar into her room- their room- and her bed- their bed. They were married, after all, and both had reason, truthfully, that would be valid cause for not wanting to trust the other. She had betrayed him to his brothers, he had betrayed her and killed her. And now, he laid on his back, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, her head laid against his chest. They were choosing love, even if there was not yet full trust. It would come, as they each continued to prove it could.

“I wish I had known you better then,” Ivar whispered softly, suddenly, as if speaking the words only into the night. “I think if I had, I would have been better to you. I would have loved you better, and I think we would have been okay.”

Freydis gave a small sigh, which turned into a hum, as she considered his words. “We cannot know,” she said. “Say you had known me then, known me better. Who is to say that would not have presented worse problems than what we have already faced?”

“Or it could have been easier,” he said. “I did not know all you say you did for me, but if I had not been so caught up in myself…”

“Then you may have known and killed me for it, as opposed to killing me for what you did,” she pointed out. “The past is set in stone, and should be left behind. We can learn from it, but we must always move forward, dear Ivar. Never back. We won’t find each other there.”

Ivar gave a small nod, and Freydis smiled up at him gently, something soothing to him in that expression. “I missed you,” he said. “Every day after the Siege when I killed you, I wished I still had you at my side. Even if I was constantly trying to keep you from killing me.”

Freydis giggled a little bit. “I might have been more creative than you,” she teased him, rolling up so she could look down at him. “Though, I can’t say I’d have promised to love you and weep for you once you were gone.” Ivar chuckled and shook his head, lifting a hand to brush through her hair.

“I hope you would now, though,” he said. “Weep for me. Though I hope more that I do not ever give you cause to weep.”

“I would have wept then,” she confessed. “I told your brothers I wanted to see you hung from a tree, but if I had ever truly seen that..?” Freydis swallowed, and laid her head against him once more. “I think it would have been the last thing my heart could have taken.”

“You looked at me as if you hated me, the day I killed you,” Ivar said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I wanted to, and I tried to, but if my dream revealed anything to me, it is that I never could,” she replied.

Ivar looked down at her thoughtfully, though he found that her eyes weren’t on him, but were focused on something that, if it were there, he was unable to see. He could tell things weren’t the same just yet, not the same as when he’d held her in Kattegat, before everything had gone so wrong. But progress was being made, and he hoped they’d get there one day. Even if it was something he fought for the rest of his life, he gladly would, even if it was only their last night on Midgard that they were finally truly healed.

Things were easier between them, after that night, and though they still took yet another step back from that place, the place which had allowed Ivar to hold Freydis once more, but he knew why that was. She needed time, just as she had said. And so, he’d give it to her, however much she needed. Just to see her smiling again, to live in the same place with her where she seemed happy, in some capacity, was good. He liked to see her happy.

Professor Andersen and Dr. Schmidt were also very pleased by this change. They’d come to visit as soon as they found out Freydis was awake, and upon knocking had heard her voice calling out for them to enter. Seeing her up cooking, and Ivar hovering over her, stealing pieces of the food she was making. In fact, watching her reach up and smack the back of his head, watching him laugh at this as she rolled her eyes and tried to shoo him away… Clearly, something had changed.

“You two seem very happy this morning,” Professor Andersen commented, leaning against the wall. “Something happen?”

“We had a good conversation, last night,” Freydis replied. “About… everything. I had a vision while I was asleep, and it changed much of how I see things now. There is still a long way to go, but…” She turned to smile softly at Ivar. “We will get there.”

Ivar smiled at her, and pressed a kiss to her head. “We will,” he agreed.

“Must have been… some vision, to have produced such results overnight?” Dr. Schmidt prompted. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

Clearly, she wanted it for their research. It was a shock to hear at all that Freydis had any vision, but if they could learn what exactly she saw, then that would be all the better. Freydis, however, shared a look with Ivar. They both knew what the vision had entailed, that it really hadn’t been a vision, that it had been Freydis’s subconscious, and the desires held there, that she had seen. Perhaps that would still interest the Doctor and the Professor to know, to hear how she had done it and to study what she had done, but neither Freydis nor Ivar truly wanted to give them that information. Something about it felt private and intimate, something they could share amongst themselves. And now that they were trying to grow closer again, it somehow felt important to start having those things again.

Freydis turned that knowing smile to Dr. Schmidt then, and shook her head. “No,” she answered. “I don’t think I will.”

It was the first time she had denied them. They were stunned, and shared a look with each other as Freydis called Ivar over to help her with something, and he did so gladly. As great an idea as they’d believed they’d had, in pairing up a husband and a wife as a team to work for them, they were now beginning to see the flaws.

Marriage meant loyalty, and if they were working out their marriage, choosing each other and choosing to stay together, then they were choosing that loyalty to each other. Loyalty which, if pitted against loyalty to those they were working with… They would choose each other now. The dynamics between the four had shifted again, and not in the direction Professor Andersen and Dr. Schmidt had wanted, or even foreseen. This could be backfiring on them.

But how could they even make an attempt at separating the two now? That would automatically create distance, but not in the desired way. Putting them together had clearly been a severe miscalculation, one they weren’t sure how to recover from.

When Dr. Schmidt and Professor Andersen had finally left, Ivar and Freydis felt relief. It was quiet, then, but Ivar was curious still about how Freydis had handled that question. No, I don’t think I will. And that little smile she had given…

They were on the same page with not wanting to share it, he could tell that just from the look they’d shared before she had declined Dr. Schmidt’s request for information. But why? Did they have the same thoughts on why that should not be shared? Or did she have some reason not to share, one that he couldn’t even begin to guess? The only way to have any idea was to ask. So, he did.

“I think I… do not want to share all things with them anymore,” she confessed. “You are my husband, not either of them. Why should I tell them all that I tell you?”

And so Ivar saw also that allegiances were shifting. It made him begin to think, and as he watched Freydis, he began to think more and more seriously about the implications of her words. There wasn’t one part of him which liked being held by these people, whose purposes and goals he couldn’t glean from what little information they’d been given. If it hadn’t been for Freydis, he may have tried to find an escape immediately. But if he could convince her to escape with him…

There was time. He wasn’t sure how she would feel about such a thing as escape, as making their way through this world together. There, locked up in that facility, there was nothing they needed to know of the outside world. If they escaped, they’d have a lot to learn quickly, but he knew he was willing to take that risk, if it meant they were free.

But in order to go anywhere, he would have to convince Freydis. He hadn’t come so far with her, gotten so close to having her again, to walk out now. If it would require him to leave or lose her, he wouldn’t do it. He’d made that call before, and he was never going to make it again.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @katfett, @sylki-simp, @heavenly1927, @punkrocknpearls, @pomegranates-and-blood

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[labyrinth-runner]

“Are you scared? Don’t be. ‘ll protect you from today onwards.” For Obi x Reader please?

Title: King of Hearts

Summary: When you’re sent to a neighboring kingdom to marry the king, things do not go as planned. Warnings: None. Word Count: 5400

Tag List: @blackirisposts, @star-whores-a-new-hoe, @nerd-without-a-cause, @all-hallows-evie, @darthserling

As always, thanks to @the-mandalorian-clone-lover for being a low-key Beta.

You could hear the sound of the wheels running over the forest floor. It had been hours since your carriage had set off on its journey towards the kingdom that was to be your new home. Your legs ached from being in the same position for so long, but there was nothing you could do. Stopping now was out of the question, as you had driven into enemy territory an hour ago. Your guards had even advised against looking out the window. After all, the Princess of the neighboring kingdom would be a prime target for the warlord ravaging your kingdom. That was why it was imperative that you got to your new kingdom in one piece. Your marriage to the King would unite your two kingdoms and act as an alliance that would hopefully end the war. 

Resting your head against the wall, you absentmindedly played with your pendant as you tried to picture the man you were to marry. You’d met him once, a long time ago. The two of you had both been young when his father, Qui-Gon, had come to your kingdom for a summit. You couldn’t have been more than ten at the time. You remembered meeting an awkward teenager who would talk you out of all the mischief you had planned. He was so serious, with those crystalline blue eyes that looked like they were wise beyond their years. Most of all, you remember he was kind, having an affinity for animals that led him to spend most of his visit in the menagerie.

Now, you wondered what he was like, having been King for a few years since the death of his father at the hands of a warlord. Would he still be kind? Or would years of a harsh life have turned his heart cold? A sigh breezed through your lips as you tried to stretch in the small space. 

Thwip.

Thud.

Screaming.

You froze, hearing the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed into the air, and the carnage that it no doubt had caused. The horses were startled and strayed from the path, causing the carriage to run over a boulder. It started to list to the side until it was tumbling. You braced for impact as the carriage landed on its side. Peeking out of the window, you noticed you were at the bottom of a ravine. 

“I’m a sitting duck,” you realized in horror as you struggled to get the door open, let alone crawl out of the carriage. Part of you wanted to stay put, to play dead, but you knew better than to trust your attackers with your body. If they were thorough, they would finish the job. With that knowledge to steel your nerves, you used all the strength in your arms to pull yourself up through the doorway.

Once on the other side, you closed the door so that it would take them a while to notice anything was amiss. Swiftly, you moved across the clearing towards the tree line. You could hear running water nearby. If you passed through it, then they would loose your trail. Your feet propelled you further and further, vowing to yourself with each step that you would not die here, that the hope of your people’s salvation would not die here, alone, in the forest. 

The water was cold on your calves as you plunged into a running river. It was deeper than you expected, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Wading through the waist-deep water, you trudged to the opposite bank and pulled yourself up.

The foliage on that side of the river was dense enough to conceal you from your attackers. Your heart thudded in your chest as you listened to the sounds of footfalls. Through a gap in the trees, you watched as men in dark cloaks came into view, searching for you. When they passed by without incident, you released a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding.

On the horizon, the sun was starting to set. You knew you couldn’t stay in the woods forever, but you couldn’t travel as you were either. Your clothes were much too rich for the area. No, you’d have to go back to the carriage and hope to salvage some of the clothes that your maid had packed.

Mary, you thought sadly. She had been riding on the front of the carriage when you were attacked. There was no way she would have survived. A pang of guilt washed over you, but you had to shove it aside. Your feelings, as valid as they were, would not enable you to survive if you dwelled in sadness. 

Somehow, the water seemed colder the second time around. It felt like tiny knives stabbing into your skin as you made your way back, retracing your steps as best you could in the falling darkness. 

Eventually, the carriage came into view, it’s dark form rising out of the shadows. Your luggage was strewn across the ground, with some crates leaking fabrics. Surprisingly, your treasure was untouched. 

“So it was never about the money,” you sighed, “It was always about me.”

With a shake of your head, you started to root around for a plain outfit that would be warm enough in the cool night air. You found a blue servants gown and a brown wool cloak that would suit you nicely. Quickly, you changed into it.

Laying on the ground a few feet away was a crumpled body of one of your soldiers. With some care, you removed his dagger and attached it to your own body. You hoped you would never have to use it, but you would rather have and not need, than need and not have.

Lastly, you took your pendant in your hand, a wedding gift from your fiancé. On it was his crest along with your family’s motto on the back. Ad astra per aspera. You tucked it under the neckline of your dress before looking up at the stars. Giving the guiding lights a resolute nod, you started to walk.

You walked for what felt like miles with no end in sight until dawn started to break over the horizon. Streaks of light cut through the canopy overhead washing everything in a warm amber glow. The trees started to thin out and a small town could be seen past the fields and farms on the outskirts near the forest. To your dismay, you could see that the town was crawling with enemy troops. You pulled your cloak further down your forehead to hopefully obscure your face. As much as you just wanted to walk past the town, your stomach was growling and would not be ignored. 

Trudging into the tavern, you slipped into a seat in the corner hoping to avoid detection.

The gods were not smiling upon you.

As soon as you sat, a group of soldiers sauntered over towards you.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you a new face?” one of them purred as the barkeep placed a bowl of soup in front of you.

You pointedly ignored them, hoping they would take the hint and leave.

Instead, another soldier sat across from you. “Are you traveling alone? You know that’s dangerous with a war on. Wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you to get caught in the cross fires.”

“You know, when a lass ignores you, that’s usually a sign that you should stop talking,” a man said from behind them.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” The soldier taunted back.

“This,” the man simply stated before punching him in the face.

A brawl soon broke out in front of you. With a sigh of annoyance, you picked up your bowl of soup and side-stepped the kerfuffle to finish eating your soup at the bar. 

The men continued to brawl until the owner kicked them out. Then, the owner turned towards you, “And you, too.”

“But I-” you started to protest.

“Out! You’re bad for business,” he said sternly.

You sighed. At least you’d finished eating. It was time to move on from here, anyway. Pulling your hood back over your head, you made your way out of the tavern and into the street, seeing the man and a younger boy nursing their wounds as the soldiers stalked off down the road.

“Are you alright, lass?” the man called out. He looked like a farmer, based off his clothing. The boy with him must be his farmhand, you surmised.

“Yes, but you didn’t have to do that. I was capable of handling it myself.”

“Were you just going to sit in silence and suffer their presence?” he asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. He had a scruffy beard, but the most amazing eyes. 

Your face felt hot as you looked away, “I suppose I should thank you, then. For saving me the trouble of their company.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a kind smile. “Where are you headed, lass?”

“Stewjon,” you said before pausing. Thinking on your feet, you came up with a reasonable lie. After all, you weren’t sure how they would treat the princess of a neighboring kingdom, even if they had just defended your right to eat in silence. “I’m an ambassador from a neighboring kingdom looking to bend the king’s ear.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. You technically were a representative of your kingdom, and you were hoping the King would listen and help his new wife’s homeland. You absentmindedly played with your necklace while you waited to see if he’d accept your lie.

The farmer nodded, “We’ll take you there.” He cast a suspicious look at the pendant in your hand, squinting at it slightly. 

Quickly, you tucked it back into your neckline.

They started to walk and you followed them in silence, sizing them up. The two men seemed to have an unspoken language between them, knowing how the other would tackle the stumbling blocks in the road or which path to take to get to the right place. Their’s was an easy companionship from what you could see. Every once in a while they’d crack jokes when they tripped or slipped.

“No wonder you aren’t a knight, if a tree limb can trip you up,” the farmer teased.

“Better me than you,” the younger man quipped. “I don’t know if your old bones could handle a tumble.”

The man thwacked him up the side of his head.

“Ow!” the boy complained.

“Respect your elders,” the man simply stated, sending you a wink.

A chuckle breezed through your lips at their banter.

“See? Even the lady thinks you’re a fool,” the farmer smirked.

“Or maybe she just happens to find my antics amusing,” the boy straightened. “After all, she does have Anakin Skywalker at her service.” He affected a low bow, waggling his eyebrows at you as he looked up.

You giggled, “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr. Skywalker. And you, Sir?” you turned towards the farmer. “I should like to know the name of my savior.”

“Oh, should you now?” he asked, his smile slipping slightly. “It’s Ben.”

You nodded, “Ben and Ani.”

Ben looked up at the sky and cursed, “We’ll have to make camp.”

“But it’s midday,” you replied.

He pointed towards the horizon, “Those clouds spell a storm. We’ll want to find a nice, dry cave to stop in until it passes.”

“There’s a mountain ridge up ahead,” Anakin added. “There should be a cave there.”

“The river’s a bit to the south. If the lass wouldn’t mind getting some water?” Ben asked, handing you a canteen.

You nodded, taking it from him going off towards the direction he indicated. You could hear Ben ordering Anakin about as you left.

The stream wasn’t too hard to find, and it was significantly less cold than the one you had found yourself in the day before. As you dipped the canteen in the river to gather water,  you caught sight of your reflection. There were trees in your once-neat hair, dirt was caked on your limbs, and bits of blood were dried here and there from where you had been nicked by brambles and branches.

Casting a look from side to side, you realized you were alone. You may not get another moment like this, and you certainly did not want to show up to the palace in such a state. In moments, you had undressed and waded into the running water. Taking a handkerchief from your clothes, you used it to scrub yourself clean, marveling in the fresh feeling of once again being spotless. You leaned back, floating for a moment as you let yourself relax.

“Lass, we found a cave,” Ben called out as he came trudging through the bushes. Then, he caught sight of the clothes on the riverbank and his eyes briefly flicked to your floating body before he averted his gaze.

You straightened immediately. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Please, don’t apologize. I should have been more discreet. I averted my gaze as quickly as I could,” he replied, keeping his back towards you as you got out of the river and dressed.

“How far is the cave?”

“Not very far,” he replied.

Gently, you took his hand to hide the look of embarrassment. His hand was warm around yours, comforting. “Lead the way.”

Soon you found yourself standing at the mouth of a cave. Inside, Anakin had started a small fire and spread out their cloaks to cover the ground to make it softer.

The three of you sat as the start of the storm could be heard outside.

“I guess you were right,” you murmured.

“He’s always right,” Anakin said pointedly.

Ben rolled his eyes, “I just had to learn this from my father at a young age.”

“Because of working in the fields?” you asked.

He blinked, “Y-yes.”

You stared out the mouth of the cave at the steadily growing storm. “Can you tell me a bit about the king?”

“Haven’t you met him before?” Ben asked.

“A long time ago,” you said wistfully. “It’s been a while. People can change. Life changes them.”

“He’s a hard ass,” Anakin smirked. That earned him another thwack from Ben. “Alright, I lied. He’s kind. He’s a real people’s man.” The younger man laid down on his cloak and turned away from you. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.”

That just left you and Ben.

At first, the silence was deafening, but then the ice broke and conversation became easy.

The two of you talked for hours about anything and everything under the sun, from childhood experiences to the things you did for fun. There was so much that you two had in common, and talking to him was so easy. You’d never felt more at ease. As you talked, you noticed little things about him. The crinkle near the corner of his eyes from smiling was your first observation. Then, it was how beautiful the color of his eyes were. In the back of your mind, you wondered how soft his beard was. Still, all the while you kept swapping stories and learning more and more about this handsome man who had rescued you. When you woke up on his shoulder later on, you didn’t even remember falling asleep.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmured. 

The rain had stopped, leaving a clean smell hanging in the air. Anakin was snoring softly across the cave. The fire casted Ben in a warm amber glow that you found entrancing. Gently, you reached up to smooth a piece of hair out of his face. His eyes softened as he looked down at you. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing as his cheek pressed into your palm. Your thumb caressed the edge of his beard as you found your eyes settling on his lips. In the back of your mind, a voice said you probably shouldn’t be doing this, but you found yourself leaning in anyway. Your lips connected with his, pressing firmly against him. He kissed back almost immediately, slipping his hand to your neck as his fingers snaked into your hair. The cave was suddenly warmer than you could handle and you pulled back, eyes wide at what you’d done.

Anakin stretched behind you, waking up. “Well, I suppose we should start walking again?”

Ben answered, not taking his eyes off you. “Yes, we should. Then we’ll at least reach the city limits by daybreak tomorrow.”

“We’re going to walk through the night?” you asked in dismay.

“It’s best that we make haste,” Ben replied, getting up and pulling his cloak back on.

“R-right,” Anakin seconded, his brow furrowed as he glanced between the two of you.

“If we make it to the city limits by dawn, then we’ll be able to rent a horse for the last leg of the journey,” Ben added, as a consolation. 

You nodded, getting yourself together to follow them out into the late afternoon sun.

The walk was harder now, with the ground slick with wet grass and mud. It was slower going, and somehow you managed to hold onto Ben’s hand the entire time. He kept you from falling, and pulled you out of the mud when you got stuck. He barely looked at you as you went until you needed help. Then, there was concern in his eyes as he steadied you, an extra hand on your arm to make sure that you were in fact alright. 

