#fleeing the country with my boyfriend. expect to never hear from me again“

[professional-termite]

nbc hannibal au where everything is the same except hannibal has a tumblr blog called i-cook-and-eat-rude-people and nobody questions or reports it because they think its just another gimmick blog

[coraniaid]

The scene where Willow confronts Faith is Choices is kind of fascinating to me, because ... well.

I like Choices quite a lot, and I think Willow's dislike of Faith is perfectly understandable and in character (and her speech has some fun but probably not intentional foreshadowing for later seasons), but it's hard not to notice that the narrative expects you to be rather more unambiguously on Willow's side than I think is really warranted.

I mean, Willow might not have been the most popular girl in high school, but she has multiple close friends, a nice boyfriend, a stable [and fairly comfortably middle-class] home life, she "represents the pinnacle of achievement in Sunnydale High" in the words of her school's principal, she's trusted enough to teach at the school, in a year she'll be able to go to any college she wants (and, unlike some people, she can afford to go anywhere she wants), she used to hack into government computer databases (before she ever met Buffy!) and now she's teaching herself dark magic "for fun" and she hasn't [yet] ever suffered any real repercussions for either of those things.

On the other hand, from what little we hear about Faith's past we know she grew up poor and that her mother used to get drunk and beat her, that she didn't have any friends and dropped out of high school young, she is very strongly implied on multiple occasions to have been the victim of some pretty horrific abuse before being called as a Slayer, and after being called as a Slayer she got to watch the one adult who ever told her she mattered get killed horribly in front of her before fleeing across the country to a town where she doesn't know anybody, still has no friends, doesn't have a job or go to school and lives alone in a motel in the bad part of town. And when she accidentally killed a man, while trying to do the whole slaying vampires thing she's supposed to be doing, the Watcher's Council -- who never actually bothered to send her a new Watcher of her own -- decided to have her abducted and dragged away to England [a fate which surely nobody deserves].

Yet a part of Willow clearly thinks (and almost outright says) "oh, well, yeah, but she hangs out with Buffy sometimes when I don't get to and she slept with the guy -- not my nice boyfriend! -- who I used to have a crush on (and who I was briefly cheating on said boyfriend with), so it's clearly impossible to say which of us really had things worse and I don't need to feel sorry for her". And -- again, while this is great characterisation for Willow -- it's kind of hard not to notice that the writers think she has a compelling point.

Yes, sure, Faith has defected to working for the Mayor and has a knife drawn on Willow this scene (she's not anything like a blameless victim at this point of the story) and it takes a certain level of physical bravery for Willow to stand up for herself despite that. But ... I mean, come on. "You had friends like Buffy" is only true if you accept it to mean "you had exactly one friend, who was Buffy". "It's way too late" for Faith to seek forgiveness ... how many people has Faith killed at this point? One, by mistake? Giles has killed more people than that. "Some people think you had a lot of bad breaks?" Yeah, actually in Faith's shoes I'd want to hit Willow after she said that too.

I realize that part of the show's central thesis -- something that explicitly came up as recently as Earshot -- is the idea that everybody, regardless of how comfortable their life might seem from the outside, has their own sorrow and pain and (only occasionally metaphorical) demons to fight. But while that's not entirely wrong, it's also ... not entirely complete? Everyone has it bad sometimes, but some people really do have it worse than others. Pretending otherwise is ... not a serious position to take.

Willow's life could be better, but she's not gone through anything like Faith has. I'd argue she literally can't imagine how bad Faith's life has been. She really doesn't have as much moral authority as the show's writers think she has at this point.

[Compare this part of Season 3 with the first half of Season 6, when the show is overflowing with sympathy for Willow's abrupt descent into magic addiction but has no sympathy at all for Amy Madison, whose own magic addiction is just implied to be because she's inherently a Bad Person who Willow needs to avoid and whose own horrific past and abusive mother and complete lack of support system is just entirely forgotten about. Or, indeed, to the weird take of Dead Man's Party, which has Buffy apologize to Willow for ... what? Having problems of her own that don't revolve around Willow? Being too busy mourning the loss of everything she ever cared about to tell Willow how uniquely special and amazing she was for learning rudimentary magic? Not being grateful enough for Willow restoring Angel's soul without bothering to ask Buffy if that was something she still wanted her to try?]

So, the overall effect is ... yeah, it's a good scene. But it's almost a good scene despite the writer's intentions, not because of them. It's much less of an ambiguously triumphant moment for WIllow than I believe we're meant to read it as.

[thebookofus-depravity]

Skinny Bone Jones Ch 2

Part 2 of the very fluffy very lovely first chapter. This ones got some smut oops. Jae and Y/N negotiate their new relationship and their life after the coronavirus. Epilogue included! 

TW: Some smut, Jae’s hands appreciation, soft!dom Jae, not gonna say this is totally wish fulfillment but its definitely totally wish fulfillment.

12K words- again, oops.

Chapter 2 Skinny Bone Jones

What do I want?!

The question that had been plaguing you for the past 14 hours continues like a storm siren in your tired, tired brain. You had spent your night overthinking as usual, and to no avail. After hours of pontification and soul searching and snacks you were no closer to unpacking all that had occurred last night. Now it was 1pm and you found yourself draped across the ratty armchair in the corner of the living room beleaguering your existence.

You had done what you always do after taking a risk. You collapsed into yourself and told yourself all of the reasons why it was a dumb idea and couldn't possibly work and you didn't deserve it and why didn't you just play it safe? Thoroughly convinced of Jae's seething animosity for you, you had raided both the freezer and the liquor cabinet and here you were 3 hours in, sad and covered in death by chocolate.  Your parents had found you at 7am and you made some feeble excuse about not feeling well. I mean, you didn’t feel well. But that’s besides the point. Your mom and dad brought you back to your room to shower and go to  bed and then went to the store to open, your mom promising kimchi jiggae to help with your apparent sickness. 