It confused you. You were to be married to a man you hadn’t known in a long time, and yet here you were falling for a farmer who couldn’t even look at you for longer that ten seconds since you’d kissed. Still, you knew that nothing you’d have with the King would ever be as easy as with this farmer, but there was nothing you could do. Your kingdom needed this alliance. However, that didn’t mean you couldn’t stumble or slip a bit more so that you could spend more time with the farmer. All you were doing was prolonging the inevitable, you knew that. Yet, you wanted to do it. You were enjoying this sense of freedom before being bogged down with the needs of a kingdom again.

As night drew nearer, you held his hand tighter, not wanting to get separated in the dark. Ben gave your hand reassuring squeezes intermittently. Once, although you could not see it, you felt him bring your hand to his lips and kiss it when you’d stopped at a fork in the road.

Somehow, they knew the way in the dark. It was almost as if they’d spent years traveling these roads, which you thought was odd for a farmer. Then again, he probably traveled to sell his wares. As it got darker, it grew colder. That was when you felt a cloak being dropped on your shoulders. You nestled into it, squeezing his hand in response. 

Your feet were so tired you felt like they would fall off of your body and abandon you. At that point, you realized that you had been walked the majority of the way to the palace, a trip that took about six hours by carriage, but a day and a half on foot. You wanted to stop. You wanted to rest. But, you knew that if you were tired, then so were they. Yet, they kept going to get you to your destination. They didn’t give up, and neither would you.

Finally, dawn started to break. You’d broken out onto wide open road a while ago, but now in the early morning rays, you could see the city sprawling before you and the ocean beyond it. You nestled further into your layers as the sea breeze ruffled the fabric. 

“Is that...?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at it. “That’s Stewjon.”

“It’s massive,” you breathed. 

“Which is why I said we’d get horses to take you to the palace,” he winked. “Besides, the best way to tour the city for the first time is on horse.”

“You’re going to give me a tour?” you asked, unable to keep the giddiness from your voice. Perhaps you didn’t have to say goodbye so soon, after all.

“If that is alright with you,” he grinned.

“You two go on ahead,” Anakin yawned. “I’m going to go home.”

Ben shot him a glare.

Your brow furrowed. Home? But they were farmers. There were no farms around the city.

“I mean... I’m going to find some lodgings,” Anakin chuckled nervously. “You know, my brain is so tired I should get some sleep so I can start making sense again.”

You raised a brow as the boy awkwardly backed away.

Ben gently took your hand and tugged you towards the stables. “Wait here.”

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you waited for him to return with a horse. He helped you up into the saddle before climbing on behind you. His body was warm against your back and you found yourself leaning into him, resting your back against his chest.

He set the horse into a slow pace, pointing out various businesses and places all over the town. People waved to him as he passed and he waved back.

“You’re quite popular,” you teased.

“Nonsense,” he murmured, “They’re just friendly here.”

“I hope I’m well received,” you sighed.

“I’m sure you will be, lass,” he whispered in your ear.

His voice sent a shiver down your spine in a way you’d never felt before. As you closed your eyes, you pictured what it would be like to have him whisper sweet nothings to you in the dark of your bedroom. His hands were warm around yours as he held onto the reins. They were large and calloused. You couldn’t help but imagine what they would feel like against your skin, fingers splayed as they trailed up your sides.

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, severing your connection to your daydream. You couldn’t be thinking like this. Not now. 

“Take me to the palace, please,” you said with a sad smile.

“Of course,” Ben replied, but you thought there was a slight twinge of disappointment in his voice.

The rest of the ride was silent. He put you down in front of the palace steps. Each step up them put more and more distance between the two of you in more ways than just physically. With every step, you tried to wall up your heart to protect you. You didn’t dare to say goodbye for fear of not being able to let go. You felt foolish, loving a man so easily and so quickly, but it felt like you’d know him for years, not mere days.

You placed your hand on the door, fingers spread and pushed it in to enter a grand hall. A woman quickly flitted over to you, giving you a hard appraisal.

“I’m sorry, but the King isn’t seeing to the townspeople today.”

“Oh, I’m not....” you trailed off, trying to think of the best way to explain yourself as the woman raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m the King’s betrothed. My carriage was attacked and I had to walk the rest of the way here.” You dug out the necklace that the King had sent you as a gift and showed it to her.

Her eyes lit up in recognition and she curtseyed, “Of course, your highness. My apologies. My name is Padmé Amidala. I serve as an advisor to the King. Please, allow me to show you to your rooms.”

“May I not see the King first?” you asked. “I’ve traveled all this way.”

“Wouldn’t you like to make yourself look....presentable first?” 

You looked down and took in your appearance. “I suppose I ought to.”

Padmé nodded and led you towards your rooms. They were grand rooms, richly furnished with all the finest pieces and fabrics. Yet, they lacked the warmth and familiarity of yours back home.

Servants came to draw a bath for you. Once it was full, you dismissed them and sunk into the tub. It’s nice to bathe in warm water again, you thought as you leaned your head against the rim of the tub. 

Your eyes cast a critical glance back and forth as you took in your surroundings. As nice as the rooms were, part of you wondered if it were only a temporary arrangement. After all, you’d have to move into the King’s room eventually once you were married.

Quickly, you sunk below the water at the thought. Sharing a room with another person? Hell, sharing a room with a man? The thought was overwhelming.

When you broke back through the surface, you noticed that the sun was starting to set. It was then that you realized just how much time you had spent with Ben around town. It had gone by in the blink of an eye.

Your fingers started to wrinkle from the water and you decided to emerge from the tub. Wrapping a robe around you, you padded back towards your bedroom to find Padmé waiting for you.

“Your highness, we must take some measurements for your wedding dress,” she informed you as a group of handmaidens swarmed into the room. 

You were guided up onto a pedestal and turned this way and that as they draped a gown around you, pinning and stitching things in place. 

“How soon will this be finished?” you asked.

“Don’t fret, your highness, I’ll have the dress finished in time for your nuptials tomorrow,” the seamstress said as she packed up her things.

“Tomorrow?” you asked incredulously. It was so much sooner than you thought.

“Of course,” Padmé smiled, “The King will want to marry you at sunset tomorrow, as is tradition.”

“Isn’t that... quite soon?” you asked.

“You’ve known each other for years, have you not?”

“Well,” you sighed as you pulled your robe back on. “May I at least speak with the King first?”

“I’m afraid not, your highness,” she said with a sad smile, “His majesty is in a meeting with the war council tonight. It’s to go over plans for reinforcing your father’s troops. I don’t think he’ll be out any time soon.”

“I see,” you said, a frown of disappointment apparent on your face. “I’d like to enjoy dinner in my room tonight, Padmé. There’s no sense in eating in the dining room if I am to be eating alone.”

“Of course, your highness,” Padmé nodded, ushering everyone out the door. She paused in the doorway before turning back to you. “If it helps at all, your highness, please know that his majesty is a kind man. He is just as nervous about this as you, but I can promise you that everything he will ever do is to protect you. When you were late in arriving.... well, I have never seen him more distraught. I was sure he’d scour the kingdom just to find you.”

“I see,” you murmured, looking out the window at the vast kingdom. “Thank you, Padmé.”

She left without another word.

When dinner arrived, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were, but then you remembered that you hadn’t eaten since the tavern fiasco. Regardless of whether or not it actually was the best meal you’ve eaten, your hunger made it so. 

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky had turned into the indigo depths of a lightless ocean. You settled on the window seat and opened the window to feel the chill night air on your face. Your farmer was out there somewhere, with his eyes like the sky in the morning when you have a whole day ahead of you, bright and nary a cloud in the sky. As you closed your eyes, you pictured his face, his strong jaw, his beard as it brushed the shell of your ear during the tour of the kingdom, his strong arms as they wrapped around you. Never had you felt more safe. 

You fell asleep on the bench, dreaming of your farmer. It wasn’t until much later that you woke up to a pair of arms carrying you to bed.

Fluttering your eyelids, you noticed a shadow holding you. Your first instinct was to push back as you gasped in fear.

“Shhhhh, lass,” a man murmured as he tucked you into the covers. “Are you scared?” He gently smoothed your hair out of your face, “Don’t be. I’ll protect you from today onwards. Always.”

In your heart, you believed him. You couldn’t make out any of his features as he retreated towards the hall, but when he opened the door, the candlelight reflected off the crown on his head. By then, you could barely keep your eyes open and let yourself succumb to sleep.

Padmé let you sleep in the next morning, having guessed that you had been through quite the ordeal and were thoroughly exhausted. When they finally woke you up, it was around noon and they started to get you ready for your wedding.

It was all a blur as you felt your nerves begin to rise, settling into your chest like a weight. You couldn’t eat, instead just allowing yourself to be taken over by the process and trusting your new handmaidens and Padmé completely.

Soon, you found yourself at the chapel as the afternoon sun started to set, swathing you in colorful light from the stained glass. Your hand came up to squeeze your pendant in your hand, wishing that your father could have been there. Ahead of you stood a man with his back towards you, a crown nestled in his auburn hair. Part of you wondered if you could really go through with this, but then you remembered that this was for the good of the kingdom. Your life was never just yours. You lived for your people, and what your people needed was for you to solidify this alliance. For your own sake, you hoped that love would come later, once Ben was long forgotten. If you could ever manage that.

You walked with a measured gait towards the front of the chapel, coming to rest next to the man that would be your husband. Your heart was thumping in your chest, but then he turned to you and time stopped.

He watched with a smile as your eyes widened and your mouth parted slightly. He was so very handsome. His beard looked incredibly soft. His eyes were a brilliant blue and you were certain that you’d drown in them someday. He was your farmer, and here he was holding his hand out for you to take.

“I don’t understand,” you murmured as you took his hand.

“When you didn’t show up as expected, I had to go searching for you. We traveled the main road and found your carriage. Then, Anakin and I broke off to find you,” he explained.

“But I thought-”

“That I was a farmer,” he grinned, “I couldn’t put a target on my back when there was already one on yours. Traveling the way we did was better for all involved.”

“You could’ve told me,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

“I hadn’t seen you in years. I wanted to know you just as you are, and for you to know me in the same regard,” he replied, kissing your hand.

“And the name Ben?” you asked.

“A nickname from an old friend who lives in a cloister,” he explained.

“I love you,” you told him earnestly.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, “I love you, too, lass.”

The bishop cleared his throat in front of you and you both shared a wide grin before turning back towards him to finish the proceedings.

For the entire ceremony, you were thinking of the man standing next to you and how you knew that no matter what, everything would be alright. You recited your vows, exchanged your rings, and turned back towards each other.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. Your majesty, you may kiss your bride,” the bishop grinned.

Obi-Wan’s eyes trailed down your face towards your lips as his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you close. His other hand came up to tilt your face towards his. Gently, he stroked his thumb across your cheek. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you settled your hands on his chest. 

He leaned down to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours. To your surprise, he dipped you back, causing you to chuckle against his lips as he straightened the two of you out. Then, he scooped you up and carried you towards your castle so that you could live happily ever after.  

[nevermindirah]

Ok it's Jewish Booker o'clock, I can no longer stop myself, let's do this!

Why Jewish Booker? Dude was born in Marseilles in 1770, which happens to be a FASCINATING time and place in Jewish history, and it adds ridiculous layers to his character (without excusing a damn thing). Alternately just because I think he’s neat :)

Jewish Booker headcanons that make me happy:

not to be all "real Jews do X" but Jews fuck with candles hard. Book of Nile thrives on old/modern analog/digital giggles. Booker lighting Shabbat candles, lighting yarzeit (memorial) candles for his wife and sons (sob), lighting a menorah, lighting candles just because he's feeling emotional even though it's not chag (a holiday) or a yarzeit and Nile thinks he's trying to be sexy but he's really just in his feelings. just like. so many candles.

maybe Booker was the person who punched Richard Spencer at Trump's inauguration, just bringing back that time somebody punched a famous neonazi in the street and said neonazi has all but stopped appearing in public after a few rounds of public punching

were the Old Guard in Charlottesville in 2017? how many times has Booker the Blond Jew infiltrated North American white nationalist / Klan type activities and then stolen their weapons and/or killed them? likewise there's plenty of horrifying white nationalist shit happening across Europe this century, how many Pim Fortuyn types has he been involved in taking down? (I Am Of Course Not Endorsing Violence TM ;) ;) )

SINGING. Mattias Schoenaerts sings in Away From the Madding Crowd but it's church shit, sigh, anyway he has a nice voice. a lot of Jewish prayer is sung/chanted (depending on when/where you are and the gender rules of the community you're in) and there’s been a lot of innovation to Jewish singing in Booker’s lifetime, and I just want Nile to overhear him singing to himself on Friday afternoons

Nile Freeman was four years old when The Prince of Egypt came out, she grew up on that shit, she would want to introduce her new family to that shit. Please join me in picturing Booker, Nicky, Joe, and Andy all shouting "that's not how it happened!!" throughout this beautiful nightmare of a movie with lovely animation and songs but where white people voice most of the Egyptian and Jewish characters, because Booker Nicky and Joe's religious texts all frame the Exodus story a little differently and Andy was probably there when it happened (except for how it didn't actually happen it's an important story but it's just a story pls just let me giggle about Andy being super old)

Read below the cut for sad Jewish Booker headcanons, French Jewish history (mostly sad), context on antisemitism (enraging/sad), and all the way to the very end for a himbo joke.

Jewish Booker headcanons, I made myself sad edition:

he is a forger. who was alive. in 1939. visas. VISAS. V I S A S. how many of us did he save? how many more could he have saved if he didn't sleep that night? how heavily does that weigh?

how do we think he BECAME a forger? most likely he was doing what he needed to do to support his family, which gets extra poignant if he was also trying to help his people, forging documents as well as money even during his mortal life

Booker raised Catholic by crypto-Jews adds ANOTHER layer to the forgery thing, no shit he'd get good at falsifying paperwork and coming up with plausible cover stories

do we know how Booker made it back home after his first death in 1812? his route between the Russian Empire and Provence in 1812 would've been a patchwork of laws about Jews, in case starvation and frostbite weren't enough for him to have to deal with, he's blond and could maybe get away with pretending not to be Jewish if he had to, alternately maybe synagogues and yeshivot took him in on his way home

the structural and sometimes-interpersonal dynamics of antisemitism cause many individual Jews to experience feelings of teetering on the fence between a valued member of a not-exclusively-Jewish community and a scapegoat/outcast/problem. HOLY SHIT BOOKER. "what do you know of all these years alone" is the most Jewish loneliness-in-a-crowd shit I've ever heard. fear that we're not wanted, or only wanted so long as we're useful — that's something that basically all people struggle with under capitalism, but it's especially poignant for many Jews because of the particular way antisemitism operates. (NOTE this can tip from a legit Jewish Booker reading to woobification of the sad white man who couldn't possibly be held responsible for his own actions because he's so sad, which, NOPE. it's very understandable for him to feel left out and misunderstood and not as wanted, as the youngest and not part of an immortal couple and maybe Jewish, but NONE OF THIS excuses his betrayal.)

Crusaders murdered a lot of Jews on their way to the ~holy land~. how many of Booker's people did Nicky kill on his way to kill Joe's people? has Booker ever actually talked to either of them about it?

I read this really beautiful fic about Joe needing to circumcise himself after getting run over by a cart (ouch) — this is a hell of a thing for Joe and Booker to have in common

just generally Jewish Booker adds more layers to him and Joe so clearly being such close friends, ugh that look Joe gives him when they're leaving the bar at the end of the movie, and I very much do not mean this in a gross Arab-Israeli-conflict way because Joe is Amazigh not Arab and Booker is Jewish not Israeli (and also a lot of Jews are Arabs) (but most importantly there's no ~eternal conflict~ between Muslims and Jews) (more about OP Is Not A Zionist below)

like, the UK and France (and to a certain extent Italy) carved up the former Ottoman Empire after WWI; among other things, the UK took Palestine, and they could've worked on eradicating European antisemitism so Jews wouldn't have to leave but instead they used their control of Palestine to encourage Zionist emigration of Jews out of Europe, and France took what is now Iraq, which has some pretty direct implications for US military involvement in that country in Nile's lifetime; France colonized Tunisia in the late 19th century and still held it during the Vichy era which means Tunisian Jews were subject to Nazi anti-Jewish laws which is just layers upon layers of colonial racist Islamophobic and antisemitic nightmares for Joe and Booker to live through

to be crystal clear before anybody gets ooh Muslim-Jewish conflict up in here, antisemitism is an invention of European Christians that they imported to the places they colonized, the European colonial powers encouraged Zionism because it was easier for them to encourage Jews to leave Europe and set us up as middle agents between the colonial powers and the ~scary brown people~, the Ottoman Empire and other Muslim governments historically have had a second-class citizenship category for non-Muslims that rankles my American first amendment freedom of religion sensibility but was very much not targeting Jews specifically, and these two men who've lived for a long-ass time through many varieties of geopolitical awfulness (and alongside a certain unwashed Crusader who has since learned his lesson) would have Things To Say about how our current mainstream discourses frame these things

getting off my soapbox and back to this action movie I'm trying to talk about, the ANGST of Booker's exile, which is simultaneously a very valid decision for Andy Joe and Nicky to make, an extremely long time for Nile who is only 26 years old to be separated from the one person on the planet in a position to really understand the crisis she's going through, and holy shit expelling a Jew from your group when he's already been expelled from mortality and his family and being expelled from places and continually having to start over somewhere new is THE curse of surviving through antisemitism, OUCH MY FEELINGS

Some French Jewish history:

France, like basically all of Europe, periodically expelled its Jews, but Provence (where Marseilles is) wasn't legally part of France during the expulsions up through 1398 so Provence had a continuous active Jewish community; about 3,000 Iberian Jewish refugees ended up in Provence after the expulsions from Spain and Portugal in the 1490s

the 1498 expulsion of French Jews DID apply to Provence but many "converted" to Christianity and reestablished a Jewish community when enforcement of the expulsion chilled out (which was in the government's interest because they were really into taxing Jews at higher rates, so much so that they taxed "new Christians" at higher rates once they realized expelling Jews meant they wouldn't be around to overtax, ffs) — by the mid-18th century Provence had notable communities of Jews and crypto-Jews (forced converts and their descendants who still kept some Jewish practices in secret)

Booker would've been 21 when revolutionary France granted equal legal rights to Jews in 1791 — his mortal life and first century of immortality happens to line up almost perfectly with the timeline of legal emancipation of Jews across Europe

the American and French Revolutions happened pretty much concurrently and took different approaches to religious freedom that make Book of Nile with Jewish Booker and canon Christian Nile extra interesting — French emancipation, at least from my American sensibility, is about secularism and religion not "interfering" (hence French Islamophobic shittiness about banning hijabs), whereas American religious freedom is more of "the government can't stop me from trying to evangelize / religiously harass people at my school/workplace/etc" — to be clear I think both countries' approaches to religious "freedom" are hegemonic as shit and have devastating flaws, but they're different models that emerged at the same time in Booker's youth and Christianity is clearly a source of emotional support for Nile and there's so much to explore here

Napoleon tried to ~liberate~ the Jews of places he conquered for his dumbass French Empire, but liberation from ghettos came with strings attached (like banning us from some of the only jobs we'd been legally allowed to have for centuries, and liberating us for the stated purpose of getting us to assimilate and stop being Jews) and many places that were briefly part of the French Empire reinstated their antisemitic laws after Napoleon was gone, can you imagine being a French Jew forced to fight and die in Russian winter for that jackass and then have to trudge back through a dozen countries whose antisemitism was all riled up by French interference?