Your phone dangled from your fingertips, 1 missed call, 5 new messages. Skinny Bone Jones. What was I thinking? I can’t go back to the store. I can’t look him in the face. He probably thinks I’m so dumb. How can I work with him now? He can keep the store. It’s his now. He can keep mom and dad too. They’d rather have a successful kid anyway. I’ll flee the country. Alright no, that one is dumb. 

I kissed  him. 

I kissed a boy. 

Man. Man-boy. Kid. Guy. 

How am I supposed to know what I want when I still think like a 14 year old girl?! It’s just a kiss. No big deal. Friends kiss all the time. Consenting adult friends can do whatever they want. We just kissed. This doesn’t have to change anything. 

As much as you went back and forth trying to convince yourself that it was no big deal, you simply couldn't. You weren't inexperienced. You had your fair share of boyfriends, a few friends with benefits, even a very disappointing one night stand. Intellectually, you knew this was nothing. But the other half of you acknowledged and was terrified of exactly how much Jae means to you. How much that kiss communicated.

You knew deep down that everything had already changed. The moment you saw him in a different light than the fluorescents of your high school or the flood lights of the stage, everything had changed. You began dreaming of seeing him in every imaginable light. Kitchen light filtered through windows, candlelight, the weak watery light of a stormy day. You wanted to see every day with him. And that scared you. Even scarier than the idea of Jae turning you down was the idea of him agreeing. 

Jae lived a crazy life and for him to include you in it would be both an honor and a liability. The last thing you want to do is jeopardize his career or anger his fans. He has so many people cheering for him, why would he need you? Jae is so good. Charming, sweet, kind, wise, a fucking rockstar. Why would he want a washed up childhood friend when he has the whole world welcoming him with open arms? Those arms. You can’t stop remembering just how good it felt to be wrapped in his arms. 

But what if he wants this as much as I do? You kissed him. He kissed you. Both occurred, you suppose. But what if it was just a kiss? If you come barrelling through with your icky, gooey, messy emotions and ruin a simple lovely thing, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. 

Regardless of outcome, it was time to at least get out of your head and face that Jae was trying to get a hold of you. You had ignored the call and the messages in your dread of first contact. Swiping open your phone, you contend with the messages first. I can deal with this. Past tense Jae. What did he have to say? 

Skinny Bone Jones: Hey, Y/N, do me a favor and don’t eat breakfast before you come in tomorrow, okay? I have a surprise for you. :) 

Fuck.

Skinny Bone Jones: You come in at 7, right?

You glance at the corner of your phone and your heart sinks: 1:37. 

Skinny Bone Jones: Your mom and dad just got here. They told me you’re sick. Are you okay? 

I mean now you feel a little queasy. 

Skinny Bone Jones: Look, Y/N, if this is about last night, you don’t have to worry about it. It won’t happen again. I should’ve asked.

Skinny Bone Jones: I’m sorry. 

Seconds later you find yourself sprinting down the sidewalk in house slippers and pajamas, your pride and your robe billowing out behind you. 

He meant it. He really meant it. You feel a little sick when you realize that Jae only took the job to spend time with you- what if he left?

Head empty, you throw open the door of the store and cast your eyes around, desperate to fall on him. Please be here. Don't leave. 

You find your mom staring up at you from behind the ledger book, "Y/N, what's the matter?"

"Mom, where's Jae?" You run behind the counter to the kitchen and your dad is there skimming stock, but no Jae. 

Fuck. 

You feel a bit of yourself shatter as you realize he's gone. Sure you can text him, sure he lives down the street. But you left him and then he left you. That's just as simple. How are you going to explain to him that you were just scared? Will he forgive you? You turn to walk back to the house, bathrobe belt dragging on the floor. 

"Y/N-ah, are you okay? You look pale." Your dad wipes his hands on his apron and presses his hand to your forehead.

"You're warm." your dad worries

"Of course she's warm, she must've run here, look at her." your mom, adds, more to the room than to anyone in particular.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" the third voice pulls you from your reverie and you whip around to see Jae, back door closing behind him as he tugs a trash can back in.

"Jae!" You run to him and wrap yourself around him, joy flooding through you. After a split second of relief you recoil as you notice that he is most definitely not returning your embrace. You take a step back and become very interested in the grout between the tiles as your heart sinks back into your stomach. Suddenly you feel his hand in yours and he is pulling you into him and he kisses you. The kiss is deep and yearning and conveys everything that has gone unsaid between the two of you these past years. I love you's and Thank you's and I miss you's that had been left unvoiced. For a split second your mind goes fuzzy and everything else slips away. You can't hear, see, feel, or even imagine anything other than the man in front of you and it feels so right. You can practically hear applause. You do hear applause. 

"Yah! I knew it! I knew it! I knew you'd finally do it, my stupid daughter!" You break your embrace and Jae straightens up. The both of you stiffen as you realize exactly what just happened. You kissed in front of your parents. In their store. 

Jae, your dad, and yourself are all staring at one another with mixed looks of unease and hilarity while your mom is practically jumping up and down and clapping with excitement. She stops and waits with bated breath to see what will happen next between the two of you, almost as if expecting some happy announcement already. The pregnant silence is deafening and you can feel a persistent blush creep up your neck.

"I-I smell like trash." Jae says numbly, gesturing slightly at the trash bag at his feet.

"So does she, she's been drinking since 4am." your dad delivers deadpan.

The quiet is broken by a cacophany of laughter and defensive yelling. 

A few minutes later, upon lining the trash can with a new bag, you are ushered out of the kitchen by your mom with cries of ‘Go! Go sit! Go talk!’. Slightly awkwardly you both ‘go’, walking into the dining area of the restaurant and out into the street. There is quite a lot of physical distance between the two of you, an equal fissure of nervous energy the only thing uniting you. Your eyes are focused squarely on the sidewalk in front of you as you walk side by side. 

“So…” Jae starts.

“So?”

“So what’s up?” There is a bit of tension in his voice, a tell of fear that you can’t stand. I made that happen to him. I’m sorry. You felt awful for making him wait. For making him question whether you would be there or not. For making him second guess himself for even a second. You sneak a glance at him and accidentally meet his eyes. 

“I made you pancakes-”

“I love you-”

You stop both your statements and feet in their tracks and face one another.

“You what?” You question in unison. There is silence for a beat before Jae forges forward, striding forward and laughing slightly as he continues:

“Yeah, I uh- I made you pancakes. For breakfast. I thought you might like them. But you never came in so I just- I mean, your parents had some. There’s a few left over if you want any. I kept them warm in the oven just in case you changed your mind.”

“I...I would love to eat your pancakes.”

Again, you both fall silent as I would love to eat your pancakes echoes through both of your skulls, delivered with the intensity of a love confession- effectively fracturing any serious thought that ever found itself at home. Your chest feels light and your head rushing and lightheaded, it feels like you could float away. I would love to eat your pancakes. What the fuck. An asthmatic chuckle escapes you and soon enough you’re both sitting in the grass next to the sidewalk holding your sides at the hilarity of the situation. Two grown ass adults. Almost pained in its relief, your laughter dispels all of the tension that you had been holding in an almost manic form. He likes you. And you like him. And God, you made this so much harder than it had to be. 

When the two of you are well and truly spent you sit up. You find yourself closer to Jae than you remember. Your head is by his shoulder, and you let your cheek rest against him. 

“So pancakes-” you begin

“I love you too.”

Now you really do think you’ll float away. You realize all at once that you’re very hung over and very tired and not at all lucid but it doesn’t matter. The cute boy down the street loves you. Your best friend loves you. You press your forehead to his and you both just sit, his arms wrapped around you. He still smells like cinnamon and home and what a wonderful home he is. 

“So we’re… together now?” You ask tentatively

“Baby, you ask that as if you have no choice in the matter.” Jae laughs

Your face warms at his use of the well-loved pet name. 

“If you want all this, it’s yours.” He quirks a brow upward at you and you laugh. Secretly, you’re incredibly thankful that he’s not making a big deal out of this. You love him. And you’ve never felt this way about anyone before, not this intensely. But the intensity with which you felt scared you. Of course it was exciting and beautiful and made your heart well up like it was about to run over, but you didn’t want anything running over just yet. That’s messy. To love someone is to take a risk, handing them your heart and asking them not to break it. Past relationships hadn’t been so kind. 

This felt like the chapter of a new book. No, not a new book.  A very old book. One that you’ve had on the shelf for ages but hadn’t picked up in a while. As soon as you opened it back up you remembered every footnote and the sound of the pages turning and the smell of the paper and every twist and turn of the plot that gave you so much familiarity and light. Of course, it was a book read in a new context but the same book through and through. 

“I love you.”

“You already said that one, Y/N.”

“Shut up, you little shit, I love you.”

“I know you love me. That’s not a question.” you slap at Jae’s chest and his shoulders shake in response.

“The question now is if you want to be my girlfriend.”

You lean into him and press a soft kiss to his lips. You can feel him smiling against you. 

“So that’s a yes? I’m unconvinced.”

Your left hand slips up his chest and neck to wrap into the soft hair at the back of his neck. You pull him deeper into the kiss and his hand rests on your side. After both of your chests’ are robbed of breath and your heart rates skyrocket, you break the embrace. His lips are so rosy and full and God, they felt so good against yours. You can’t help but take his slightly ajar bottom lip between your teeth and tug gently. Finally satisfied that your point has been cemented, you retreat. Jae stares at you, a look of equal parts incredulity and awe on his now slightly reddened features. 

“Mmm, okay. Very convincing, I’ll concede it. But who the hell taught you how to do that?” You giggle a bit and hop up off of the grass. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

He fumbles after you, “Oh-oh I worry!”

You attempt to finish your shift in the restaurant but your mom very quickly ushers both you and Jae out of the kitchen. 

“Your dad and I can handle this. Go home. There’s kimchi jiggae on the stove. Go home. Feel better. Jaehyung will make sure you’re taken care of, yah Jaehyung?”

“Of course Mrs.Y/L/N. I’ll take care of her.”

It isn’t until you get to your house that you realize that you’re half asleep. You stumble over the welcome mat and Jae catches you. You insist that you’re fine but he supports you all the way to the couch. 

“I just got my girlfriend, you expect me to let her bust her face on hard wood floor in the first fifteen minutes? Now where’s the soup, we need to get you fed.”

10 minutes later you’re fed, hydrated, medicated, and chastised for the empty soju bottles on the floor. 

Didn’t I teach you how to drink better than that? Come on now.

He leads you to where he knows your room to be, but you stop at the door. You feel like a teenager.  A little girl with a boy coming over for the first time. This time you didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to hide all of the stuffies and the journals and the embarrassing things you didn’t want him to see. Fuck, the poster. You inwardly groan before steeling yourself: you’re a grown woman. You’re just living in a child’s bedroom. It’s not your fault.

“Look my bedroom is a nightmare, it’s exactly how I left it when I was 15. You can’t judge me for this.”

“Oh, I can and I will.”

Pushing open your door, you feel your face go red as Jae whistles lowly. 

“Damn, you weren’t kidding.”

You busy yourself with picking up stray laundry and tidying while Jae takes in the majesty of the silly bands collections, the friendship bracelet loom, the boy band memorabilia. 