Some facts about antisemitism:

antisemitism operates differently than many other oppressions, it doesn't economically oppress the target group in the same way as antiblackness or misogyny or ableism etc — the purpose of antisemitism is to create a scapegoat to blame when European peasants are mad at the king / the church / the people actually in charge, and structural antisemitism encourages a system where some Jews become visibly successful so that those individuals and our whole community are easier to make into scapegoats

one of the historical roots of antisemitism is stuff in the Christian Bible about moneylending as sinful — Jews in medieval Europe were often barred from owning land and Christians barred from moneylending, so some Jews found work in finance and some of us became very visibly successful for working with money — a few individual Jews running a particular bank or finding success as jewelry dealers turns into "Jews control global financial systems" scapegoating — a more recent example of this is the participation of nonblack Jews in white flight and the role of Jewish landlords doing the visible dirty work of non-Jewish institutions in American antiblack housing discrimination, Nile grew up on the South Side of Chicago and would have seen some shit along these lines and might repeat hurtful ideas out of a lack of knowledge, here's Ta Nahesi Coates on some of these dynamics

Booker canonically being a forger (specifically of coins in the comics?) needs a little extra care to avoid antisemitic tropes about Jews and money, I will happily answer good-faith asks about this if you want to check on something for a fic/etc

antisemitism in the United States where I live in October 2020 isn't institutional in the sense of targeting Jews for police violence or anything like that. it IS systemic, however, for example in all the antisemitic conspiracy theories the Trump administration and several other Republicans peddle (ie QAnon), and in how the Trump administration points to support for Israel as if that means support for Jews (it doesn't, it's evangelical Christians who push the US government to support the Israeli government because they think Jews need to be in the ~holy land~ for Jesus to come back that's literally why the United States funds Israel at the level it does). antisemitism also gets weaponized to encourage white Jews (those of us of European descent, who in the United States are definitely white because the foundation of US racism is slavery and antiblackness as well as anti-indigenous genocide, maybe European Jews aren't included in whiteness everywhere but we definitely are where I live) to side with white supremacy instead of building solidarity with other marginalized people (ie a lot of mainstream Jewish groups shit on the Movement for Black Lives because of its solidarity with Palestinians)

the Nation of Islam has a major presence in Chicago and its leader Louis Farrakhan who lives in Chicago has long spread a variety of antisemitic as well as homophobic bullshit but there are genuine good reasons many Black people find meaning/support in the Nation of Islam and Nile would've grown up with that mess in the air around her, this is a good take from a Black Jew about the nuance of all that

the way the Old Guard comics draw Yusuf al Kaysani is HOLY SHIT ANTISEMITISM BATMAN I hate it please summarize the comics for me because I DO NOT WANT to look at that unnecessarily caricatured nose why the fuck did they do that human noses are beautiful there is absolutely no need to draw Joe like a Nazi would

Jews for Racial and Economic Justice is a local NYC group that recently developed a fantastic resource for understanding and fighting antisemitism (pdf) 11/10 strongly recommend

Zionism disclaimer: A lot of Jews feel strongly that we need a Jewish-majority country in order to be safe from antisemitism. I strongly disagree with this idea on its merits (Jews disagree about who is a Jew and making Jewish status a government/immigration matter means some of us are going to get left out; also non-Jews aren't fundamentally dangerous and separatism isn't going to end antisemitism) but I have a lot of empathy for the very valid fear that leads a lot of my people to Zionism. Whether I want a Jewish-majority country or not, what Israel has done and continues to do to Palestinians is a deal breaker. Emotions run very high on this subject — I spend a lot of my not-Tumblr life talking to other Jews about Zionism and I'd rather not have this Jewish Booker headcanons post become yet another place where fellow Jews yell at me in bad faith. Block me if you need to, you're not going to change my mind. Call me self-hating if you want, I know I love us.

Racism in fandom disclaimer: I feel weird about increasing the volume of meta about Booker in this fandom. Nile Freeman is the main character and deserves lots of attention and adoration from the fandom — and she deserves emotional support from as many friends and orgasms from as many partners as she wants. I think Jewish Booker makes her friendship and potential romantic relationship with him even more interesting, hence this post. Ship what you ship, but be aware of the racist impact of focusing your fandom activity on, for example, shipping two white men while ignoring awesome characters of color especially the canon man of color one of those white dudes has already been with for a millennium. Please and thanks don't use my post for shenanigans like sidelining Joe so you can ship Booker with Nicky.

Oh and a non-disclaimer fun fact, Matthias Schoenaerts was born in Antwerp which apparently has one of the largest Jewish communities still remaining in Europe?? ~Jewish Booker headcanons intensify~

In conclusion: Jewish Booker! Just because it's fun! It exponentially increases the angst of his mortal lifetime and it puts his first century of immortality smack in the middle of the most intense changes to Jewish life since the fall of the Second Temple (aforementioned emancipation, also founding of Reform Judaism, the Haskalah, Zionism, and then of course the Holocaust). It makes his relationships with Nile, Joe, and Nicky more interesting and potentially angstier and with more intense commonalities and tenderness about their differences. It's very common for Jews to not believe in God (this confuses the shit out of a lot of Christians) and this would probably have further endeared him to Andy.

One more thing: Booker as golem. (A golem is basically an earthenware robot of Jewish folklore.) He's tall and blond and the most Steve Rogers-looking of all of them and from the Himbeaux region of France. THE trope of Book of Nile is he will do WHATEVER Nile wants or needs him to do. I was today years old when I learned that Modern Hebrew speakers use golem figuratively to mean "mindless lunk" and I'm choosing to squint and read that as "hot kind and dumb as rocks" because it amuses me.

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which Lion suffers from the consequences of being tortured. (Rating M, hella angst + some comfort, ~3.3k words) - written for @renegad3spectre​! Thank you a ton for commissioning me, I really really enjoyed this prompt, just took it and ran with it. It was a pleasure, all the love to you 🧡🧡🧡

.

Horrifically, it’s his grandfather delivering the blows.

He’s got fond memories of him, of sweets smuggled into his pocket, repeated stories ever-changing from one retelling to the next, quiet banter loud enough for him to hear but muffled enough that he suppressed his own laughter. He smelled of books and wood and old people, and that must’ve been it – the building had held a heavy, stale air which probably triggered the association, unwanted as it is.

So now the creature in his head, the remnant, the ghost haunting his mind wears his grandpa’s face like it owned it, like it had absolutely any right. It hurts more this way. It hurts to be called a disgrace, worthless, useless. It hurts to be disowned, it hurts to hear I have no grandson and it hurts to be accused of killing them, you killed them, your hand held the scalpel and this particular voice coming from his grandfather’s mouth is even more disturbing.

Who do you work for, he yells, unforgiving, merciless, and now his features shift, skin discolouring and eyes sinking into their holes to make way for nothing but darkness, and soon it’s the familiar sight of a brutal, faceless monster, concealed by a mask, surrounded by others looking exactly like him, supported by clones. Where are they, they scream at him in unison, who else. And he wants to answer, wants so desperately to reply to make it stop, is willing to give up anything, everything, if only it means this unbearable noise in his head quiets down. But his thoughts are made of tar, spread slowly and directionless, impossible to wade through. Words elude him, fade like smoke whenever he attempts to grasp them, endeavours to put this horrendous suffering into a single sentence.

Not like any expression he knows would be sufficient to describe this torture.

He doesn’t know what’s real. At times, he’s losing himself in a loud beat and a steaming crowd, coloured lights sweeping overhead and music seeping into his bones, and he knows he needs to reunite with his friends to keep partying, keep the night alive. It’s convincing enough he can taste the cheap drinks in his throat and feels naked, sweaty arms brush over his own on the dance floor – and the next second a blinding light pierces his skull and there are too many people around him he doesn’t know. They sound alarmed, eyes wide, and it sparks an instant, shrieking panic: something is wrong and he has no idea what it is. The strangers refuse to let him go, hold him down, and he tries to explain while the sterile stench they exude causes his stomach to churn and turn.

.

Most of the time, his ears are filled with accusations. The source is constantly evolving but what stays is the nauseating sense of dread. His heart races against the rest of his bodily functions and easily wins every time since his senses are sluggish, his perception unreliable and his thoughts wrapped in cotton. Grimaces of fury are persistent companions, and though he can’t put a name to all of them, their familiarity cuts deep. His mother, his former friends, his father, his sister. Alexis. Claire. The guy he met in Marseille who pretended to be his friend. Doc. Thatcher. An abomination from that cursed city Lion tries so hard to forget. Doc. The masked entity, omniscient, omnipotent, terrifying. Alexis. Doc.

He understands.

Why people would betray their loved ones, their country, their morals – he understands now, and the realisation is as chilling as the experience. He begged to be able to tell them. Begged for his life, begged for his life to be taken. Begged for peace as opposed to the chaos inside him, and he knows now most people have no idea what chaos really means. They humanise it, award it positive or negative qualities yet Lion would tell them it’s neither malevolent nor merciful. It just is. Against it, he is nothing, smaller than a speck of dust, utterly inconsequential and unimportant: in the face of true chaos, he’s meaningless. All he can do is hope he survives it.

.

The room is empty, his eyes tell him, and his ears tell him the same, but his brain is convinced of someone’s presence, just out of sight. Pitiful noises fill the barren, bleak chamber and they come from him, but at least they summon another human. A human with Doc’s face, and then with a mask, and then it’s Doc’s face again. Lion buries his fingernails so deep into his arm he tastes copper on his lips and pleads for him to stay. He sounds like a broken record, this voice isn’t his, the syllables barely intelligible among the dry heaving and the sobs. Music starts playing, a loud riff reminiscent of his teenager years, signifying rebellion and freedom and the worst fucking period of his entire life, and Doc says your hand held the scalpel and he’s gone again.

More, he implored as if anything he said would sway them, yes, please. And he looked at the needle and hated it, despised himself for craving it like this, abhorred the ones who turned him into this, and simultaneously he needed. He needed it so much. Without it, he was broken.

His throat is hoarse from screaming, so the visions morphed from atrocious to tragic until he had no more tears left to cry, and then they went for the very core of him. And this, too, he understands now: why anyone would go above God and decide existence isn’t worth it anymore. If he’s being tested, he’ll gladly fail as long as it means silence. If he’s being punished, he’s ready to receive eternal punishment for it can’t be any worse than this.

.

Someone is calling his name. The man – the men – knew it because he told them, it was one of the many things he told them, so he fights tooth and nail to continue drifting in this vegetative state, but it grows ever more insistent and strips away the layers of mud obstructing his consciousness, leaving him no choice. He can’t remember what it’s like, to have a choice, to choose.

Long words are being thrown at him. He deciphers none and yet an image forms below his eyelids, less blurry with every new description. The professional tone of voice pushes him gently back to his days of studying, a time filled with diligence and the hope to make a difference, and his despairing brain latches on to the information like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

Delirium, the familiar voice lists, agitation, seizures, anxiety, hallucinations. Too many syllables to fully absorb, and still he deconstructs them halfway. The mask wouldn’t know them. And if it did, it wouldn’t use them around him.

He’s safe.

He must be, it’s the only valid conclusion, but why does his existence still hurt this much? Why is the world shaking, why is he slowly drifting away from everything he ever held dear, from his life, this earth, himself?

.

They have Alexis. The realisation jolts through him like an electric shock. He needs to rescue him somehow, together with the people by his side, yet he can’t shoot at the maniacally cackling crowd running away from him because he’s not sure which one of them has him, and he can’t risk hitting his own son. Risk harming his most important footprint on this world. The masked grimace tells him he’ll be too late, and besides, it was his own fault anyway: Lion willingly told them about Alexis’ whereabouts in exchange for his next fix.

And he did do that. He did that. These are the consequences of his own actions, his punishment for complying with minimal resistance instead of staying strong, remembering his training. He sacrificed his son for something this trivial. Offered him up in exchange for complacency. Put himself first.

People are screaming, Claire, his colleagues, his family, and he knows he must interfere if his life is meant to be worth anything anymore, and there’s a small voice inside his head, an old companion. Full of vitriol, pulling at threads to make him come undone, scratching at scabs to cause scars, widening holes so he’s incomplete. It suggests a scenario and with petrifying speed, he’s there to live it.

He has a choice. On the one side is his son, gagged, tears in his eyes, struggling against his restraints. On the other side is –

There’s a –

.

It’s a syringe.

.

“-s alright. You’re alright. Take a breath, Flament. You’re safe, you have nothing to worry about. Do you need to throw up?”

Paying no attention to the words, Lion is flailing, sitting up abruptly and touching his legs to check whether they’re still there, touches his face and feels blind panic flare up the moment he spots the object in the crook of his arm. He’s narrowly stopped from ripping it out by an iron grip against which he struggles wildly, demanding to be let go, knocking something over and shattering it.

The vice-like grip never once wavers, and gradually his surroundings begin to sink in. He’s in a hospital, it seems, and the person by his side is none other than Doc, trusty (your hand held the scalpel) Doc who’d never let a patient suffer more than absolutely necessary. Bleeding heart Doc. Doc with his stoic face which barely contains the rage undoubtedly roaring in his chest (and is it directed at Lion?).

From one second to the next, Lion deflates and sinks back into the pillows, thoroughly fatigued. His adrenaline wears off quickly and makes way for uncomfortable nausea and the sensation of itching limbs. He needs to move, needs to shake off this horrible feeling of having slept a decade, but he doesn’t trust his body. The hand finally lets go of his wrist and leaves behind a print even lighter than Lion’s skin already is.

“Alexis is safe, too”, Doc assures him.

Lion jumps at this. How does he know? His throat closes and opens, produces a dry rasp and forces him to cough. Next to him, Doc is waiting patiently. “Where is he?”, Lion eventually gets out.

“At home. He never left.” He sounds composed despite the storm clouds visible in his expression, so Lion isn’t the intended recipient of his cold fury. “You kept calling for him, so I figured you must be worried. But there’s no need for concern.”

“What happened?”

Doc pauses for a few seconds. “We apprehended the ones responsible. Fortunately, we intercepted their outgoing messages, so what little information you gave them never reached anyone else.”

If this was true, Lion could exonerate himself. He also takes note of how Doc is silent about the before. He must guess Lion remembers being captured, remembers what they did to him. Bruises on his body are evidence for some of it, and the hellish trip tells the rest of the story. “How much did I say?”

“Doesn’t matter. We caught it.”

“How much?”

“You shouldn’t worry about -”

“Gustave!”, Lion roars, desperate to be either condemned or redeemed. He needs to know, must know so he can better assess his own mental strength. So he knows what to confess. So he can pray for forgiveness.

Doc’s lips are a thin line. “I don’t know. Grace and Mark had an agreement with Harry not to disclose any details. He says it’s standard procedure to prevent potential animosity.”

Not good enough. He’ll never be able to look Alexis in the eyes again if it turns out he did mention him. How much of his memories are real, how much were part of his nightmares? “What about my son?”, he whispers and Doc just shakes his head.

“As I said: I don’t know. Try to get some rest, Flament.”

Just as he exits the room, Lion spots the deep scratches on Doc’s forearm. Please stay, just please, he yells at Doc in his head, unable to bend his lips around the words. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t leave me.

He starts crying again.

So weak is he that the tears won’t stop, can’t stop, a broken silhouette in the shape of a man. Fragmented, just like his thoughts. He can’t remember ever feeling this terrible, hasn’t felt this frail and fragile in forever. His body doesn’t feel like home.

No time that night is spent sleeping. Restless, he crawls out of bed, explores the room that isn’t his while dragging his IV stand along, lets his eyes wander over pages not belonging to him, books left on his nightstand on accident probably, and doesn’t absorb a single word.

.

Once his thoughts are his own again, he utilises them with newfound fervour. He requests his phone and types until his thumbs hurt, types and deletes, corrects, amends, reinvents.

This is a theme in his life, an endlessly repeating circle: arrogance begets punishment. A boastful adolescent loses his innocence by nearly terminating an unborn life, by indulging vices too great for him to understand. A reformed young man deeming himself competent is burdened with death and riddled with blame (your hand held the scalpel).

A man, feeling invincible, having repaired bridges, full of empathy, is beaten bloody and broken.

He hasn’t updated his will in years – a symptom of a much more dangerous cause. Rainbow instilled a delusion of grandeur in him, promised him a future, coloured his life vibrantly and provided a new motto. Not me. He won’t be killed in the line of duty, not with these people by his side. He’ll be fine. Whatever happens, he’ll be fine.

This was a close call. Targeted and much more efficient than Six anticipated, or else Lion never would’ve been captured in the first place. If this is a sign, it couldn’t be any clearer: he’s not only not invincible, he’s delicate. This was just one weakness they could’ve exploited, Alexis obviously being another, his family as well. He won’t be as cocky when embarking on a mission from now on, and he’ll try to convey to the others how easy it is not to return.

It’s an earth-shattering wakeup call.

And so he types until the letters blur before his eyes, and says things which needed saying years ago. And he vows that this change in perspective will be a permanent one – he’ll never open himself up like this anymore. He’ll stay alert. He’ll fend off complacency.

.

And then Montagne is by his side and says a thing too chilling to be true. He’s gone, it drips from his lips like poison, and Lion knows with absolute certainty that it’s the truth. Doc accompanied him on the mission, Lion failed him, only he was saved. Endless protest is shushed by a sad shake of the head, a head with a face so ashen Lion can tell he’s not the only one filled with sorrow at the news.

There’s so much left unsaid between them, so much admiration and respect bottled up in order to show no weakness, and now he knows it’s useless to suppress emotion due to pride. Neither of them had managed to move on and now that Lion was willing to offer introspection and the admittance of possible mistakes in the shape of good intentions and the only course of action he saw, Doc would never be able to accept any of it.

Doc would never tell him he did a good job again. He’d never show him this grim smile again, the one he wore whenever he was satisfied with Lion’s work despite the outcome, laced with pride almost – or maybe this is wishful thinking, because after all they’ve lived through, a part of Lion still craves his approval so desperately that every positive word makes him glow from the inside, only he’s gone now, and Lion will never tell him –

.

“Olivier.”

Drenched in sweat, a pounding headache and with trembling limbs, he wakes up. Still in the hospital, still with Doc by his side. Of course: his demons have been depriving him of all things positive in his life, so why not him too? Nightmares know no bounds and refuse to accept Doc is sacred.

The other man is flushed slightly, dressed immaculately as always, but most importantly: alive. His gaze is turned downward to where Lion is gripping his wrist so tightly his knuckles are white. “I’m here”, Doc says gently. “You can let go. I’m here.”

Lion considers complying, though when it registers that Doc called him by first name, all he does is loosen his grip. “I dreamt you died”, he admits, staring up at the irregular patterns on the ceiling. He couldn’t ever convey this emotionless void Doc’s death caused in him, the utter emptiness – somehow, it was as if he’d lost his life’s goal. Which is insane, because his aim is to better the world. Not win Doc over.

“I could tell”, says Doc.

He must’ve been distraught, calling out in his sleep, reaching for his colleague. A question occurs to him which he should’ve asked sooner: “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes.” Hesitation. “Ying has a black eye. When we came, they were currently depriving you.”

Lion figured as much. “I need to apologise to her.”

“You weren’t yourself.” Doc’s eyes meet his. “That wasn’t you.”