“I clocked you as more of a Nick girl.”

“I don’t know, Kevin he- he’s something.”

“All this stuff and not a single Day6 poster?”

“Jae, Day6 didn’t even exist when I lived here!”

“I know, I just have to give you a hard time.” Jae pauses, “If I give you a poster of me, would you replace Kevin?”

“I would replace dear old Kevin with a poster of JYP.”

“That’s a much better idea!” Jae latches onto the idea with a stubborn fierceness.

After much discussion, largely consisting of “You really wanna fuck in front of your CEO?” You both agreed that all posters would have to come down before you rendezvoused. 

Jae tucks you into bed with a kiss on the forehead before leaving you to sleep. He ensures your phone is plugged in, there’s water on the table, and ibuprofen in your system before closing your bedroom door behind him. 

And sleep you do for the next 8 hours. Your dreams are littered with images of 100 watt smiles and soft kisses and banana pancakes. When you finally do wake from your slumber you feel as well rested as you have in weeks. You stretch with a yawn and grope around for your phone. 

Skinny Bone Jones: Hey baby :)

Skinny Bone Jones: hope you’re sleeping well.

Skinny Bone Jones: Good morning beautiful, I love you.

Skinny Bone Jones: I’ve been wanting to text you that for years and now I finally can :) 

You melt a bit and have to physically restrain yourself from kicking your legs like an excited little girl. 

Y/N- Good morning :) 

Y/N- I love you. 

You flick through Instagram, Twitter, tumblr before realizing with a jolt of satisfaction that you can delete your tinder! 

Seconds after disabling your account and deleting your account, Jae messages you back.

Skinny Bone Jones- You better.

You almost drop your phone, thinking your boyfriend has some omniscient knowledge of the goings on of your dating app history. Reading back, you remember what was said and smile. 

Y/N- So what do you wanna do today?

Skinny Bone Jones- idk have you taken down those posters yet? ;)

Y/N- No XD

Skinny Bone Jones- Haha okay, how about spending the day at the store? I’m sure your mom and dad could use the help. We did both just dip yesterday.

Y/N- Sounds good to me! Meet you there in half an hour?

Skinny Bone Jones- You’re on. 

20 minutes later, you’re pulling off the third top that you’ve tried in frustration at both your wardrobe and your adolescent behavior. It’s work. I’m going to work. With my boyfriend. It’s not a bad thing to want to look cute. You finally settle on a pair of shorts and a halter top before grabbing your phone and heading to the store. 

You’re greeted by a frenzy of activity. Your mom is yelling over the phone (something about dumplings), your dad is kneading noodle dough as if it threatened his life, and even Jae is busying himself filling mandu. When your mom finally looks up, she hangs up the phone with not so much as a goodbye. 

“Yah! Y/N-ah, hurry! We’ve got work to do!”

You throw on an apron before following your mother to the butcher block. 

“We had an order called in this morning for catering a party. Min Jung unnie’s birthday. Apparently they’re having a social distancing party. They need 50 people’s worth of bulgogi, ssam, banchan, and mandu. By 3pm.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll handle the pickling.”

The four of you work in silence chipping away at the order and filling styrofoam take-away boxes. By 2:30 you’re finished with everything, just waiting on the japchae. Loaded into the car with all of the needed accoutrement, your mom and dad bid you a farewell. Instructions of ‘take care of the store’ and ‘if you need anything, call” echo from the interior of the car as they back out of the driveway. 

You watch them disappear down the road with a huge smile on your face. You were tired and starving but so proud of the work that had been done. You had watched your mom and dad start this business from scratch and it reminded you of the first catering gig they had ever received so many years ago. The joy of the work and the honest paycheck was something that they had taught you, as well as their love for food. Now the shop was a local institution and until the coronavirus, there had been no fear for their business. As much as you denied any fear to Jae, you had been concerned by the lack of orders the store had been receiving. Not to mention the thinly veiled racist threats that you had been fielding on the shops’ yelp and Facebook pages. 

“This is so good for them. They’re getting business and even catering gigs again. I’m so proud of them.” 

“You should be, love.” Jae appears behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. 

“What’s going to happen to the store when your parents get too old to work like this?” Jae asks, tone full of polite curiosity, as he walks you to the table where your lunch sits.

You pick up a set of chopsticks and sigh “I don’t know, Jae.”

“I mean we have some time to think about that before we have to deal with it. Generally their kids would continue the business but I just can’t. It’d be a waste. I spent so much time and money working on premed and, I mean, I have to find residencies soon.”

You run a hand through your hair as you lift a dumpling to your mouth. The tension melts away as the pastry yields in your mouth. Mmm. That’s what it’s all about. 

“You know you could, right?” Jae asks through a  mouth full of japchae. 

“I could what?”

“You could do it. Take over the store. You’d be brilliant at it. You’re an amazing cook, but even better than that, you know how to run a business. You’re organized and have an eye for design and publicity. You could make it so much more if you chose. It wouldn’t be a waste either. Nothing you love is ever a waste.”

“No, Jae I couldn’t-“ you begin.

“Hey. You don’t have to either. I’m just saying you shouldn’t limit yourself. There’s no right way to do anything and no right path to your career. That’s all I’m saying. You don’t have to make any decisions right now anyway. Like, you’ve said, you’ve got time.”

You eat in silence, casting your eyes around the kitchen with Jae eating and humming to himself softly. You see the counter that you used to sit on and watch your parents work. You see the walk in freezer that you used to hide in when you threatened to run away from home. Through the order window you see the polymer tables that you spent every day of middle school wiping down for spending money. This was home more than your house was. It’s where you learned how to work, how to cook. It’s where you learned Korean, watched your mom and dad make friends and regulars. You loved it here. The idea of it belonging to someone else made your stomach turn.

“But my parents started this restaurant to give me the opportunity not to have to work in a restaurant. They wanted to feed my ambition. They’ve made it very clear, they want me to make something of myself.”

“What is that something, babe? I think they would be proud of you regardless of what you chose to do with your life. Doctor, chef, stripper, you’re their daughter. And they love you.”

“Okay, stripper might be off the table but…”

“But you love to cook.”

“I do.”

“Just give it some thought, Y/N. It’s an idea.”

“I will, Jae. Thank you. I’ve been thinking about my future a lot lately and I really don’t know if I’m meant to be a doctor. I kind of hate it. But I’ve been doing it since I’ve been 15. I’ve been researching myself a lot. Getting reacquainted with who I am instead of who I’ve been told I should be.”

“And I can’t wait to get to know her better and better. I love you, Y/N, whoever you end up being.”

Jae is staring at you with so much affection that you think you might combust. 

You stuff a dumpling in your mouth in an attempt to hide the huge smile that threatens to take over your face. 

Jae tucks into his food as well, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like motherfuckin cutie to himself. 

You finish eating and wash dishes in companionable silence, chatting here and there, humming along to the Bluetooth speaker that has been conveniently set to play only Day6. Finished with the dishes and the nights orders, you sweep the floor of the kitchen and realize you’ve run out of chores to do. What with the closing of the dining room, there is less to do when you close. 

You get a text from mom saying “We’ll be back in maybe an hour. Is everything okay there?”

You assure her that everything is perfectly fine and that you’ll be here when they get back. Jae, sitting on a stool, pulls you back into him by the waist in order to see the message. You’re all but sitting in his lap with his head resting on your shoulder when he smirks, “So we’ve got an hour?”

“...Hypothetically.” You feel his lips against your neck and shiver. 

“Yah, Jae.” He immediately stops and turns you to face him. 

“Yes?” His face is serious but not grim. He is ready to listen to you. You’ve never been with someone with so much respect for you. That was sad but also beautiful. Jae was already showing you exactly how you deserved to be treated. 

“We don’t have to do anything, you know babe? I’m just picking. I’m perfectly fine just sitting with you.”

“No, Jae. I want this. I want you. I’m not exactly shy about it, love. And I’m not exactly an innocent little girl. It’s just, with you, I feel like it’s going to be different. I love you. And we have so much history. I just want to do this right, yknow?”

“I understand baby. Let’s make it that way.” Jae takes your hand and pulls you into him. “As much as I’d love to do awful things to you while you’re bent over that bar, I think I can restrain myself.” He jokes. “I have for this long. You’re special and I want to show you that.”

“Thank you, Jae.” You whisper up at him. 

“No need to thank me baby. It’s the bare minimum. If I ever treat you any differently, you’re gonna have to slap me.”

“Yes sir.” You flash him your best innocent eyes.

“Oh, now don’t you start with that shit, doll. Don’t test me.” There’s laughter in his voice but also a bit of steel that you weren’t expecting. Noted.

You lean in and give him a chaste peck on the lips. The kiss deepens as Jae pulls you in. Your arms wind around his neck and your fingers tug through his silky blonde hair. His hands rests on the back of your neck and on your lower back. He pulls you in impossibly closer as his tongue swipes past your lips. While pulling you closer, his leg slips between yours and you let out an entirely involuntary moan when his thigh connects with your center. Your hips buck of their own accord and you bury your face in Jae’s neck. You feel Jae’s hand on your neck and he pulls you back slightly to where you’re face to face. 

“Damn, baby. You sound really pretty when you’re desperate for me.”

You whine and try everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him. Tugging slightly on your hair, your gaze rises to meet his. You can see Jae’s eyes following the deep pink flush that blooms in your chest. 

“You gotta tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” 

“Please don’t stop, Jae.” Your voice comes out as a whisper but damn you never imagined this persona would come out of him. You quite appreciated it.

“That’s what I like to hear, baby girl.”

All of a sudden you hear the front door swing open and the murmur of your mom and dads voices. You jump back from Jae and do your damndest to collect yourself as your parents carry their catering equipment into the kitchen. Jae stands bolt upright and takes the box from your mother, insisting that she sit and he take care of it. The sexual tension dissipates from your body but the idea of Jae in that particular light couldn’t be wiped from your mind. That and the stern reminder branded into your brain to never trust your moms projected arrival times ever again.

The night continues and soon enough you have returned to your regularly scheduled attempt at sleep for the night. You had been texting off and on with Jae all evening after parting ways at the shop and you couldn’t be happier. You talked a bit more about your ideas for the store and if you really could make it your career. You talked about the presales of Demon and how excited he was for the comeback. He missed his fans terribly and he knew they missed him too. Eventually conversation turned back around to the almost disastrous incident earlier today. 

Skinny Bone Jones: I can’t believe they almost walked in on us. 

Y/N: Look, it was your fault! 

Skinny Bone Jones: My fault? How is it my fault that you were falling apart on my leg? I didn’t even touch you. 

Skinny Bone Jones: If anything, I should be the one contacting HR for sexual harassment.

Y/N: Good luck with that, I am HR.

Y/N: And it’s your fault I was falling apart anyway. Making my heart go all BoomBoom.mp3 and shit. Rude.

Skinny Bone Jones: Well, I’m glad I can have that effect on you babygirl. 

The persistent heat in your stomach was growing and the use of your favorite pet name wasn’t doing anything to help. 

Y/N: Jaaaeeee

Skinny Bone Jones: yeah, Y/N? Do you like it when I call you babygirl?

Skinny Bone Jones: Come on now, use your words. 

Y/N: Yes.

Skinny Bone Jones: Good girl.

Fuck.

How the hell did he know exactly how to tear you apart like this?