His relief must be palpable. Hearing it from Doc’s mouth doesn’t make it true, but it drowns out that malicious voice which never fucking shuts up. Giving up their secrets, thirsting for a meritless high, attacking blindly – even himself: he’s more than that, and knowing Doc is fully aware of this causes him to fight back tears of gratitude. “No. It wasn’t.”

After a moment of silence, Doc’s arm twists around and offers his hand, which Lion immediately accepts. For now, there’s no second-guessing motives, no long deliberation as to whether Doc is helping a co-worker, a friend, someone more than that, whether he’s volunteering support or understanding or something else entirely. All he knows is: the hand is warm, so warm it spreads a soft calmness all throughout him.

“I brought you music.” Doc indicates an old iPod on the bedside table next to the stack of books (which has grown), a vase with flowers and a few cards. Lion either failed to notice them before or they’re a recent addition. “Dominic helped with the selection.”

This is good news. Lion hopes for unfamiliar bands – he’s not sure what kind of reaction the ones from his youth might trigger in this state.

“And I spoke with Harry.” The segue is too casual. Lion has become proficient at reading between the lines with Doc, and he translates it as I gave him a stern talking to. “He said to tell you the information you gave was deemed ‘insignificant’.”

The wording doesn’t escape him: there’s no certainty in what -

“And you didn’t even mention Alexis.”

Lion takes a deep breath.

Between the constant pressure against his temples, the rolling stomach and nauseating dizziness, he’s felt better, but trusting Doc’s words to be true settles something inside him. Doc wouldn’t lie about this. “Thank you”, Lion replies and hopes his earnest gratitude is audible.

There’s so much to say between them his thoughts are going haywire considering just a fraction of it. All their arguments are ultimately the same as Lion’s treason: insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Something invisible connects them and it should be time to drag it to the surface, but not now. Not when he’s barely begun to heal from his outside and inside wounds.

Instead, he asks: “Will you stay a little longer?”

This time, Doc nods and remains where he is, a bastion of calm. And when Lion squeezes his hand, Doc returns the gesture and it’s all he needs for the moment.

It’s enough.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Resentment Ch. 1 (Ethan x MC)

Summary: After 2 months of not seeing each other, Ethan and Naomi do not have a pleasant reunion.

A/N: So...I’ve been writing this for the past 2 weeks. Open Heart 2 is ripe with angst and untapped drama. Tbh, this is my 5th draft, and I kept deleting and writing, and deleting and re-writing this, and I had to step away multiple times, as this was probably be one of my more draining fics to write. But anyway, if you’re still reading this long winded ass note, thank you lol. And enjoy, as always!

Tags: @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @doroshi-desu @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @dr-nancy-house @adrian-motherfucking-raines

~v~

Seeing Ethan Ramsey again nearly knocked the wind out of her. It feels like she saw a ghost. But here’s here, at Donahue’s, strolling through the garden as if this is any other night. As if he didn’t disappear off of the face of the earth for 2 months.

Naomi didn’t plan on having such a visceral reaction to seeing him, but she has little to no control over her body these days. Her heart speeds up, beating twice as fast, a cold sweat breaks out, starting at her forehead, and there’s the flip of her stomach and unmistakable taste of bile rising in her throat.

‘Do not throw up,’ she silently begs herself. ‘Do not throw up. Please, keep it together, Valentine.’

The chant doesn’t work, the nausea hitting her hard, like a wave crashing against the shore. She jumps out of her seat, ignoring the looks of confusion from her friends, and makes a beeline to the restroom, pushing past the other patrons at the bar. She barely makes it into a stall before she’s on her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach into a dirty public toilet.

Naomi isn’t sure how long she’s like this, embarrassingly clutching the toilet, but a knock at the stall door breaks her out of her trance. “It’s occupied!”

“It’s Sienna,” the voice on the other side says softly. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

The door swings open slowly and Sienna attempts to squeeze into the small space. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to make it work.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Naomi mumbles weakly. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

“Yes I did,” Sienna argues. She helps Naomi to her feet and pulls at the roll of cheap toilet paper. She bunches it up and wipes the corner of Naomi’s mouth. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“I feel like I’ve just seen one,” Naomi quips back. “Let’s just say I did not expect to see Dr. Ramsey here tonight.”

“You didn’t know he was coming back?” Sienna asks. “I thought you two were close.”

Naomi thought they were close too. But she got ghosted. It was jarring, going from sleeping with Ethan and openly flirting with him, to him being her boss again, to him disappearing and cutting off all communication within a span of 3 days. “I thought we were too.”

“How do you think it’ll be, working with him tomorrow?”

“I have no idea what to expect,” Naomi replies honestly. “Hopefully the rest of the team is nice.”

Sienna lifts Naomi up, helping her stand on her feet again. They exit the stall and Naomi washes her hands furiously like she’s about to perform surgery.

They walk out of the bathroom, Sienna with a protective arm around her friend’s waist. The rest of their friends are now inside, at their usual booth.

They all stare at Naomi, and she hates it. Now they’re probably going to think of her as the weirdo who threw up upon seeing her boss (an ex-lover, though not everyone is privy to that information).

“You just missed the wildest shit,” Bryce says, almost breathless. “Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Thorne nearly got into a fight!”

That was the last thing Naomi expected to hear. “What?”

“Thorne was being a real creep, and he tried to feel up some young girl. He touched her and she broke his hand!” Elijah exclaims. “He got loud and rowdy, he pushed her down, and Ethan came out of nowhere, swooping in like freaking Batman. I thought he was going to snap Thorne’s neck at one point.”

“Where is the girl?” Naomi asks. 

“She ran out of here as soon as she could.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Naomi murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Are you okay?” Bryce asks. “I’ve never seen you get sick before.”

“Whatever virus is fermenting in your body, please keep it away from me,” Jackie says, not even giving Naomi the chance to respond.

“Jackie!” Sienna tsks in annoyance. “Have some compassion.”

“She’s either drunk or it’s the stomach flu,” Jackie says with a shrug. “She’ll survive a little teasing.”

“It’s okay, Sienna,” Naomi insists. She loves her friend’s protective nature, but it really isn’t necessary. “You don’t have to go into mother hen mode.”

“Fine. But I’m making you soup after work tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Reggie announces last call, and the gang starts talking about their post-bar plans. Be it getting food, going downtown, or just going home. Naomi drowns out the conversation as her eyes settle onto Ethan. His back is turned to her and Naomi notices that he’s the only one left at the bar while Reggie is cleaning up.

“Does last call not apply to you?” Naomi asks, getting his attention.

“Reggie and I go way back. We have an arrangement,” Ethan says simply.

“An arrangement.” Naomi rolls her eyes as she repeats the words. “Is that what you call a friendship?”

“I don’t have friends. But...I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

Naomi weighs her options. She can go home and put this night behind her, or she can stay out with Ethan. And actually talk to him.

She turns back to her friends. “You guys go on ahead. I want to check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.”

She doesn’t believe that excuse for one second. And if her friends don’t believe it either, they don’t say anything. Sienna just tells her to not stay out too late, before they all leave, going their separate ways.

Once they’re gone, Naomi joins Ethan at the bar. She looks at, really looks at him. He’s still the same handsome guy, just more...rugged. He’s much more tan than she remembers, it looks like he’s gained weight—muscle, not fat—and he’s sporting an entirely new look.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey,” she muses.

Ethan looks down at his green jacket, a vast departure from the sweaters and button ups he usually wears.

“This jacket’s been through a lot with me,” he explains, toying with the sleeve.

“I like it.”

She doesn’t miss the way he perks up at the compliment, almost as if he was hoping she’d say something. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Duly noted. And the beard?”

Ethan doesn’t know why he needs her stamp of approval so badly, but the validation she gives him feels nice. He likes to know that she thinks he looks good.

“It looks good on you,” Naomi answers honestly. Ethan scratches the beard, his fingers flying towards it unconsciously at her words. He nods, soaking in her praise.

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

Naomi looks around as an almost awkward silence settles between the two of them. She’s now actively aware of the fact that it’s just the two of them, alone.

“Why don’t we move this outside?” Ethan suggests, some of the tension dissipating. “It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. You want something to drink?”

Naomi’s stomach flips at the mention of alcohol. “You know what I want? A cup of ice water.”

Ethan’s eyebrow quirks up at the answer. They’re in a bar and she wants...water? He shrugs but heads behind the bar, nonetheless. Grabbing a Pilsner glass, he fills it to the top with ice and he also finds a bottle of water. He hands them off to Naomi. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They make their way outside. It’s so quiet now that everyone is gone. It feels peaceful. Ethan drops down in a chair near the fire pit and Naomi joins.

“I can see why you like it here.”

“Because nobody’s annoying me?” Ethan jokes.

“More or less,” Naomi concedes. “It’s peaceful.” Ethan nods in agreement. “So...how was it, being in the Amazon?”

“It was quite the experience. It kept me on my toes.”

“Fighting an epidemic in a different country sounds...thrilling. And scary. You’re brave for doing it.”

Ethan snorts. Naomi always manages to see the best in him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. “That wasn’t bravery.”

Naomi looks down at her lap. “You didn’t keep in touch. Two whole months without any form of communication seems extreme, don’t you think? Especially after everything that’s happened with us?”

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you.”

“192,” Naomi says. 

“Huh?”

“192. That’s how many times I’ve called you in the past 2 months. I also sent 75 texts and 30 emails. You could have responded to at least one of those.”

Hearing the numbers out loud makes Naomi feel ridiculous, like a stalker. And Ethan just feels...awful. He remembers his chest going tight every time he saw her name flash across his screen. He remembers the restraint it took him to not call her back, or reach out in any way. He needed to stay away. It was for the best, for both of them.

“Naomi, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it with whatever...what is was that we had.”

Ethan probably would’ve been better off taking this glass of ice water and throwing it in her face. The callousness in his voice chilled her to the core. “That’s how you’d describe it? As ‘whatever’?”

Ethan sighs heavily. Of course his relationship with the younger woman meant something to him, but if he was going to be her boss, they needed boundaries. There had to be a line.

“Pouring my heart out to you on multiple occasions and vice versa, secretly saving our boss’s life, you bringing Mrs. Martinez’s son to my ethics hearing, the sex, it all just culminates to a...whatever. What? Is what we went through just a casual experience in the life of Ethan Ramsey?”

“Of course not, but Naomi, I can’t go down this road with you again. We need to have a reset if things are going to work.”

She doesn’t know why the word ‘reset’ makes her laugh, but it does. She laughs, hard, almost maniacally, until her sides hurt and she can barely breathe. Ethan says nothing, staring at her in confusion.

“You know what, Ethan? Fuck you.”

That catches him off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear. Fuck. You. You’re a coward. And a runner. You run at the slightest hint of something being hard, or if you have to face your own emotions and vulnerabilities. You run off, drinking yourself silly and keeping your head in the sand, and then you come waltzing back as if nothing happened, but guess what? Life still happens. There is no reset, no do-overs, no pauses. Time still moves forward.”

Tears prick the corners of her eyes and she wills herself to not cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve any more of her vulnerability. She doesn’t know why it hurts so much, but it does. The idea of him moving through life as if what they shared was minuscule and insignificant burns. It causes a sharp ache in her chest she didn’t realize she had the capacity to feel.

“While you were in South America, ignoring the almost 400 pieces of correspondence I sent, I was still here, still dealing with shit, still caring about you, worrying about you and your safety every fucking day. I don’t have the luxury of turning my feelings on and off whenever I see fit, and I don’t get to delude myself into thinking I can turn back time.”

How many times are they going to play this game before she realizes she’s always going to be the loser? She and Ethan get close, he rejects her but leaves just enough space and opportunity to keep her hanging on.

Naomi wraps her arms around her midsection and slightly curls into herself. Not even her own embrace is soothing at this point. The rejection stings, and she feels...stupid. Why does she keep holding out hope for Ethan, hoping he’ll want her the same way she wants him? Why does she keep coming back, waiting diligently like a little puppy, nipping at his ankles for the slightest bit of attention? Maybe she’s just a glutton for pain.

“If you want to hit the reset button, you can do it by yourself. I’m not playing that game with you.” Naomi abruptly stands up, clutching onto the back of her chair for stability. “Goodnight.”

Panic settles in his chest. He doesn’t want things with her to end like this, with her hating him. He wants her to stay. He wants to take back everything he just said. “Naomi, I–”

“Save it!” Whatever he’s about to say, whatever line it is that’ll feed her just enough false hope to keep hanging on, she doesn’t want to hear it.

After gathering her belongings, she turns on her heel, looking for the exit. Her entire body is rigid, defensive and ready to strike at any given moment, and she feels like she’s going to throw up again, which is something she truly does not have time for.

She’s fully prepared to walk away from him with whatever shred of dignity she still has, but she stops herself. She turns around, facing Ethan again.

“I called you a lot while you were gone. I left countless voicemails until your mailbox was completely full. Did you listen to any of them?”

“I haven’t listened.” Ethan feels ashamed by the answer, and he refuses to meet her big doe eyes, opting to look at the ground.

Naomi doesn’t dwell on the answer. She shakes off the hurt, and powers through.

“Last Wednesday, at 5:21 am, I called. You obviously didn’t answer, and I left a message. I’ll set the scene for you because I’ll never forget the moment. I was sitting in my bathtub, crying, almost hysterically. It was the type of crying that gets Meryl Streep and Viola Davis Oscar nominations, the kind that makes you feel sick to your stomach. But I live with 3 other people, so I had to sob into a face towel until the worst of it passed. And then I called you. Logically, I knew you probably weren’t going to answer, but I figured one last Hail Mary couldn’t hurt so I did it anyway. 

In the voicemail, I practically begged you to talk to me. To answer at least one of my calls. It was so...desperate. And pitiful. The old Naomi would rather get buried alive than to ever be so emotionally available and needy, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I needed you, I needed solace that I thought only you could give me, but I know now that it won’t happen. You’re way too emotionally stunted and unavailable.”

She inhales, something shaky and full of vulnerability, and every bone in her body is screaming out to just shut the fuck up and turn away.

“But you didn’t answer, you didn’t acknowledge it, and I was just absolutely gutted,” Naomi continues. “Because had you answered that call, or called me back some time that day, I would’ve told you that I’m pregnant.”

With that confession, Naomi visibly deflates. It feels like a crushing weight has been lifted off of her chest.

But Ethan feels the exact opposite. Unable to move, he gapes at Naomi. “You-you’re what?”

“Pregnant. 9 weeks, 5 days. It’s the size of an olive at this point, and before you ask, yes, it’s yours.”

Paternity hadn’t even crossed his mind at this point. He’s still stuck on the fact that she’s pregnant. 

“So while it hurts to know what you want a reset, and to pretend we didn’t share anything, it is also literally impossible to do so,” Naomi says with a humorless chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’ve received the message loud and clear. See you at work tomorrow, Doctor. Oh, and congratulations.”

Ethan watches as she leaves, even though he calls her name, asking her to stay. His chest feels tight like someone is squeezing him from the inside, and he struggles to inhale. The revelation stifles him, and he can’t get his bearings.

Unable to do much else, Ethan falls back into his chair. Despite trying his damnedest to get things back on track, it feels as if he’s made everything so much worse.

[homebody-nobody]

touch me someone

HIIIII it’s your favorite fic writer back from the dead with TWO whole fics real close together maybe I’ll finally become a consistent publisher?!? we can dream. Anyway. JJ and Kiara are my new Bellamy and Clarke I guess so enjoy this VERY angsty smutty hurt/comforty poetic nonsense the idea for which would not leave my brain til I wrote it. Please for the love of god read this bc I actually kind of love it and need validation or concrit or literally any feedback at all bc my none of my irl friends like this show so pls interact/comment 

---------------------

ao3

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He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

But she’s still here.

--------------------

Touch me someone 

I’m too young to feel so

numb, numb, numb, numb 

You could be the one to 

Make me feel somethin, somethin. 

The Phantom went down around 8:30 PM. Or maybe 10:30. Kiara doesn’t remember. She only knows that the hours between then and now have felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. Like she’ll turn and John B will be there, behind her shoulder, laughing at something JJ said, Sarah hanging off his arm; but also like the world is dark and will be dark and has been dark forever. Like the sun will never rise after this. Like the storm took the light and heat from the world just like it took her best friend. 

Later, she’ll learn that John B’s official time of death is listed as 8:34 PM, when they stopped trying to establish radio contact with him and Sarah. Later, she’ll watch news stories about the manhunt for Rafe Cameron and the scandal of Ward Cameron’s property being left to his second wife, rather than his remaining daughter. Later, she’ll get an email from an internet cafe in Bermuda and her whole world will flip upside down one more time. 

But now, she is laying in her four-poster bed, watching the ceiling fan lazily trawl the same, tired circle, listening to the pull-chain tap not-quite-silently against the glass fixture. Now, her hair still damp from the shower that her mother made her take, eyes stinging from sharp wind and tears not yet shed, the inside of her mouth shredded and sore from the hours she spent chewing on her lips, the world is too quiet, too peaceful. The crickets outside sing soft and gentle, just like they have every night her whole life, and the texture of her comforter, the quiet harmony of the night, the soft click and whoosh of the fan -- it all feels so chokingly familiar, like spiralling back down to earth after spending weeks dipping in and out of orbit. 

She wants to scream until her throat is raw, sob and fight and unleash herself on every single adult that hurt John B, that brushed him off or refused to help or wouldn’t listen to him. She wants to gut Ward Cameron for ripping everything away from John B, first his father, and then the gold that was his by right. The gold that was theirs. She wants to rip off Rafe’s skin piece by piece until he’s in shreds at her feet. She wants to eviscerate his father with the same gaff hook he used to rip apart those two mainlanders and ruin John B’s life. She’s so full of hurt and grief and anger that her fists keep clenching white-knuckled in her blankets and she wants to bring down the sky itself. But at the same time, she’s haunted by that same emptiness that followed her after Sarah’s childish betrayal, like she’s watching it all from the outside. 

She can’t sleep. She won’t. Sleep is just an escape, a place to forget, and she’ll have to wake up and remember what happened all over again, remember the rush of hope and the hours of adrenaline and apprehension that ended in a tragedy none of them could have ever predicted. What child foretells death? 

Rolling over, she presses her face into her pillow, smothering herself until her lungs force her to turn her head for air. She opens her eyes, no less heavier than they were hours ago. Her throat tightens like tears are about to well up, to spill over and stain her sheets, but they don’t come. Itchy and claustrophobic, she throws back the sheets and paces over the smooth boards of her room, bare feet making soft noises over the lacquered wood. She has to get out, to make sure that she didn’t dream up the whole goddamn thing. 

She dresses quickly, throwing on denim cutoffs and an old drug rug that cycled its way through at least two of the boys’ wardrobes before landing in hers. She doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t know what she needs, but she throws her wallet, her charger, a flashlight, and her water bottle in her beat up backpack, and, on second thought, a toothbrush and some deodorant. She picks up her keds and tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creaky eighth stair. 

The key rack is empty, and, chastising herself for believing her parents would leave the car keys out after everything she’d pulled in the last few days, she rocks on her heels, assessing her options. The most prudent one is probably just to go back to bed, given the usual risks of going out at night as a teenage girl, the massive punishment that looms in her future, and, now, the lack of a vehicle. But the thought of returning to her stale room, skin crawling and mind racing at a standstill, makes the decision for her. She slips out the back door, making sure to catch the screen door before it slams, and digs out her bike from next to the garage. The tires could use air and the gears are misaligned, but it still rides, and it’ll get her… somewhere else. 