Skinny Bone Jones: I can't wait to get you alone, baby. We’re gonna have so much fun. 

 Y/N: I can’t wait. 

That much was true. You couldn’t wait. And you weren’t planning on it. If he wasn’t going to get over here and give you what you needed you would take matters into your own hands. Your fingers are occupied, running along your hips and chest when Jae texts you back. 

Skinny Bone Jones: Can’t you? I hope you’re not having too much fun without me. 

How does he do that?

Y/N: And what if I am? 

Skinny Bone Jones: Well then I think I’d say that I’d feel a little left out of the party. And what a pretty little party too. 

Skinny Bone Jones: But the party will have to continue later, sweetheart. Sungjin is calling me for a promo meeting and I’ve got to go. 

Skinny Bone Jones: I love you.

Y/N: I love you too, Jae. 

You’re a bit disappointed by the unresolved ache between your legs but you push the thought to the side. He’s busy. We’ll have plenty of time. You let the tension ebb out of your body for the second time that day and settle in to try and sleep. Besides, you just got together. For you to act like a sexed up crazy lady begging for him within days of you officially dating seemed a little absurd. No need to come across as desperate. Jae’s words echo back in your head ‘you sound so pretty when you’re desperate for me, baby.’ You huff and roll over on your side, trying to forget about the quality in his eyes when he stared down at you. Like he was seeing simultaneously the cutest and sexiest person he’d ever seen in his life. How unfair. 

You swipe open your phone to see new messages from Jae. You open the first one and promptly drop your phone on your face. 

It’s an image of Jae’s sweatpants clad lap. Specifically, the large bulge in aforementioned sweatpants. His free hand is against his thigh and in your sleep glazed mind you can imagine clear as day what it would look like for him to slowly wrap his hand around his half-hard dick through his pants. Fuck.

Skinny Bone Jones: See what you do to me? I have to go to my zoom meeting like this. You’re to blame for this babygirl, and believe me when I tell you I’m going to make you responsible for it. 

An inhuman noise escapes you as you read and reread his message. Yup he said that. 

You end up falling asleep with an ache between your thighs and your phone in your hand, waiting for his meeting to end. When you finally drifted off to sleep your dreams were littered with increasingly explicit images of Jae. The pretty noises he would make, how his collarbone and chest would look covered in pretty little red and purple bruises, his pretty hands on you. You wake up sweaty and needy and altogether unsatisfied. Rolling over, you reach for your phone and squint at the numbers illuminated there. 7am. Excellent.

Y/N: Good morning, Jae. My panties are suing.

Skinny Bone Jones: Well good morning to you too. Talk to my lawyer. 

And so life goes for the next few weeks. You see Jae at the store every few days and make sure to go on your daily walks together. It’s really such a lovely time of togetherness. You invest yourself in the business, working hard to prove yourself capable before bringing the idea up to mom or dad. You had already rebranded the entire graphic design layout, updated the website, replied to every yelp review, ordered new signage, and resealed the vinyl tabletops before your parents started asking you about the residencies. You told them, very cautiously, about your ideas for the store and how you really loved the work. You loved to cook. You loved to manage. And you loved this store more than anything. You wanted to make it a legacy for years to come: not just a fleeting blip on a culinary map but an institution where families make memories for decades to come. 

They were hesitant at first, questioning where these ideas were coming from and why you would abandon your medical training. Over the course of a few days you slowly watched them turn, not so much with their words but their actions. Your mom began asking your opinion on things and giving you more freedom to manage and make decisions. By the end of the week your dad burst in the store with a huge smile on his face and a very large, very heavy looking box. 

“Y/N-ah, come here! Look what I got!”

You and your mom emerge from the kitchen to see your father ripping open the box and producing a sharp black shirt that says “Y/L/N’s Mandu: a family business” on it.

“I got shirts for catering! To look more professional!”

And so he did. He was beaming at you with pride and excitement and you knew this was as good as it gets. They may never say it themselves, but you could tell that they were so happy and proud to have you as part of the business. Yes, they would have to explain to the neighbors  how their valedictorian daughter had left the medical field to chase her dreams. But did they care? I mean a little. But they finally made the decision to care more about their daughters' well being than the opinion of others. You watched that shift in their behavior and as proud as they were of you, you were so proud of them as well. 

You had donned your new catering shirt while en route to meet Jae for your walk. He greeted you with the customary big hug and kiss on the forehead before asking how things were going with your parents. He had been following the situation closely and encouraging you the whole way but didn’t want to interfere. You give him a spin to show off your new catering shirt and he claps with joy. 

“That’s amazing babe! I’m so happy for you!” He pulls you into a massive bear hug, picking you up slightly and spinning you around. Once the world stops spinning he’s planting a kiss on your lips. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Jae.”

You continue your walk around the neighborhood, hand in hand. You had discussed the issues of privacy and PDA in relation to him being an idol but he brushed it off. Jae insisted that you were safe in the neighborhood. Everyone in your block of houses knew about Jae and Day6 but also about your relationship. You grew up with these people- all of them. The majority of them were now very old and unbothered by the goings on of a local KPop star and his childhood friend. If you left the neighborhood you would have to be more careful but for now, he insisted all was well.

As you walked you discussed the changing attitudes of your parents, your tweaks to the menu, and your deluge of thinly veiled patronizing messages from med school ‘friends’. Jae engages well in conversation but every time you question him about his day, he becomes non committal. This has been worsening over the week at seemingly an inverse rate to your own positivity. 

“Jae, what’s up? Are you okay? You’ve been kinda quiet the past few days. About Day6 stuff, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just stressed out, baby. I’ll be okay. This happens before every comeback. I start overthinking every little thing. Usually I have Brian and Sungjin to knock me out of it. Self doubt and creative isolation don’t really mix real well, yknow?”

“Mmm, I can understand that. I’m sorry baby, I had no idea. You know you can talk to me about that stuff right? I mean I’m no lyricist, but I know you. And I know how hard you can be on yourself. But better than anybody, I know how talented you are.”

“I know, Y/N. And thank you. I need the reminder sometimes that I have support. For a while all I really had was the guys, so they’re the default of who I turn to-“

“As you should.”

“-but you’re you. And you’ve been here since the beginning and watched me grow and I forget that I still have that. Sometimes I feel like I’m just weighing you down or worrying you needlessly with something you’re not a part of. I forget that you are a part of this process. You’ve been here from the beginning and you’re where it all started.”

You continue walking hand in hand until you reach your front door once more. Jae raises a hand to cup your face and kisses you on the forehead. 

“I love you, Y/N. Thanks for being you.”

“I don’t know how to be anything different, but thank you. I love you too, Jae. My superstar.”

Jae smiles at that and kisses you again, deeply this time, and your world spins once more.

You say goodbye and head for your door before Jae grabs your hand and you turn around.

“Oh, babe! I forgot to tell you! Mom and dad want you to come over on Sunday for lunch if you’re up for it!”

“Oh, of course, Jae! I’d be happy to!”

The week drags on and you look forward to dinner, you truly do. But it’s a nervous excitement that floods through you whenever you think of it. You know his parents well and you’ve always gotten along, but you’ve never been dating their son before. You were worried this, and your career change, would put a target on your back. You had also never progressed in a relationship to a point where you had ‘met the parents’. Regardless of having met Mr and Mrs Park countless times before, this felt different: bigger.

You, of course, had no reason to worry. You went to socially distant church and then back to Sunday lunch with his family and were surprised by how at home you felt. You grew up in that house so of course it was familiar. Every play date, snack time, study session, had been held in this dining room so you knew it well. It just felt a little different now that you were with Jae… yknow, in the biblical sense. Of course, you hadn’t actually been with Jae yet, something you were being reminded of far too frequently by your touch starved brain. The hand resting on your thigh beneath the table wasn’t doing anything to assuage that feeling. 

You enjoyed a stellar meal and sat and talked with his family for a while. His older sister was doing well and had stopped in just briefly to see her mom and dad for the first time since the quarantine. She coyly mentioned how pleased she was that you were together and told you to keep him in line for her. She was the only one to mention your new relationship, Jae’s mom and dad content with simply catching up and exchanging niceties. It’s entirely pleasant but you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. A discussion to be had. Something. It never comes. Just small talk and support and bright smiles. How odd. 

It’s around 4 or 5pm when Mr and Mrs Park announce that they’ll be leaving for a date.

You didn’t think we’d spend the whole day on this did you? We have the first socially distant reservation at that place downtown. You know, the one with the napkins and the crab? Oh! And the drive-in is open finally as well, we’re going to the double feature just like we did in high school, isn’t that right, darling? You’re the one that wanted to have lunch so bad Jaehyung, you clean up.  

Jaes ears go a bit pink when his mom lets slip how hard he pushed for this lunch. Judging by the way he is returning your questioning looks, Jae is as shocked as you are by his parents sudden departure. Mrs.Park swipes on some lipstick and grabs her purse on the way out before finally landing her gaze on you. She walks toward you and gives you a quick, breezy hug. She smells like sweet pea and the lavender hand lotion that sits next to the sink. You’re at a bit of a loss. I think this was supposed to be a big deal. Should I say something? Mrs. Park sighs and chuckles a bit at your disgruntled demeanor. 

“Look, Y/N, darling, we love you. You’re a sweetheart and we’ve watched you grow up. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re kind, you’re a good girl, your parents are lovely, you’ll make adorable grand babies. More than anything, my son loves you. You never needed our permission or consent or approval, but damned if you don’t have it. Now you two have a great night okay, I’m gonna go eat some lobster and fall asleep in a car.”

And with a nod from his father and a hasty, see you whenever from his mom, the door closes to your twin stunned silence. 

“Um… babe? What just happened?” You ask broadly.

“Well… it looks like my parents like you-”

“So it would seem.”

“-more than me. They like you more than they like me.”

You help Jae clear the dishes and wash up the kitchen and dining area while unpacking the days events. You interrogate him for orchestrating this lunch and he laughs and justifies that he just really wanted you to break the ice with my parents. I mean I spend all day with your parents, doesn’t it just seem fair? You concede and finish stacking the last dish while Jae explains the plethora of threats that his sister ladened him with should he ever wrong you. Drying your hands on a towel, you wrap your arms around Jae and he pulls you close. 

“You know baby, the drive-in is a double feature.” you say, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Mhmm.”

“And it doesn’t start til late.”

“Mhmm.”

“So…” you busy yourself fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater in an attempt to hide your reddening face. Is he going to make you spell it out for him? 

“So you want to go to the drive-in? Is that what you’re saying?” Jae is looking at you far too intently and with just the smuggest look on his face, you can hardly take it. He’s staring down at you as you would a baby trying to say their first words come on you can do it, baby. 

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just- your parents are gonna be gone til like, 1,2am.” 

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you want, Y/N. Use your words.”

You suck in a deep breath and finally sigh out, almost painfully, “do you wanna fuck or not?”

Jae’s demeanor breaks and he laughs, “Well, don’t sound so excited, babe!”

“Look! I’m not used to this! I mean I’m used to sex. But you-this is different. Your attitude is different.”

“Do you not like it?” Jae immediately shifts back into his serious-sans-grim persona to insure that you are fully okay with everything that is happening here. “If you want me to drop the attitude, I’m more than happy to. I want you to feel comfortable and taken care of.”