Her original intention is to go to Pope’s house, mostly because it’s closest, but then she thinks about how she kissed him earlier that afternoon -- and God, was that just this afternoon? There’d be implications, now. Showing up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window -- it would mean something. So she stands up on the pedals and pushes past his street, floating like jetsam through the night. 

She ends up heading for the chateau, which is where she was going all along. After her family moved to the outskirts of figure eight just before high school, it was the only place that felt like home anymore. She cruises deep into the cut, where even the smell of the air changes, from freshly mowed grass and chlorinated in-ground pools to gasoline and oil, rotting seaweed and the salt marsh. 

The little house sits in the reeds, ramshackle and welcoming as ever, tired and reaching under the moon. It’s empty and forlorn, alone on the edge of the edge, out past the main cluster of the cut, pushed past the tideline, separated from the rest of the flotsam by a freak wave. The Routledge boys never fit in, even with the outcasts, and they made their home like they knew it. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, the sting of tiny rocks against her bare ankles is the only thing she’s really felt in hours. Her heart picks up, skipping over itself as her memory stumbles over all the years seeping out of the wind-weathered boards and the sinking foundation. 

Again, it feels like this would be a moment for tears, like the sight of John B’s house, the memory of Big John’s booming laugh and all the bonfire-scented nights on that sagging porch should mean enough to make something in her crack, to finally shatter the glass walls of shock and let the grief come pouring in. But it doesn’t. She just stares up at the chateau, one part of her aching for the ease of a found family she’ll never get back, the other dreading the fate of the little house. 

The breeze changes directions as she stares up at the rickety shutters and holey screens, bringing with it the tinny sound of music played out of a cell phone in a solo cup, a noise she knows well. Her stomach drops to the hard-packed dirt, crashing there with her bicycle and sending up a cloud of dust. Maybe John B survived. Maybe he made it back to shore, and he’s laying low, doing that stupid, chivalrous thing he does, trying to protect them by not letting them know. Maybe he’s out by the shed in that old metal lawn chair, Sarah in his lap, exhausted and defeated and alive. But as she gets closer, the moonlight glints off tawny waves crusted with sweat and salt, and the momentary, wild hope crashes and ebbs away from the shore. 

JJ hears her, of course, sitting up in the hammock and turning toward the sound of her flat-soled sneakers slapping the dirt. “Hey,” he says, his expressive face, for once, inscrutable. 

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath from the sprint. “I thought you were…” she trails off, because he knows. Because he’s the only one in the whole world who can look at her and understand the cathedral dreams and vaulted memories crashing down in her chest. 

“I’m not,” he says, an answer that belies more than either of them knows. JJ gets this look, when he’s seconds away from doing something particularly concerning (and usually criminal). Manic energy lights up in his blue eyes, burning anywhere from mischief to stubborn determination to full-tilt rage. The well-developed muscles in his shoulders and arms refuse to relax, and his hands get so fidgety they lose the coordination it takes to flip the zippo lighter between long, practiced fingers. His face fights with itself, half already spitting with well-steeped anger, the other tired, and broken, and grieving. 

“I noticed,” she responds.  She drops her bag on one of the metal folding chairs, dooming it to a coating of flaky, faded paint. Crossing the grass, hoping her broad strides will disguise the rattling breath in her chest, the shake in her hands, she moves to sit next to him in the hammock, and he shifts his weight to allow her. 

There’s no verbal communication, no squabble about personal space or indignant demands she find her own seat. There never is, not with her boys. The Pogues. It seems so silly now, hiding behind that name for themselves, a name she’d never really belonged to, anyway. He’s holding a lit joint in one hand, a bottle dangling from the other, and he offers her one while swigging from the other. The old favorites of a Maybank in crisis. She takes it. 

He falls back next to her, sending the hammock swinging as he gazes up at the stars. Sarah had known the most about constellations, of the five of them, but JJ knows a fair amount, too, some of the only memories of his mother the nights when she would hold him under the stars, tracing the designs across the sky, her hand wrapped around his tiny one. His eyes keep drifting off the sky and landing on Kiara, eyes distant, bathed in moonlight. 

“He’s not dead,” JJ says, surprising himself as much as her. He sits up, and she follows. He stares at his feet for a while, and she thinks about putting her arms around him.  “I --” he picks his head up to look at her and stops, voice stolen by the hope in her eyes. “I’d feel it,” he finishes lamely, and watches the spark die. 

“The first stage of grief is denial,” she says, and it’s supposed to be at least slightly lighthearted, but it falls cruelly to the crabgrass. 

“You sound like Pope,” he counters, and there’s too much weight to that name to throw it around for long. They’re both thinking of Kiara kissing him, and the memory is pleasant to neither. 

She doesn’t really know why she did that. Maybe it’s because he’s everything she’s supposed to want, intelligence and ambition and ingenuity, everything she tells herself is important in a guy. Maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe because she’s definitely in love with one of her best friends, and he’s the one who makes sense. She takes another hit and hands the blunt back to JJ. 

“I’d know,” he repeats, and she knows it’s not her he’s trying to convince. He lays back in the hammock, putting the blunt between his lips and dragging deep before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the tumultuous night. She looks back over her shoulder, watching his jaw and the movement of his throat as he exhales. Laying back next to him, she tries not to think about the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of the body pressed to her side. It’s only JJ, the same reckless, stupid asshole who carried that damn pistol everywhere all summer and has a talent for getting into trouble. He’s not giving her butterflies with his proximity, and she’s not thinking about reaching down and lacing her fingers through his. 

Eventually, JJ flicks the roach into the darkness and stands as quickly as he can without tipping Kiara out of the hammock. She starts, not realizing she was dozing on his shoulder until it’s gone. “It’s late,” he says. 

She stands as well, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt as he kicks at the dirt. “I don’t --” she starts, and the hesitation makes him stop his nervous movement, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to go home.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t go home.” 

“Okay,” he says, after a second. He doesn’t want to be alone, either. She nods, and walks past him, picking up her bag. He follows her up to the house, and they stop at the foot of the stairs to the porch, staring at the buzzing light. JJ takes a stuttering inhale Kiara pretends not to hear, and he goes up the stairs first, wrapping a shaking hand the handle to the screen door. He pauses before going in, frozen, and it isn’t until she lays her hand on his shoulder that he summons the courage to push the door open. 

They knew the place was going to be tossed, but it still hurts Kiara and kills JJ, to see the overturned table and scattered papers, the couch cushions scattered on the floor and the coffee table flipped. He tries to shuffle backwards, to run from the sharp, fresh grief and the deep, familiar ache of loss and violation, but Kie is in the way, and when he turns to escape she catches him, her arms around his shoulders, his clutched around her waist. “I can’t --” he chokes, his face pressed to her neck, “It’s not --” his breath speeds up, his shoulders shaking. “They --” 

“I know,” she says, swallowing down tears, herself, in that same small voice from the night in the hot tub. She knew JJ was broken, on that deep, fundamental level that, intellectually, she could conceptualize, but she could never feel. But that night, seeing the bruises on his ribs, damning as fingerprints, the ghost of his pain, the whisper of breath knocked out and the brush of betrayal, turned her chest inside out. This feels the same way, watching him lose the last shred of some semblance of home to the same kind of mindless anger and selfish authority that claimed the first one. “I know.” 

He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that. 

But she’s still here. “Kie…” he breathes. She opens her mouth to reassure him again, but then his hands are on her face and he’s kissing her, deep and rough and desperate. She bursts into flame underneath him, paralysis broken, stupefaction overcome, as the glass walls she’s been watching through crack and shatter at her feet. JJ’s hands wrap around the back of her neck and spread across the small of her back, pushing her up against the door, and she twists her hands into his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. Every desperate question is met with his touch, and she chases it, even as he pulls away in horrified shock. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, Kie, I’m so sorry --” He tries to shove himself away from her at the instant she curls her fists in his shirt, and it almost rips as she pulls and he slams back into her. Teeth clash and noses bump and it’s not perfect or soft or loving, but passion born from desperation and terror of what it would mean to stop. Putting his hands on the door on either side of her face, he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to yank him back. “What are we doing?” he asks, in a voice that won’t like the answer. 

“JJ,” she gasps, pushing her fingers back up to tangle in blond, salt-sticky waves. “Shut up.” Pulling his mouth back down on top of hers, she gasps into him as his hands come down and frame her ribs, one of his arms sliding around her waist and the other pushing back up into her hair. 

“Don’t you think --” he tries, even as he leans over her, their breathing ragged, his knuckles white in her impossibly soft curls. His forehead is pushed to hers and he can’t pull away any farther, sucked into her gravitational field, helpless to it. 

“I don’t want to think,” she insists. “I want this, I need this,” This momentary pause is already too long, and if he stops kissing her, stops touching her, the tears she’s been holding back will crash over her and they won’t stop. The dark room is loud with heavy breathing as she catches the scent of him, salt and sweat and smoke. “I need you.” 

His grip falters and the momentary relaxation has her pressing herself against him. “Are you sure?” he asks, and this is a choice, now. This isn’t something that either of them can pawn off as a mistake made in the heat of a desperate moment. He wants this, has wanted it, ever since he met her, but he won’t be a decision half-made, won’t take advantage of vulnerability only to become a regret. He’s giving her a way out, knows her pragmatic nature and her anxious need for well-thought plans. He wants her to think, even if she’s desperate not to. 

He’s right, when he almost never is, but she knows that if she waits too long or lets in the doubt that expects her, she will break. “JJ,” she gasps, “Please.” His name, she knows, he can’t resist, not when paired with urgent pleading, and in this way, she makes her choice. He surrenders to her. 

They fall onto the creaky pullout, still set up from JJ’s most recent stay, not minding the sheets and blankets wrought asunder by the angry police search. He can’t let go of her, his hands pushing up her sweatshirt, dragging over her sides and up her thighs, tangling in her hair like he’s drinking her in with his touch, intoxicated with the smell of peach in her hair and the taste of sweat on her skin. Kiara lets herself get lost in him, ride the wave of desire pushing through her, moans and gasps when he hits the right spots and closes her eyes as he lifts her shirt over her head and attaches his lips to her neck, his hands finally coming up to cover her tits, and the long careful fingers she’d spent so many afternoons watching prove adept at twisting and pinching her nipples and leaving her begging for him. 

She almost rips his t-shirt off, pulling his bare chest against her own and letting the feeling of skin on skin light her up, setting fireworks off behind her eyelids. Wrapping one hand around the arm holding him up, she can feel his teeth on her neck, and she knows he’s leaving marks, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like she’s being claimed. She knows what it is -- proof this is happening, that they’re alive and feeling and crashing together again and again. She sinks her nails into his bicep as his fingers skim below the waistband of her shorts, and feels him smirk against her lips. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and the teasing in his voice is tortuous and reminiscent of his old, humorous self, just enough to make her sad for a moment, and when she nods quickly in return, it’s a bid to forget that sadness. His fingers flick open the button of her shorts and as his fingers dip lower, the only thing she can think about, the only thing she can feel, is his touch, his all-consuming presence, radiating heat. The bastard takes his time, her only gratification the press of him against her hip, hot and hard. He teases her through her underwear, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, arcing into his touch, shocks of pleasure building in incredible anticipation, but he’s going too slow, and he’s wearing too many clothes, still, and the intense want gnawing at her has too much potential to turn into grief. 

“Would you just --” she grunts against his mouth, cut off on a moan as he presses his fingers against her clit. “Fucking -- ah,” he works slow, hard, circles, enjoying himself as she tries to form sentences with his hands on her. “Fuck me already!” Because even this can’t be easy, not between the two of them. Because she’ll always be fighting with him, even with her bare chest pressed against his and his hand down her pants. 

JJ grins, scraping his teeth over her ear. “What,” he says, still teasing, still bittersweet, as he finally pushes his hand into her underwear, “aren’t you enjoying this?” Slowly, much too slowly, his fingers part the lips of her cunt, pressing down over her clit before finding the wetness further down. JJ practically growls as his middle finger dips between her folds and he finds her soaked, dropping his forehead against the forearm braced above her head. “Fuck, Kie,” he moans, and he can’t disguise the wasted crack in his voice. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He’s already drunk on her, every new sensation dragging him deeper.  

“Your fault,” she stutters as he puts his hands, lean and strong and practiced, to good use, dragging slick fingertips back up to her clit and teasing small circles, rough, calloused skin creating delicious friction. And this -- this is what she was so desperate for, to feel only his touch and the way he pushes her higher, closer to an edge far away from the bleak grief of their every day world. He moans, too, as he dips his middle finger into her and she keens into his mouth, and she’s not thinking anymore, only chasing heat and skin and pleasure, the rest of the night foggy and distant, moonlit and blurred. 

She doesn’t even know how much time passes before he’s kissing his way down her body, only that he’s fucked her so well with his hands he has three fingers inside her and she’s asking for more. He pulls his hand away and she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the loss of contact, only to end on a gasp when she opens her eyes to see that he has his fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts and his face is hovering near her hips, pupils blown wide as he looks up at her. He asks her something, but blood rushes in her ears as her heart pounds and her chest heaves and it isn’t until his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she realizes what he’s saying. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” she whines, and it feels like less than instant before her shorts are on the floor and his head is between her legs, his tongue on her clit, and she screams, pushing her hands into his hair as his mouth launches her higher and keeps her there, wave upon wave crashing over her until her legs are shaking, and when she feels the pull deep in her stomach and he takes half a second to breathe, she has enough presence of mind to yank him back up, slamming his lips down onto hers, tasting herself there. 

“Inside me,” she gasps, ragged and raw and scraping. “Now.” 

“But you haven’t --” he breathes, and she reaches down, shoving past the waistband of the shorts he’s still wearing, her hand on his cock stopping him dead. 

“Now,” she repeats. And then, leans up to kiss him, slightly softer than before, as if in apology for being so rough, but more as a distraction as her hands unbutton his shorts and shove them down his thighs, her hands finding him again and stroking his cock until he’s gasping into her mouth. “Unless,” she says between short kisses, trying to keep her tone light, even as her cunt aches for him. “You changed your mind?” 

He scrambles out of his shorts and boxers so fast it’s almost funny, but the laugh falls out of her chest as he braces his forearms on either side of her face, pushing her hair back from her forehead and looking at her so carefully it almost hurts. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, uncharacteristic worry trembling in his voice. 

“I’m clean,” she says, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair once more, to ground her, and disguise their shaking. “You?” 

He nods. “What about --” 

“I have an IUD,” she says, more grateful than ever for her liberal mother and her own presence of mind. 

He licks his lips again, eyes dropping to her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. “Last chance,” he says, like she’s going to change her mind and push him off of her, run off into the night and leave him here, disgraced and embarrassed. “Still sure?” he asks, like he’s expecting her to say no. She nods without hesitation, caught in his blue eyes, turned cobalt in the half-light. He kisses her one more time, and it’s laden with years of things he hasn’t said, and she surges up with urgency, not ready for the tenderness in his touch. JJ tries to slow her down again, to revel in the moment of bare skin and vulnerability, no matter how guarded it may be, but she reaches down, wrapping her hand around his dick, guiding him closer to her, and he’s falling into her touch, into her orbit, helpless. 

She draws him inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a forsaken, heavy breath. It’s too soft, this moment before he moves, too easy to break, every sense on fire. The air is too close to her skin, too tight around her arms, like she could rip the fabric of it with the barest movement. She wants to be lost in him again, to feel separate, far away and floating above herself, not so torturously in her body, JJ trembling and present above her. “JJ,” she says, opening her eyes to find his, a split-second mistake, the next word hitching on its way out of her chest. “Move.” 

He does, mercifully lowering his face to press against her neck, the eye contact too substantial, too burdensome to hold. The bubble surrounding them expands as he works her up to that blissful edge with ease, his mouth letting out a stream of filthy words about how good she feels surrounding him. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, letting her hands have free reign over his back, his shoulders, his arms and up into his hair, every place she wants to touch him when she watches his ridiculous muscles ripple under his young, tan skin. He shifts his weight, hooking her knee over his hip so his cock hits exactly the right spot with every thrust, and she cries out, racing higher. 

She should have expected that JJ likes to run his mouth -- she only catches parts of what he’s saying, things like ‘so fucking hot’ and ‘sound so fucking good’ and ‘so fucking wet for me’ and as her moans increase in pitch and volume, he growls “c’mon, Kie, cum for me,” and she falls apart. He fucks her through the aftermath and she barely knows what noises are coming out of her mouth, her nails digging angry welts in his back. Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he tenses and spills inside her on a half-broken sigh. 

Her vision sharpens as he rolls off of her, collapsing on the squeaky bedsprings, and the house is too quiet all of a sudden, the air once again too close. Her breath slows, the sweat cooling on her skin in the soft breeze pushing through the wooden walls, the still-open front door. Neither of them says anything, and Kiara can feel him looking at her, his blown out smile too loud in the fallout. She sits up, almost flinching at the light touch of his fingers on his spine when he picks up a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna pee,” she says, finding her underwear and pulling them on, and then, after half a moment, pulling his discarded t-shirt over her head. 

Her head echoes as she steps over the scattered mess to get to the bathroom, like she’s walking through a tunnel. Her legs ache and tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself, numb and falling. She fights tears as she washes her hands. The bathroom is, as always, a deplorable mess, products everywhere and hair all over the sink. Her green bikini top is still on the floor from when she’d forgotten it just the other day, and that girl feels impossibly far from the one staring at herself in the mirror, wearing her best friend’s shirt while he’s naked in the next room. There’d be shame, and guilt, too, if the smell of John B’s deodorant didn’t choke her with overwhelming loss. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she can’t hold it back anymore, and sobs spill out of her, harsh and echoing in the small space. 

JJ is behind her an instant, half-dressed in basketball shorts and drawing her into his arms, tucking her close to him, her tears hot on his skin. “He’s gone,” she whimpers. “He’s really gone.” He doesn’t say anything, just guides her back to the pullout and straightens the blankets enough for her to fall in. She curls up on her side, crying so hard she can’t breathe, and he climbs in across from her, pushing one arm under her neck and using the other to pull her against him, his lips pressed to her forehead. 

Tears leak out of his own eyes, silent and soft to her earth-shattering grief. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reassures her, fighting the quiver in his own voice, his chin shaking with the effort of it. He stares into the empty darkness above her head, every jerk of her prone body another crack in his breaking heart. “He’s coming back,” he says, more to himself than her. “He’s coming back to us.” 

When she finally quiets down, the betrayal of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, the moon fading, and the idea of this night being over feels impossible. For a short while, they breathe each other in, her forehead pressed to his collarbones, his hand trailing up and down her spine. Her head aches and her eyelids fall heavy over gritty, exhausted eyes, but she still fights sleep, stubbornly resisting another day, the beginning of a life without John B and Sarah. “I can’t stay here,” she says, finally, pushing back from him. “I should go home.” 

He reaches up to catch her chin as she watches her hands curled close to his chest, reluctant to go. “Kie,” he murmurs, lifting her gaze to meet his. He moves forward to kiss her, and she flattens her palms against his skin, stopping him even as her eyes fall to his lips. 

“JJ,” she says, an exhale more than his name. “We -- I mean, I --” 

“Shit,” he sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh, formed from expectations he wished hadn’t come true. “Okay.” His eyes flutter close, and she watches him draw back into himself, close all the doors, like he wants to turn off the lights and pretend he’s not even here. But then, he looks at her again, gently smoothing a curl behind her ear. “It’s just --” he starts, and inhales again, wetting his lips as he struggles to keep his eyes on her deep brown ones. “Can we go back to normal tomorrow?” Her eyebrows push together a fraction of an inch, and he focuses on the wrinkle there, a thousand times easier than holding her gaze. “Please,” he says when she inhales to say something. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

It’s the first time either of them have been completely honest all night, and the most he’s said in hours. “Yeah,” she says, agreeing without thinking. Making it about him instead of admitting to herself that she wants to stay, that she doesn’t want to be alone either. “Yeah, okay.” She allows herself to be kissed, to be held and kept softly. JJ twists his fingers in her curls, skims his lips over her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers. 

He tucks his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers spanning from her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises, and they both pretend he’s saying it to her. She’s seen JJ cheerful and stubborn, breaking and angry, seen him a thousand different ways. But never like this, kind and soft, quiet in the grey, grieving dawn. Eventually, she falls asleep under his touch and reassuring whispers. 

The morning is just as sticky and unforgiving as every other that summer, and she wakes up damp and sticky with sweat. JJ is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, mouth slack and hair falling over his eyes. Her head still hurts, and now so do her back and thighs, and she stretches her hand out across the rumpled sheets, tracing the red lines she’d left down his back. He blinks awake, closing his mouth and freezing when he feels her touch on his skin. 

“Hey,” she murmurs. 

“Hey,” he replies.

She waits for him to say something, but he just watches her, his clear blue eyes unflinching. She bites her lip. “I should get home,” she says, keeping her eyes on the knuckle tracing over his back, his gaze too heavy to hold. 

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.” Neither of them move. The world waits on a hair trigger, and JJ’s more familiar with this kind of silence than she is. She wants him to break it first, to be the impulsive hothead he always is, to make the choice for both of them. But he doesn’t, and the moment crumbles, and she sits up and goes in search of her clothes. 

He doesn’t say anything until she stoops to pick up her bag, sweatshirt in hand, ready to shove it into the biggest pocket. “Kie,” he says, and she stops dead, looking up at him. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, but she deflates anyway when he just asks “my shirt?” 

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Pulling it off, she feels his hungry eyes trace up her bare chest as she untangles the drug rug before pulling it down and arranging it around her hips. She tosses him the shirt, and he holds her gaze as he flips it right side out and tugs it on. They stand on either side of the disheveled living room, daring the other person to say something, move, do anything first. He knows what he wants, what he can’t have, what he’s convinced himself he never will. She remembers the line she drew, the boundary she’d very clearly set. He chooses to respect it while she waits for him to break the rules.

Birds sing in the unflinching morning, and a breeze stirs the hair around her face. She slings her backpack over her shoulder. The sun blazes as gulls call and waves lap against the dock. He tilts his chin back, like he always does just before a fight. She turns to go.

[terrm9]

CHAPTER 3 - Waiting

Keiki was sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed with Sienna, Jackie, Rafael and Elijah surrounding her, waiting for a slightest hint of... something. Rafael couldn't let go of Sienna's hand, not when now, instead of crying, she just kept whispering "it's going to be okay, everything will be just fine, everything must be alright". She was clearly fighting with enormous anxiety and used the positivity so typical for her to deal with the situation. Jackie sat on the chair next to Keiki's head, her head propped on her knees. She was now looking at the ground, finally able to look around the room she was in, but she couldn't bring herself to say a single word. She wanted to badly to snap at Sienna for repeating those stupid words full of hope, she wanted to scream, to make her stop, but she was physically incapable of saying a single 'shut up'. Elijah just stared out of the window, trying to find some sort of distraction on the busy street under the hospital room.

The door suddenly opened and obviously exhausted and uncharacteristically serious Bryce Lahela walked in, the scrubs he was still wearing bringing odd mixture of disinfection and sweat to the room.

"Hey guys. Thanks for staying with Keiki. I met Dr. Mirani on my way here and he said that she suffered from concussion but should be okay within week. I got here as fast as I could."

"How did the surgery go?" Elijah asked nervously.

"Ugh... as well as such surgery can. She is alive."

"What are her chances of actually staying alive?"

It was Jackie, finally able to find her lost voice.

"As for now, I have no idea. Dr. Emery was fantastic, guys you should have seen her, she simply didn't allow Chiara to die on that table. But it was brutal. She has so many injuries, lost such huge amount of blood..."

He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"It's really bad, isn't it?" Sienna whispered.

"It is really bad, yeah. Dr. Emery told me not to get my hopes up, because the chance of survival or chance of recovery is very low. But she doesn't need to be always right. Very low does not mean none and if there is even glimpse of hope, I simply believe in full recovery. I already got my hopes up, because if someone can get through this, it's Chiara Ray. I mean, she's been through so much shit, in her early life, in her intern year, in her med school and she always, always pulled through and got stronger on the way. She is a fighter and she will fight this. We just have to keep believing in her."

There was a long silence after Bryce's speech, everyone dealing with their emotions on their own. Sienna's cheeks were soaked with silent tears again, Jackie played with hem of her shirt and Elijah just kept staring out on the street.

"I'm gonna get us some hot chocolate," Sienna declared out of nothing

"On the wheelchair?" Rafael raised his eyebrow, looking at her freshly casted leg.

"I need to do something."

"I'm coming with you."

Sienna and Rafael left the room without any other word and Bryce followed her, intending to change into clean set of clothes. Shortly after they left, the door flew open again revealing Aurora furiously walking in.

"What the hell, guys? What happened? I came home after the night shift expecting all of you to be home and the flat was empty! So I tried to reach Chiara, then Sienna, then Jackie and Elijah and none of you responded, so I tought maybe you went to the beach or something. I called my aunt, who is supposed to have three days off and she picks up at last telling me she just got out of the surgery of Dr. Ray? What does this mean? I ran all the way from home."

As Elijah started to fill her in on what happened, Sienna, Rafael and Bryce came back with five cups filled with hot chocolate.

"Ah Aurora, hi! Sorry I didn't know you would come, I'll go for another one," Sienna was about to go get another hot chocolate.

"No need. Just tell me what happened."

Aurora was left speechless when they finished. She grew very fond of Chiara and admired her as a doctor but also as a person. She couldn't imagine her lying on the cold operating table, more dead than alive.

"How about you girls? Sienna, Jackie?"

"We are fine. I have a broken leg, that's all," Sienna answered.

"Oh, I look much worse than I feel. I'll be back to work in a day or two," Jackie said angrily, not wanting to talk about herself at all.

"You think we could go and see her?"

"I don't think they would let us, not now. But when I went to get the chocolate, I talked to Danny and he told me that Dr. Ramsey is staying with her."

They all shared a silent look deciding whether they should talk about Dr. Ramsey or not.

"He really cares about her, right?"

Elijah broken the silence with sincere question.

"Oh he does," Rafael nodded. "I mean, I knew he had a soft spot for her when all it took for her to convince him to play softball was to ask him, but damn this was something different."

"Of course he cares about her. He is her mentor, she is important part of his team. And she saved Dr. Banerji's life."

"I guess he really does respect her for that," Rafael admitted. "But still, this was something else. He was going to lose it in the E.R."

"What happened in the E.R.?"

Aurora and Bryce asked at the same time.

"His whole body was shaking when he heard the news. I didn't know if he was going to punch someone or faint. And when he heard she was in the operating room, he just stormed off."

"She means a lot to many people."

Sienna closed the discussion up with only one sentence and the group remained silent. Every person in the room felt the same heavy feeling on their chest, but somehow sharing their fear has brought some ease into their breathing.

On the other side of the third floor, there was nothing nor someone that could possibly bring ease into Ethan Ramsey's breathing. He was sitting on the wooden chair as close to Chiara as he could get, his hands resting in his lap helplessly, afraid to touch even her finger, scared that he would cause more harm to her. Ethan kept staring at her, failing to swallow the bulge that formed in his throat hours ago. He hated crying. He hated it so much that he learned how not to cry even when needed to. Sitting here next to her, he wished he could just cry. Cry and scream, let some of the emotions out of his system, share them with someone. But the only person he could imagine sharing such grief with was the very same person that made him feel this way in the first place. And so he didn't make a move or a sound, remaining motionless on the chair, his jaw clenched.

 How could I let this happen? If I wasn't such coward, I would start the speech I was preparing myself for and she would never leave the office.

 Damn the speech, I could've just kissed her and she would stay with me.

The thoughts of what if's and what could and should have been were costing him his sanity, but Ethan couldn't just stop thinking. He couldn't forgive himself for losing so much time. For not expressing how he really felt. Oh, he should've done that long time ago, but he was afraid of admitting that he cared for her enough for them to be more than just star crossed lovers. How much he wanted to be with her, to call her his, his Rookie, his Chiara and yet, he couldn't bring himself to talk to her about them, guilt eating him up for being so selfish. He wanted her despite their potential relationship being unprofessional, unethical, so wrong on so many levels. Still, he longed for her.

 She deserves better than me.

He couldn't help but think so, knowing that she expects much more from relationship than he could provide. He could give her his time and attention and physical affection, he would adore her and push her to be the best doctor she could be, but that would never be enough. She needed him to love her the way she loved and he wasn't capable of love. He didn't believe in such thing in the first place. Caring for someone, liking them, wanting to spend their time together, those things made sense to him. But love, love was like hope or faith, there were zero science explanations to back those feelings up. To make them valid. He couldn't tell her he loved her, because he didn't believe in love.

Not like any of that mattered now. He never told her how he felt or how scared he was of ruining her career and her life by wanting to be with her, he never expressed his belief that she should find someone better for herself, someone who would shower her with 'I love you's' every day. He never said a word and now she could die any minute.

Ethan lost track of time or of any outside situation for that matter, therefore Harper's presence in the room took him by surprise.

"Ethan, I need to check in on her, so please leave us. And I think Naveen would like to talk to you before he heads home today."

"What time is it?"

"8 PM."

"Can I come back when you are done with examination?"

He needed Harper to say yes. He couldn't leave her.

"You need to sleep Ethan. What was the last time you slept? Or eaten for that matter?

"I'll sleep when I feel like sleeping. I'm staying with her overnight."

With that he left the room, determined to find Naveen without talking to anybody else.

Dr. Banerji was sitting in his office, waiting for the younger man to come. As the door opened and Ethan entered room, he noticed just how devasted he looked. He hasn't seen him like that ever since his own dying.

"Ethan. Thank you for coming. Can I get you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Thanks, anyway. You wanted to see me?"

"I wanted to check on you, dear boy. I see that this situation drained any life from you and I am concerned."

"I'm just scared okay? And hopeless. So fucking hopeless."

Ethan thought he would lose it now. That the tears would finally come. They didn't.

"I know you are worried about Chiara and I know that you would raise the hell if that would help her. But starving yourself or refusing to sleep will only destroy you too."

"Maybe I want to be destroyed."

"Ethan, don't say that."

"I don't know Naveen. I just... the last time I felt like this, it was when I thought you were dying. But at the time at least I could do something. I ran tests and studied not-so-known illnesses and I tried to save you. Now all I do is sitting on the damn chair and wait for her to wake up or die. It's killing me."

Naveen took Ethan's hand into his own and squeezed it with all the emapthy he had, hoping that the brilliant doctor in front of him could feel that he knew. He knew how Ethan felt about Chiara. He knew how much she meant to him and that it was her who saved his own life, after all. Dr. Ray stood by Ethan's side everytime he faced tragedy and when he needed her, she was there. Naveen knew that very well, without ever needing to talk to Ethan about it.

"I called her mother. She said she would catch the first flight in the morning and should be here by the noon."

Naveen broke the silence with the statement.

"You expect me to talk to her."

Ethan didn't ask, he knew it was true.

"I think it should be you. You know Chiara very well and her mother needs to hear the truth from someone who knows her pain."

"And what exactly the truth is?"

"Oh, Ethan..."

"Okay, I'll talk to her mother. I'll be in the I.C.U. with Chiara."

He left, expecting Harper to be done and without stopping anywhere, he found his way back to the I.C.U. room, spending his sleepless night there.

~

"Mrs. Ray, hello."

Ethan shook hand of the woman in front of him, trying not to stare at her hair. Hair with the same colour as Chiara's.

"Dr. Ramsey, it's nice to finally meet you. Chiara talks about you all the time."

She tried to smile and failed miserabely. Her eyes were puffed from crying and she was holding her purse so firmly as if it was her own dear life she was holding onto.

"Oh?"

"All the good stuff of course. Dr. Emery informed me about the surgery. Now you tell me... and I need the truth... will she get through this?"

At this point, she was crying again and Ethan couldn't help but hug her.

"She is a warrior, Mrs. Ray. I know Chiara very well and she fights whatever comes to her life. Nothing is certain, but I believe in her."

Ethan didn't know if he was trying to convince Chiara's mother or himself.

"I can't lose her too, Dr. Ramsey. Dr. Emery told me the driver that caused him was drunk. Is that so?"

"Yes, it's true. He has some broken ribs and waits for his time in jail."

"Is that some kind of curse?"

Ethan motioned for them to sit down before asking: "What do you mean, curse?"

"Oh, I should have guessed Chiara never told you. She doesn't talk about it and she would never bear the idea of you pitying her. But you already do pity her now, so I can as well go on."

Ethan nodded with his eyebrows high, holding hand of the woman who looked like she needed to throw up.

"Chiara is the oldest of my children. She had younger brother and sister, both adoring her. She was always such a good kid, taking care of her siblings, doing her homework, helping other kids at school. She wanted to apply for med school since forever and her father couldn't be prouder. He supported her every step, not to my delight. Chiara is excellent painter, art is huge part of her and as an artist myself, I always hoped for her to follow my steps. I thought being doctor wouldn't make her happy. But she applied for the med school, got in and I realized that the special spark she holds inside of her is only released when she talks about medicine. When she was in her second year, her father and brother died in a car crash. Drunken driver on the truck crossed the crossroad on the red light... they were both dead immediately. She lost her spark then, nothing could bring it back. But she stuck with the medicine because she wanted to make her dad proud. She finished the school and when she was accepted to her programm here in Edenbrook, that's when her spark returned. I remeber her screaming: 'Mom I'll get to work with Ethan Freaking Ramsey!' I hardly understood what that meant, but the expression she held at the moment was enough for one of my many wounds to heal. And now... now I am losing her too."

She was crying again, leaning against Ethan's chest, as he tried to soothe her pain by hugging her tightly. The bulge in his throat got bigger, even though he didn't consider it possible.

"You're not losing her. She never gives up and she won't give up this time either. I'll be here, Mrs. Ray, I'll take care of her and I promise you, Chiara doesn't die, not on my watch. I am Ethan Freakin' Ramsey after all."

He felt his own strenght coming back at his words. He started to see what Naveen and Harper were saying about him needing to eat and sleep. At some point, Chiara might need him and he needs to be ready to save her. Mrs. Ray managed to create a small smile, wiping her eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Ramsey. I can't stay here, Alicia - Chiara's sister - needs me back to San Francisco. Just... just promise me to take care of her, okay?"

"Of course. Here, this is my number," he handed her a piece of paper with his quickly written number. "Call me anytime. We will inform you about everything. Now, I'll let you see her for a few minutes, if you want."

~

Two weeks have passed and Dr. Emery stood side by side with Dr. Ramsey, consulting results of Chiara's new CT scan.

"Pretty impressing, I must say. The swelling on her brain is retreating and as far as I can see, there's no evidence of irrevisible damage on the brain. Of course we'll know better if she wakes up."

"When she wakes up," Ethan muttered under his breath, not accepting the possibility of her not waking up.

Harper looked at him with raised eyebrows, but never said a word.

"However, we are far from winning this, but so far, Dr. Ray here convinced me that nothing is ever as hopeless as it seems. With her lungs working on their own completely now, I propose transferring her from the I.C.U. to your wing of the hospital, Dr. Ramsey. As a surgeon, my work is done her for now. Her brain needs to start working and that's your field. She's all yours."

Oh how I wish she was all mine, Ethan tought but didn't say a word. He just nodded and left the I.C.U.

One would say that Ethan Ramsey's life was back to normal. He was back to work, giving interns hard time, reading journals, cracking cases, avoiding people. Looking more tired than usually, his hair longer and more messy, his stubble slowly turning into beard, everyone knew that he wasn't completely okay, but how could he be after all? Little did they know that for the past two weeks, Dr. Ramsey only left hospital once. He slept on the couch in his office every night so that he'd be close in case Chiara's state changes. Little did they know that every time he had some spare time, he'd spend it next to Chiara's bed, looking at her. Naveen's heart was breaking for Ethan's pain. He was probably the only one to notice how much weight Ethan lost, eating two raw bars a day at best.

The very same evening Chiara left I.C.U., all of her friends decided to spend evening in at Donahue's again. Sienna spent last fourteen days at home, not being able to work with a broken leg and Jackie with Elijah came straight home after their shifts. But tonight, they let themselves feel certain bliss of normalcy and met at the bar. Aurora was already waiting for them and Danny decided to join them too.

"Shouldn't Bryce already be here?"

"I'm sure he will come any minute now."

They ordered beer for everyone and tried to talk about work, about their patients, about anything but Chiara's still critical condition. Not too long after their order arrived, Bryce walked in and after long time, he looked like himself, smiling brightly while winking at the group of interns.

"Whoa there, scalpel jockey. Enjoying yourself? Did someone make you feel so cheerful?"

Jackie furrowed her brows at him.

"Oh you better believe someone did," he smirked.

"That's why you are late?"

"Exactly. I needed to check one very particular woman's chest, in case you need details."

"Ugh, no thanks, Lahela."

"I waited for Kyra's surgery results," he rolled his eyes. "I wanted to make sure I got it right before spilling the news."

"Are you saying-"

"Yes! The surgery worked! I mean, she's going to be in so much pain for the next few weeks, but the chances of recovery are amazingly high and the cancer is gone."

Sienna started to cry and even Jackie's eyes shimmered with tears.

"Holy crap, so there are still good news available in this world," Elijah sighed and finished his beer. "We are drinking to that. And we should let Rafael know. He might be on the other side of the States, but he still cares, right? Oh I am actually feeling happy right now. Have you talked to her?"

"I haven't. I thought we should all talk to her together tomorrow, since she still doesn't know about Chiara. I know we needed to protect her before the surgery, but she needs to know now. Will you go with me?"

Everyone nodded, except Aurora who sighed: "I don't think Carrick will let me switch shifts. But you guys say hi from me and tell her that I'll come to see her on Saturday."

"Sure thing."

They ordered another round of beer and for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't feel the heavy stone on their chest. They felt victory.

Later that night, as the young doctors leaving the bar allowed themselves to laugh at some stupid joke Bryce said, Dr. Ramsey laid on the not so comfortable couch, scotch in his hand, looking at the ceiling above him. He missed her. The sound she would make when she cracked some particularly difficult case. The laugh when she teased him. The smile she saved for him and only for him. He missed even her temper that could drive him crazy at the times. Without giving it a second thought, he unlocked his phone and opened the Pictogram app. He needed to see her with her eyes open. He needed to see her full of life. Clicking at her profile transferred him into completely different world, the one where she laughed on the beach, smiled proudly with diploma in her hand, posed for a selfie with her roommates. He scrolled to the end of her feed and starting to observe the photos from the oldest one to the last one she posted. He swallowed hard when he realized that she posted the photo only few hours before the crash, smiling carelessly into the camera with her friends surrounding her. The photo was clearly taken at the concert they attended. She looked so happy, so relaxed, so very much alive. He just kept looking at the photo, memorizing every single detail about her, imagining she was still there, dancing to music and laughing with people she loved. And there it was. After all, Ethan felt a single tear streaming down his cheek.

~

Days passed in some bizarre blur, summer nights turned into ashy evenings of fall, sun gracing city of Boston with its presence only exceptionally. It was exactly one month since the accident and as the end of his shift arrived, Dr. Ramsey found himself sitting next to Chiara's bed again. It became some kind of bittersweet routine for him to come to her room anytime he could and talk to her about work. Chiara was actually doing good, considering everything. Her lungs worked perfectly, her broken spine was slowly but surely healing. Her brain's swelling was gone now, however the brain itself wasn't working the way it should, putting her into state of coma.

"Mrs. Potter is going home tomorrow, the treatment worked exquisitely. I wish you could see the face of her son when we told him she would be okay. I think even Baz had tears in his eyes when the little boy hugged him."

Ethan realized quite well that what he was doing was stupid and he laughed at himself for being this pathetic. But it helped him keep her sanity, so he came everyday and talked to her about every single patient.

"I almost yelled at Hirata today, though. She asked if I was looking for someone else to take your place at the team. I mean, what the fuck is she thinking?"

Repeating the scene with June Hirata in his head made him wrathful all over again.

"She just kept saying that the team needs the fourth member to work. I told her that we were fine, with Naveen helping us when there's too many difficult cases. But she was really determined and I couldn't listen to her, so I snapped at her, I told her to shut the fuck up. It was... intense. Definitely not my proudest moment but what else could I do? How would I even offer the position? 'Hello, we need a new member for our diagnostics team. The only problem is that we have no idea for how long we can provide the spot for you. Maybe for two weeks, maybe for two years, maybe we'll keep you for good. Nobody knows.' Huh? No one would even accept such position. Listen Rookie. I know I've been telling you the other day that you should take your time and heal, but life is pretty hard without you, so could you wake up? Could you do this one last favor for me and just wake up? Please?"

~

Elijah, Sienna and Jackie were standing next to the nurse station, too deep into the debate to notice someone watching them.

"...what are we going to do? I tried to talk to Farley but he said that he couldn't afford to lose those money. It's been five weeks since the accident which makes two checks. And none of us actually has that much spare money."

"We don't have that much even if we put our savings together."

"Should we call her mum?"

Sienna asked nervously, biting her lip.

"Nope, that poor woman is going through hell. We'll find a way, okay? We could ask Aurora."

"Mass Kenmore has cut its budget just like Edenbrook. She basically works for free now."

"We'll figure it out guys, okay? We always figure it out somehow. I gotta go, but I promise to find a solution."

The three of them went their separate ways, Jackie determined to get some coffee from the cafeteria.

"Dr. Varma? Could I talk to you for a second?"

Ramsey's voice snapped her our of not so bright thoughts and she turned on her heel to face him.

"Yeah? Is something wrong with Chiara?"

"No change. It's just... I didn't mean to eavesdrop... well..."

"Get to the point, Dr. Ramsey."

Despite feeling anxious and nervous for the past few days, she found some weird sense of satisfaction on how the tables have turned now. She still remembered clearly how he said those exact words to her in her intern year.

"Right, sorry. Look, I heard you talking about Chiara and some money problems. I understand that it's... rather difficult for you to pay for her checks?"

Jackie raised her eyebrow, surprised, but didn't deny what he said. She nodded and let him continue.

"I don't mean to offend any of you by my offer, but would you let me pay for her checks? I've been second year resident once and I know how much you get paid. And I know that Dr. Ray's mother is going through a lot. Paying for your apartment is, well, no problem for me and I would like to help at least this way."

"Wow, I expected you to talk to me about that woman who can't stop vomiting in the room 232. Look, Dr. Ramsey, what you are offering is really nice and, uhm, surprising, coming from you, but I am not sure it would be appropriate."

"Consider it a loan, then. When Chiara wakes up and gets her life together again, she can pay me back."

"I need to talk to my roommates about that, it's not my decision to make after all. Thank you for the offer, though."

"Okay. I'll be happy to help. Oh and Dr. Varma?"

"Yeah?"

"I am sorry for how I acted the night of the accident. I yelled at you and that was wrong."

"It's okay, Dr. Ramsey. We've all got our ways of dealing with pain."

With that she left, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts. He automatically turned towards Chiara's room and after the door closed after him, he started to talk.

"It's not work today. I just need to let this out. I miss you, Chiara. I really miss you. It's gotten to the point where I just keep staring at your photos and hope that it could wake you up. I never confessed to you about the photo I have of you. After the first night we spent together, day before your ethic trial, you sat on the floor in my apartment, wearing one of my shirts, reading some random history book you found. I was making some coffee for the both of us, watching you from the distance and in that moment I couldn't resist the urge to take photo of you. So I did. And I was too embarassed to admit it to you, that I found you beautiful and wanted to have the moment immortalized. I never found the strenght to delete the photo though. And now that you are here, I find myself looking at the damn photo every day, not believing that I was once lucky enough to have you in my shirt reading my book in my apartment. I really miss you. And I can keep missing you, knowing that it won't last forever, knowing that you'll wake up. I can handle missing you as long as I have hope."

He indeed did sound desperate. He never even believed in hope. But after the long weeks without her, feeling only fear, allowing himself to feel something as pathetic as hope was enahncing.

[k-writer1998]

Take A Chance

Part 1

mafia! hyunjin x hacker! reader

fluff

w.c: 2.2k

a/n: here is part 2 as promised :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I know what it looks like but let me make one thing clear, I’m not with these people.”

      From what she was mumbling earlier to herself that much was clear but that meant someone else knew I was coming and informed my mark beforehand. Do we have a mole somewhere? Why is she here though? She recognizes me, was meeting her this afternoon not a coincidence? The more I thought about it the more questions came up. The only thing I was sure of was don’t lower your guard… or your gun, even if my gut is telling me to. Seeing as though I wasn’t going to speak she added on after pulling down her mask.

“Long story short, I’m a hacker. I got a job but I was told I have to do it in person. Now I see why, I was double crossed but then again I didn’t expect much from this broker Seunghyun.”

Silence.

“Look I don’t know who you’re affiliated with but I wanna walk away alive and that requires me to know you won’t shoot. I think we both know who would win in a shootout here.”

      She makes a valid point. She holds the gun with hesitation, most likely she’s never killed someone if she’s ever actually shot a gun before. Those observation skills again... makes sense now I know her profession. Our eyes connected again and she lowered her gun, is she dumb?

“Do you really think that’s a smart move?”

“Call it a gut feeling. Plus, since no one came for us yet the only threat right now is that gun.”

      I should’ve cut my losses and got rid of her, but why is my conscience weighing against me on this? Chan-hyung won’t be happy this assignment was a bust, it took us forever to locate this base on top of the fact this group works on anonymity so we haven’t identified the boss yet.

“You said you’re a hacker right? How good are you?”

“I mean on a scale of one to ten I would say a solid eight.”

“C’mon you’re coming back with me.”

      This was going to be a stretch, a bad decision even, but maybe she can find our target. She said her gut trusts me so maybe she’ll help? Or maybe your trying to make up dumb reasons because you don’t want to kill her. Whatever not like she’s going to willingly-

“Okay.”

      She shrugs her shoulders… Does she even know the circumstances she’s in? Or maybe she does cause you’re still pointing your gun at her idiot. I put my gun away before heading out, grabbing her arm in the process and pulled her along. The car ride was silent and there were too many questions that needed answers so trusting my gut this time I decided to just ask.

“Why did you come with me so willingly?”

“You asked about my skills so you weren’t planning on shooting me, maybe I’ll get a job out of this. Plus I wanna catch Seunghyun, our goals are in the same direction and I can’t go back home. The weasel thinks I was basically killed in his client’s place, so it’s best to play dead.”

“Don’t you think you’re being too trusting of me?”

“I blame the fact we got to know each other prior, you had a trustworthy personality… Can I ask where we’re going? Apparently you keep questioning my actions, so I don’t know if I can ask."

"Well you just did but we're going to one of our home bases."

"Surprised we didn't just go back to yours since it's so late."

"... That would be inappropriate given the current situation."

"Inappropriate? You're more innocent than expected."

"I was saying for security purposes where is your head at?" I teased.

      First time tonight she reverted to the girl I met this afternoon and deep down I was glad. No more analytical observations, just a girl not sure how to handle conversation.  Although it was silent in the car once again there was less tension thankfully. I turned to check on her after a while and she was… asleep. I let out a sigh as I rolled my eyes. I can’t decide whether I think she is smart or naive at this point. Is she always so trusting? How has she survived this long? She was still asleep when we arrived so I nudged her softly. She blinked a few times as her mind remembered her situation before she hurriedly climbed out after me. Once inside there were only three of the members in right now, the biggest imposition being Chan-hyung. I roll my eyes, he’s always trying to use the years of experience etched on his face to scare outsiders. I felt y/n move a bit closer, keeping her eyes darting around the room but always ending back on hyung. We went straight for the lion’s den as I motioned her to take the seat across from hyung’s desk, taking my own seat on the arm of her chair. His eyes looked her up and down in question before turning to me for explanation.

“The target wasn’t there, instead I found her.”

“And you’re sure she isn’t working with them?”

“She was set up by Seunghyun. Was told she had to do an on site hacking job.”

“Seunghyun is the last of the brokers you should ever trust,” hyung said, throwing that comment at y/n before adding, “and she’s trustworthy?”

“Yeah, she wants back at Seunghyun and she’s willing to help for a hiding place for now.”

      At this she looked at me cause we never talked about a deal but I mean she does need a place to crash so was I really wrong? Chan-hyung smiles. Thank god, I was getting tired of his tough act. It gives me chills cause it feels like someone is going to get into trouble.

“It’s a deal then. We have a few rooms here for when we pull late nights anyways.”

      It’s been a few weeks since then and among the many things I’ve learned about her, y/n has made me question yet again how she has lived this long. After the first night she has basically turned the computer room into her own, rarely leaving even for food. I have yet to see y/n sleep longer than a few hours and if I didn’t check up on her with some food, she would’ve probably lived off of whatever snacks Felix had lying around the room. Aside from me basically becoming her babysitter, she grew close to some of the boys. Felix and Minho-hyung have adopted her as their kin and she’s grown on the other boys, some have even whined to me about how she only really talks to me. I constantly roll my eyes cause that’s not true, if anything it’s cause she's known me longest out of all of them but once Changbin-hyung snitched about that one lunch everyone suddenly knew why. Luckily there wasn’t much time for chatter about feelings since y/n identified some high rankers in that group, one being the boss’s right hand. 

      After a few days of tracking, y/n and Felix found the main warehouse in which the right hand officer operated from and with the current information Chan-hyung and Minho- hyung devised a plan. It was a long shot but if things went well we could smoke out the leader. We broke into three teams as we moved to location. First was the infiltration team consisting of Seungmin, Changbin-hyung, Jeongin, Jisung, and Chan-hyung. I was to be positioned as sniper support on the building across the street and Felix, y/n, and Minho-hyung would be in a surveillance van down the street to assist remotely, giving new orders if needed. From my perch on the rooftop I counted off how many people they’ll have to go through to reach the main office, which Felix confirmed was the current location of the right hand, and on Chan-hyung’s count they went in. Infiltration went smoothly and we were able to take out most of the members stationed in the factory with little problem. In a matter of minutes the office was breached and the right hand was captured but it felt… wrong. He was too calm and it was too easy, there should’ve been more resistance on their way up.

“You guys…”

      I was about to warn them but a chill shot down my spine as the man I had my sights on turned to look at me with a smirk. The next moment I felt a cold barrel on the back of my head and I froze.

“I’m going to need you to hand over your ear piece please,” I begrudgingly threw it behind me before I heard him speak again, “Hello Stray Kids. I would appreciate it if you don’t act rashly, a good friend of yours is with me. It would be a shame if something happened to him.”

      Watching through my scope, I could see the others tense up. It was a trap. Hopefully the others in the van are safe… you idiot, you’re the one in danger why are you worrying about others? Just focus on the person behind you!

“You lot really don’t know how to give up, do you? I tried to throw you a few bones but you are a hard crowd to please. Then you started to look into my alias and it was a little too close to home, how did you figure that out anyways?”

      Wait a minute that voice sounds familiar... Seunghyun? I’ve only heard him on select occasions but that’s his voice. I can’t believe the boss was hiding right under our nose, it’s smart I give him that. He must’ve found out when y/n started looking into him. Y/n… why does she keep popping into my mind when I’m in a life or death situation? I scoff. 

“Excuse me, why are you chuckling to yourself? I believe you’re the hostage, what’s so funny?”

“Because someone’s gut feeling just happens to be scarily right. She said our goals would be in the same direction, who knew they were actually the same?”

      I felt the frustrated twitch in his hand as he pressed the gun harder onto the back of my skull. I shouldn’t be provoking him in this situation, what’s wrong with me? Maybe y/n’s recklessness is rubbing off on me. Bang! The pressure disappeared and in an instant I whipped around to see an out of breath y/n still holding her gun up as Seunghyun groaned in pain on the ground. I maneuvered around him and kicked his gun away, keeping my eyes on the scene unfolding before me.

“You bitch… I thought you were dead.”

“And I thought I would be enjoying my favorite show tonight, it seems we’re both disappointed.”

“No wonder they were getting close, they upgraded their hacker.”

      He laughed to himself before spitting out blood. By now y/n had moved to stand over Seunghyun, stepping on the shoulder she had shot. The usual hesitation she had was gone and the familiar warmth in her eyes had frozen over.

“No, I think you just got sloppy. You may cover your tracks but the powerful people you work with didn’t. You’re fault really. Of all the hackers you chose to double cross, it just had to be me.”

      She turned her attention to me. Her eyes scanned my body, making sure I was more or less unharmed, and smiled when she realized I was in one piece. Seeing her like this was kind of hot and I would almost be scared if I didn’t notice the small tremble in her hand. This wasn’t her and I could tell she no longer wanted to be in that position.

“Do you feel better after getting revenge?”

“No, which is anti-climactic.”

“Then I can take things from here, tell the boys they can clean up and I’ll meet you down there.”

“Awww this is almost cute enough to make me throw up,” Seunghyun’s annoying voice spoke.

      Y/n gave a final dig of her heel for that comment before going down, her voice echoing through the stairwell. Once she was gone and out of earshot, I pulled the trigger without hesitation and finished the job. I packed up and went down to meet the others who were already complimenting y/n for her heroics. As I threw the stuff in the back Felix started whining how she no longer had a reason to stick around.

"Hyunjin hurry up and date her already so we can keep her.”

      At Chan-hyung’s comment she looked away from me and in the dim light from the van, I could see the tips of her ears turning red. Probably as red as my face felt and most likely the guys caught it too.

"If he won't ask you out, I gladly will," Seungmin added suddenly.

      I knew this was going to earn me the teasing of a lifetime, indicated by the ooooh’s they were already making but my brain wasn’t thinking. I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her as my voice came out as a low growl. 

“Back off she’s mine.”

[alovesongshewrote]

For the requests, can you do Douxie x reader where the reader gets a job at the bookshop and conveniently forgets their sweater at work so Douxie has to lend them his hoodie 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Sweater | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  haha, sweater go brrrrrrrrr

Word Count: 1,946

Warnings:  Folding chairs and spiders

A/N:   Idk what this is, but i hope you enjoy it

Tag List: @furblrwurblr

You had always wanted to work at a bookstore.

Ever since you were an angsty twelve-year-old who only found solace in books, it had been your dream to work amongst the written word.  Too bad Chapters had shitty hours.

That didn’t matter now, though.  GDT Arcane Books had excellent hours, a positive work environment, and the nicest couches to ever exist.  They also had a painting of Guillermo del Toro.  You weren’t sure why, but you loved it anyway.  There was only one thing about the small bookstore that you loved more than the Del Toro painting, which is saying a lot, that painting was amazing.

Your coworker, Hisirdoux Casperan, was very quickly becoming your favourite human being in the entire world.  He was sweet, selfless, and he cared about other people.  He made you laugh more than anyone else, and he was there for you when you were stressed or anxious.  Also, he had a cat.  I don’t even need to tell you that cats are amazing.

The bookstore was the perfect place, and it only got better as the seasons changed.  Fall in Arcadia was beautiful, fall in Arcadia in a bookstore was even better.  GDT began to feel like a second home to you, so much, in fact, that you developed the habit of leaving things at work.  It wasn’t your fault, things like this happen sometimes, and that’s okay.  As long as you don’t forget anything too important, you should survive.

And then you forgot something important.  

It wasn’t anything major like your wallet, but it was necessary to keep you warm in the cool weather, especially at night.

And it was night.  And it was cold.  And your favourite sweater was still in the bookstore.  And you hadn’t realized until Douxie had locked the doors and you’d both gone your separate ways.

In short, you were a little bit screwed.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering slightly.  This was fine.  Totally fine.  As fine as a dog drinking coffee in a burning room.  The wind blew, shaking the branches on the trees and raising goosebumps on your skin.  Lovely.

You braced yourself against the breeze, trudging forward, determined to make it home and have a hot cup of tea.  

And then you heard a trash can fall over.  Extra lovely.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with a Goblin or Shadow Mephit or something.  You walked faster.  There was another, louder crash behind you.  You sped up again.  You were not dealing with this tonight.

There was more noise from behind you, the universe clearly disregarding your wishes for a calm night.  At this point, you were running.  There was a limit to how much crap you could put up with, and it was a limit you were fast approaching.  

Then Douxie flew into your side, bringing both of you to the ground.

“Douxie!?”

“(Y/N)!?”  

Whatever had thrown Douxie at you roared from the alley.  You couldn’t see it, but you could tell that it wasn’t anything good.

“You have to run,”  your coworker said, getting to his feet and offering you a hand up.

“What?  No, I’m not leaving you-”

“I’ll be okay, (Y/N), but you need to get out of here!”

Even if you wanted to, you didn’t have time to get out of there.  What appeared to be a large stone spider emerged from the space between buildings.  How this thing didn’t wake up the whole neighbourhood, you had no idea, and you couldn’t stop to think of one because the arachnid was now attacking.  Douxie stood in front of you, shielding you with his body, and some kind of blue forcefield.  

“(Y/N), GO!”

You ran, but you didn’t go home.  Instead, you searched for something to fight with.  

Monsters and magic were not a new concept to you, not when you lived in Arcadia.  You’d gone through whatever the hell that troll-thing was, an alien attack, and several other crap-tastic world-ending events.  This was just one monster, and you had Douxie, who was apparently a wizard on your side.  This was not the problem you were expecting or even a problem you wanted, but it was one you could handle.

It took a minute of searching, but eventually, you found the perfect weapon.  Someone had left a folding chair outside.  It may not be an enchanted sword, or a serrator, or a gun, but folding chairs had done wonders for you during the troll-hell, and you figured it would work for you now.

You grabbed the chair and rejoined the fray.

Douxie was not pleased to see this.  He really liked you.  You were sweet, snarky and charming, and he really liked all of your quirks.  He enjoyed your company and wanted to spend more time with you.  He knew you were a strong person, and that you could take care of yourself, but he was really hoping that you wouldn’t have to deal with this.  He knew it would kill him if anything bad happened to you.

But you lived in Arcadia, where bad things always happened, and you knew how to deal with this.

“EAT CHAIR, PUNK!”  you yelled, bringing the chair down on whatever part of the spider you could reach.  This didn’t make the spider happy, but you were able to avoid any and all attacks while repeatedly bashing the thing with your folding chair.

The wizard was at a loss for words.  

While he wanted you to run home, he knew there was a high chance that you would stay, and a higher chance that you would stay and try to help him.  The chair, however, had not been a part of these calculations, so all he could do was stare and watch as you kicked this thing’s ass.  No one could blame him, it was very impressive and very attractive.

And kick-ass you did.  You dodged attacks and landed hits, your folding chair proving to be as useful as ever.  Eventually, you managed to wedge your weapon between the pincers of the arachnid, distracting it momentarily.

“Douxie!  Now!”

Douxie snapped from his haze at the sound of your voice.  He sent a wave of magic at the thing before opening the gate to limbo underneath it.  You and Douxie were left staring at the ground where the thing had fallen through.

“Nice one,”

“Thanks,”  the situation set in for both of you.

“Hey, wait a minute, what was that?”

“Oh, fuzzbuckets, are you okay?”

The two of you hesitated for a moment, held at a stalemate.  You wanted answers, he wanted to know if you were alright.

You took this time to take in details you hadn’t noticed while beating up the stone spider.  Douxie had some kind of band or cuff on his wrist.  You had never seen that before despite working with him for a few months now.  It was new.  And it was pretty cool if you were telling the truth.

While you examined the cuff from where you stood, Douxie noticed that you were unharmed, but shivering slightly.  You didn’t have your sweater on.

“Aren’t you cold?”

The question knocked you out of your thoughts, but fortunately, you were focused enough to answer, “Oh, uh, yeah, I forgot my sweater back at the bookstore,”

“Oh,”

Without another word, Douxie took off his hoodie, walked over to you and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“There you go, that should warm you up,”

You gingerly grabbed the edges of the hoodie, wrapping it tightly around your shaking frame.  He was right, it did warm you up, but as your eyes ran over the tattoos on Douxie’s shoulders, you thought of a few more ways he could help you achieve that goal.

“Thank you,”

“Of course, love,”

The wind blew by again.  It wasn’t so bad this time.

Then you realized how late it was.

“Oh, god, I should be getting home, I-”

“Let me walk you,”

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), I know you can defend yourself,”  he cast a cautious glance towards the discarded folding chair, “But it would make me feel a lot better to know you got home safe,”

Your cheeks warmed at the sentiment.  It was nice to be cared about.

“Ok.  Come on, I’m this way,”

The walk started off in silence.

Douxie’s hoodie was soft.  His tattoos were really nice.  It was still kinda cold, but Douxie showed no signs of feeling the temperature.  

But it was too quiet.  You needed to talk about this.

“Hey, Doux?  You mind telling me what that thing was?”

The wizard sucked in a deep breath, “To be honest, I don’t know yet.  I’m still figuring that one out,”

“Huh,”  you supposed that was a valid answer, “Let me know when you do,”

Douxie smiled for a moment.  He told you that you’d be the first to know.  Then his face fell.  He almost looked scared, but there was nothing around you to be scared of.  You were a bit confused, but your attention stayed on Douxie.

“(Y/N), until this is all sorted out, could you avoid going out after dark?  I don’t want you getting hurt,”

That was a bit of an understatement.  If you got hurt at all, it would kill him.  If you got hurt by something he could have protected you from, it would destroy him.

“I’ll do my best, but you know I get off from work late,”

“Then I’ll walk you home,”

“I’d like that,”

You were a bit surprised by how determined he was to keep you safe.  It was really nice to have someone watching out for you for a change.  It made you feel warm on the inside.  

After that, the conversation turned to normal things.  Music, books, anything other than stone monsters with no name.  Douxie did ask where you learned to wield a folding chair, but some things are best left to the imagination.

You were actually sad when your house came into view, something you never thought possible.  You’d been enjoying your time with Douxie so much, you didn’t want it to end.  Unfortunately, you did not control the universe.

“Well, this is me,” you took off the hoodie, which was also a sad event.  You held it out for Douxie to take, “Here-”

“Hang onto it,” the wizard said, taking your hands under the hoodie for a moment, “At least until you get your sweater back,”

You both pulled away, blushing, 100%.

“Thank you,”

“It’s no problem, really,”

There was another moment of silence.  You both had so much to say, but no idea how to say it.  

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,”

Douxie watched as you opened the door to your home, and stepped through the door.  A surge of energy ran through him.  He had to say something, anything, or he would regret it.

“(Y/N)?”

You spun around to face him faster than either of you thought possible, “Yes?”

Douxie paused.  He didn’t think he’d get that far, to be honest.  But you were watching him with anticipation, waiting for him to speak.

“Just… stay safe, okay?”  it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but it was close enough.

“I will if you do,”

The smile on your face was the best thing he’d seen all day.

He was so distracted by the curve of your lips that he didn’t even notice that you had moved to stand in front of him.

“Thanks again, Douxie,”  and with that, you left a small kiss on his cheek and entered your apartment, leaving Douxie a blushing mess on your doorstep.

“Douxie?  Are you alright?”

“I’m much better than alright, Arch,”

[tempered-in-flame]

Part 0- Reflecting

Welcome to the very very first part/pilot for the story Tempered in Flame! I say this is the pilot because this explains one of the main character's backstory. Hopefully in a couple of weeks, Chapter 1, Of Humble beginnings will be fully edited, and you'll see it on this blog! (P.S. if you reblog this ill be infinitely happy this story as a concept has been rattling in my brain for years and i really want validation) Without further ado, here it is.

Words: 3331

Summary: Azarra Gabree, during a quiet night, finds herself reminiscing on her past, and the regrets surrounding the night she escaped her home town.

Azarra didn’t think about Goldcrest often. The town she was born in held little sentimental value for her. However, she was in a sentimental mood. She had settled in for the night and didn’t have anything better to think about. The most memorable night she could think of was the night she ran away from home.

———————-

I realized too late that I had stayed out with the barkeep’s daughter, Kit, too long. The sun was beginning to set and I was going to be late for dinner.

“Damn it.” I said

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“I gotta go, need me to take you home?” I asked. Usually I didn’t do this to dates, but I knew my parents wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t home on time, and I was already late as it was.

“I’d get lost without you here, so lead the way.” I could tell she was disappointed, but I was trying to avoid ruining the relationship I had with my parents as it was, not like there was much to salvage.

I hurried out of the woods with Kit, dropped her off near her house, hopefully away from prying eyes, and got to my house. I slowly opened the door and saw I was later than I assumed. Everyone was at the table already. My sister and our parents were all staring at me. Rue quickly looked down as our parents sighed, and Rue became preoccupied with staring into her dinner.

“On the counter. Wash up first, please, Azarra.” Mother said. She sounded exasperated already. That was never a good sign.

“Thanks. Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.” I said. I carefully washed my hands and took my dinner to the table. My excuse was true this time but I always used the same one no matter what happened.

It had been silent since I had walked in. Rue wasn’t eating, and our parents were staring at each other. I sighed quietly and started eating. Rue was watching me carefully while I avoided everyone’s gaze.

“Can I be excused? I need to use the restroom.” Rue asked. Our father nodded. She gingerly got up and walked out of the room. It was then I knew what was coming. They had talked about me before I came in, and Rue knew what was coming. I slowly looked up at our parents.

“Why can’t you think about something besides yourself, Azarra?” My mother sighed. She had her head in her hands. Rue was a few years younger than me but she was so much smarter, excusing herself every time we’d argue. The fights always upset her.

“I said I was sorry.” I had come home for dinner late. Which means, I was in trouble. I was out for the day exploring the woods, which I was not supposed to do, as a ‘lady’, and may have brought a girl out there to make out with, and we may have done other things. Those things I was especially not supposed to do considering my existence as a ‘lady’.

I told them time and time again that I was not a lady, woman, or girl, or that I did like women and men and that they or I couldn’t help either fact of my existence, but they never listened.

“It’s absolutely foolish! You can’t just go wherever you please. We have to have some semblance of order in this house.” He said. I was pretty sure I absolutely could. Goldcrest had no laws against taking a girl to the woods to make out with, maybe not to do other things with, but no one but us needed to know about that part. We went into the woods on purpose. No one could hear us out there anyway. Until a busybody saw us go out there and told both of our parents. As if we weren’t both old enough to make our own choices. But, as my wonderful parents would say, my house, my rules.

“Can’t I?” I asked. I added fuel to the fire. I was particularly fed up with them both today.

“Absolutely not Azarra. It’s unbecoming of anyone, especially a lady to refuse to follow the simple rules we lay out. Your sister can follow them just fine!” Mother said. She was exasperated. Neither of them knew how to deal with me. They hadn’t wanted to raise a boy, they weren’t raising one anyway, but they weren’t expecting to raise me, either. They really wanted a child like Rue. A quiet decoration to show the neighbors. I felt awful for her.

“Hardly a lady, mother. You know that. And don’t you dare bring up Rue!” I said. My temper rose. “You know this isn’t about her.” I growled. My younger sister was their favorite and I knew it, it wasn’t fair of them to drag her into this fight or compare me to her.

“Your mother is right. You can’t keep staying out so late. And that forest is dangerous. You don’t know what could be out there.” He said. “And besides, your sister is perfectly happy without wandering outside at all hours. Especially with a girl. The barkeep’s daughter no less. You know better.” He continued. I did know better, that much he was right about, I just chose to continue doing what little things brought me any joy in the miserable city of Goldcrest.

“Not you too.” They can’t gang up on me, especially not using Rue as ammunition. “You can’t compare me to Rue like that, it’s unfair.” I said. Any other night I’d lay down and take it. Tonight was different somehow. Tonight I felt bold. “Not like I kidnapped Kit anyways, she went willingly with me. Apparently she had nothing better to do than be with me.” I shrugged, they both sighed. Rue was still hiding. She always excused herself when she saw a fight coming on. She was too good at noticing when we were about to argue.

“It’s not our fault she’s a far better daughter than you are.” Mother spat.

“I’m not your daughter and you know it. Rue understands that at least!” That was the last straw. I told them at least a hundred times that I wasn’t a girl and they still wouldn’t understand that I was nonbinary and wouldn’t be their daughter. They never got it into their heads. At least Rue could mold herself to their expectations.

“Just- just go to your room. We will discuss this more in the morning.” Mother sighed. “I just wish I knew what to do with you.”

I chose to ignore her final remark. “Already going.” I said. I had a plan already to avoid the discussion she wanted to have tomorrow. I was already tired of them trying to run my life for me, and I had better plans for myself. I bit back the retort I had while her last few words hung in my mind.

I walked into the room Rue and I shared. I rifled through my drawers. I tried to not act out loudly and show the argument had gotten to me. They don’t deserve my attention, not with how they decided to treat me. I had been biding my time for a day like this. I had a plan laid out. I’d find the local militia of a nearby town, stowing away onto a ship if I had to. I had some sword fighting skills, and if they don’t know that I look like a girl, they’ll let me fight. After that I wasn’t sure, but eventually I’d get it all sorted out.

After a while, I heard our parents go into their bedroom after washing the dishes. Then I heard the bedroom door creak open.

“Azzy? Is everything alright?” Rue gingerly opened the door. She looked tiny standing there. Her hair was neatly braided back out of her face. If everyone told me I looked like our mother, she was the spitting image of our father. Long dark hair, similar to mine, but her eyes were lighter than mine, and significantly more expressive. Right now I could tell she was nervous after the fight. But, she was their favorite of the two of us. She didn’t steal our fathers clothing and not give it back, even if it didn’t really fit properly. Or kiss girls in the woods. Sometimes kiss boys in the woods if I felt like it. She’d probably end up kissing boys when she got older, hopefully our parents wouldn’t give her hell for it like they did to me. I knew the boys weren’t their problem with me, but they had high standards for Rue.

“Everything’s fine. No one got hurt. You heard the fight?” I asked. Of course I knew she had heard. We were shouting loud enough the neighbors could probably hear us. I hoped I hadn’t caused Kit or her parents much grief by keeping her out late too.

“Worst one in a while, huh?” I nodded. Probably the pettiest fight there’s been in a while. Worst one we had was when I came out to them when they’d pissed me off. That was a fight. That was the first one that made Rue cry. I told her beforehand years before I told them. I was fed up that day, like tonight. Tonight, I was ending it for good and removing myself from the situation.

“Not like them shouting will make me stop going into the woods. I’ve wandered out there for years.” I go out there to blow off steam. Typically that means slashing away at stumps with old swords I found out there, finding new places to stash things, and occasionally woodcarving with knives I stole from the kitchen. Sometimes it means taking someone I was dating out for some privacy. Goldcrest spreads gossip quickly. Only takes a couple of the loneliest older women here to notice one thing, then it’s all over town. Nothing like your parents finding out who you’re dating from the neighbors hearing that someone’s been seeing you out with their kids.

Now, those were the big fights. Like tonight. I could admit that tonight I was at my limit and lost my temper worse than usual, not like they didn’t help in the matter. I’d been planning to leave for months, I was grown up enough to survive on my own, I figured, if someone would take me in somewhere or I could find steady enough work. Anywhere would be better than Goldcrest.

“You are stubborn.” She said. Smiling a little. “So, how are you going to fix this one?” She asked. Usually I ‘fixed’ it by ignoring them just slightly less so they’d think I was improving and they’d lay off until I got bold again, then the cycle continued from there.

We’d only escalated to physical fighting once. Even then I just got a split lip from when our father slapped me across the face. The wound wasn’t his fault but it was barely healed over from when I fell the day before. Since then, he never raised a hand against me. He probably felt guilty injuring me like he did, even accidentally. Rue cried all night after patching me back up. I hated worrying her. She was too young to worry so much about me and our parents. Even with her help, it scarred and was still there now, although it had healed better than I expected it would.

“You won’t like it.” I said. I had planned to leave after an argument like that. “I plan to remove myself from the issue entirely.” I shut the drawer. I was haphazardly putting things into my backpack. Then, I had an idea. I went quietly downstairs and took the scissors from the drawer they rested in when no one was getting a haircut. I went back into our room.

“Azzy?” She looked at me quizzically. “That doesn’t sound good.” I felt guilty with her staring at me.

“Can’t we discuss it later? Anyways, I always knew I needed to do something and I want you to do the honors.” I handed my sister the scissors our mother used on our hair occasionally. “Get it as short as you can muster.” I certainly needed some catharsis after the shit our parents pulled all these years. Now was as good a time as any.

“You know they’ll be furious, Azzy, I can’t do that.” She looked worried for me. “Won’t that just make it all worse?”

“They’ll never need to know. Just do it, Rue. I trust you.” I said, pressing the scissors into her hand. She nodded, understanding some of what I meant. I didn’t want to say outright I was leaving her. I knew I couldn’t take her with me. I’d get her hurt- or worse- taking her with me tonight, wherever I was going.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and she knelt behind me.

“You can’t screw it up, I promise. I just want you to cut it all off the first time.” I said. I felt her taking my hair gingerly off from my shoulders, coming it back with her fingers, and finally, cutting the first chunk off. I smiled. I knew she was focusing on trying to cut my hair so I didn’t touch it to gauge length.

“I think I understand what you’re planning, Azarra.” She said. I knew then that she fully understood I was leaving. She only called me my full name if she was upset with me.

“Can’t we talk about that later?” I asked.

“Not if you’re going to leave me.” She said. Her voice was tight.

“After you finish cutting it all off we can talk about it. I promise it’ll all turn out okay.” I assured her. I also was attempting to assure myself that I would be okay doing this. I had planned this for months, I was ready. But I hated leaving rue with our parents. They’d go harder on her with me gone.

“Sure, Azzy.” She said. I heard the scissors opening and closing. She was quiet and we both knew why.

I saw my hair, dark and long, littering the floor of our bedroom. I had waited for this to happen for years. It was the first step on a long road to feeling like myself for once.

“I’m glad you’re doing this and not me.” I said. I tried to lighten the mood. I didn’t think it would work, but I tried regardless.

“Sure you are.” She almost laughed. “Do you want to see how much I’ve cut off?” I nodded, and touched the back of my neck. I already felt like a weight had been lifted.

“I feel a lot better already, Rue.”

“Glad someone’s happy.”

“I have a plan. I promise.”

“Do you want to do the front? I think this is a good length for the back and sides.” She said. I took the scissors from her and found the closest mirror. I slowly cut my hair into almost bangs that matched the choppy, chin length hair Rue cut for me.

“Thanks, Rue.”

“You already look happier.” She said, smiling. I felt like a little kid next to her sometimes. Her smile quickly faded as she remembered why she cut my hair. “What’s your plan?” She asked.

I sighed deeply. “For the militia, and across the water if I can. As far as I can get from this place. Don’t think this isn’t hard for me, Rue. It is. If I had a better plan, I wouldn’t leave you here with them. Remember that.” I said. “And they shouldn’t take it out on you, and if they do, give em hell for me, okay?”

“I know Azzy. And I will.” She mustered a smile. “You got everything?”

“I think so. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She said.

“No promises.” I shook my head before giving her a hug. I heard her sniffle into my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t bear looking at her crying like that. Especially not knowing she was crying because of me.

Eventually we both let go and I turned away. Then I walked out of our room, put the scissors back in their drawer, walked through the rest of our house, and left out the front door. I didn’t leave a note, Rue could clue them in if they didn’t get the message after the fight. They didn’t deserve a note anyways. Rue didn’t deserve to have to lose me. They were fucking terrible to me, and I hope Rue wouldn’t put up with that when I was gone.

I was finally outside and I looked up. The sky looked huge from the ground and it was dark and clear enough to see all the stars and the moon. I stood there for a moment, looking up at it all and taking a deep breath, feeling like I could finally really breathe for the first time.

————-

Azarra sat alone in the woods with her companion, Vil, at her side. A lot had changed since that night. She wondered if Rue was doing okay, she thought about that a lot, then she touched the back of her neck, feeling the short hair she maintained since she left Goldcrest.

She thought about how much she’s changed, the walls she built up after running away, the scars on her face and body from mistakes she made years ago. The body she built for herself with the help of a particularly willing wizard. They didn’t ask questions. She didn’t give anything away.

She thought about the wolf she befriended so long ago, Vil, she called him, and how much he’d grown since then, she’d grown too but not nearly as much as he had, and that he’d been with her since she left the militia before they kicked her out. He was asleep by her feet as she sat with her legs up by the fire.She thought about her sister, too. Rue was the only person Azarra had missed from her old home in Goldcrest.

But Goldcrest wasn’t home now, and she couldn’t go back, she didn’t want to anyway. The only things she had left from there now were the bitter memories of what happened that night and thoughts about the wellbeing of her sister. She hoped she had left them too, Goldcrest wasn’t good enough for Rue. Azarra wasn’t sure even she was good enough for her sister. She kept staring into the flames. Her mind ran in circles while the flames died down. It had been at least 3 years since she left. Rue would nearly be Azarra’s age when she left their home by now. Tears welled up in her throat at that thought. She swallowed it down. It wouldn’t do her any good to reminisce on the past any further than she had right now. She scratched the back of Vil’s neck. He was still asleep.

Eventually she laid down and looked up at the sky. The same stars and moon she saw that night were shining tonight. It was a cloudless night again, and she wondered still if her sister was seeing them this time, and thinking about her, as foolish as it felt to think about. She forced those thoughts down, she had other concerns, like her next job. She was a mercenary now, and mercenaries don’t have concerns like their old families, just their next destination, if they had any destination planned. She’d probably never see Rue again anyway, unless she went back to Goldcrest, and that wasn’t likely to happen.

Slowly she became tired and her eyes slid shut as she was laying on the ground, and finally, she slipped into a thankfully dreamless sleep.