“No! I-I really like it. It’s just disarming. I’ve never been with someone who actually knows how to do shit before. You have an effect on me. I’ve never been so affected by someone just talking to me. That’s why it’s weird.”

“Aw, babygirl, well I’m glad. And in answer, yes I’d very much like to fuck you. Nothing I’d like more, doll face.”

You giggle at the outdated pet name and preen a bit in the praise. Jae makes you feel so special.

As excited as you are, you suddenly remember that you were not at all expecting this tonight. You try to think of the last time you shaved thoroughly and cast your mind back to this morning with the selection of bra and panties. Hmm. That ain’t gonna work. 

“Great! But first, I’m gonna run over to my house for just a few minutes and freshen up okay? I’ll be back in maybe… 20 minutes?”

“Of course, baby, do what you gotta do.”

You run down the street, shave, moisturize, change into the pink lacy teddy that you may or may not have bought a few weeks ago for this particular purpose, throw some ultimately irrelevant clothes on over it, and run back. 

You slip your shoes off and let yourself in the front door but Jae isn’t in the front room. You look around the kitchen and dining room but the lights are off and he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jae?” you call out.

“In here!” you hear hollered from a distant corner of the house. He must be in his bedroom. 

You retrace your steps and let your muscle memory guide you through the once familiar halls and up the stairs . You open the door to a bedroom to find Jae standing, lighting a candle on one of his bookshelves. The light is a bit dim from just the sunset through the window and the candlelight but damn does he look good. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower because his hair is wet and his shirt is sticking to him. He puts the lighter down and stretches, his shirt rising and exposing the bottom of his stomach. 

“It’s a good thing you had to run home, gave me time to take down my secret Jonas brothers posters.” 

You’ve never been more in love in your life. 

“You good babe?” Jae questions.

Apparently you had been staring blankly at him for some time now. Oops.

“Yeah, Jae. I’m good. I’m just in love with you.”

“Oh-ho-ho, well aren’t those just the magic words aren’t they?” Jae smiles and reaches his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you in and kisses you softly on the lips, sitting you down next to him on his bed.

“Are you sure you’re ready? I know you wanted this to be special. I didn’t really have time to plan. This isn’t what was supposed to happen-“

“Jae, I shaved for you. And besides, you’re all the special I need.” There’s a slight pause in which Jae looks down at you like he’s discovered solid gold before he clears his throat and continues.

“Well alright then.”

Jae winds his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. You oblige, bidding his tongue eager entrance to your mouth.  His hand wraps around your waist and pulls you in close. This kiss is deep, urgent. You’re both panting by the time the kiss breaks and he presses soft, open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck as he picks at your shirt. His long fingers fiddle with the buttons, getting about half way down your shirt before you get greedy, burrowing under his shirt in turn. His skin is so warm and smooth and soft it’s addicting. You want it on every possible surface of your own skin. You bury your face in his neck as your hands explore his surprisingly toned chest and stomach. You suck on the juncture of his neck and he hisses before finally yanking his shirt off over his head. 

“Next time you ask for what you want, understood, babygirl?”

Your mouth goes dry but your panties are largely ruined. 

“Mhm.” you muster. Jae grabs your chin in his large hand and makes you look at him.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Yes sir.” you whisper.

“Good girl. Now take off your shirt.”

You strip down to your teddy and panties and sit patiently on the bed. Jae once again laces his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and tugs lightly, forcing you to look up at him. 

“Oh, babygirl, you look so pretty. Such a good little babygirl for me. Can I make you mine? Hmm?”

“Babyyyyy.” you whine.

He bends down and connects his mouth to your neck, sucking harshly on that point just above your collarbone that makes all rational thought disappear. You can tell it’s already bruising and you couldn’t be happier. 

Jae pulls you into his lap, sitting you fully on him and kissing you. You can feel a distinct hardness against your thigh and you can’t help but grind your ass down into his lap. His hands are gripping your ass tightly, kneading slightly but they hold you still when you start to grind into him.

“Tell me what you want baby. You’re already so desperate for my cock, hmm? Is that it? I haven’t even touched you yet, babygirl.”

You look up at Jae, eyes blown wide and lip pouty. You’re frustrated. You need him. He meets your gaze, eyes narrowed solely on you, bite-swollen lips fallen slightly ajar. His hand comes up from your hip to cup your jaw and his thumb traces your buzzing lips. Those pretty hands. You’ve been watching those hands for years and now they were finally on you. Your mouth falls open for him and your lips wrap around his thumb. He’s watching so intently, as if memorizing what you look like when you’re so fucked out for him. You suck on first his thumb then his other fingers before you realize that his other hand is guiding you on his lap, rocking you. You moan around his fingers as he rocks you back and forth on his thigh. You whine and he chuckles.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it baby? You wanted to fall apart on top of me? Wanted to feel good? That’s how you’re gonna cum. You’re gonna fall apart on my leg for me. I’m not even gonna touch you. Not yet. You’re gonna earn it. That’s right. Such a good girl. Faster baby.”

If you had any pride, it disintegrated at the feeling that was building between your legs. You rock on his lap, still whining through Jae’s fingers in your mouth. You’re embarrassingly close, and Jae drives you endlessly closer, kneading your ass in time with your rocking motion and finally, just when you can’t take it, he places a sharp slap on your ass cheek that has you seeing white and whining his name, the coil that had been building in you for weeks finally snapping in a beautiful white heat washing over your body.

“Jaeeee! Fuuuckkk.” you whine

“Shhh, I know baby, I know.” He soothes, running his hand over your ass and letting you ride out your high, body shaking. Your forehead is resting on his shoulder as you slowly catch wind back in your lungs. 

“Fuck.”you exclaim weakly.

“No kidding, doll face, ” he chuckles lowly, “I could watch you do that all day. In fact-“ Jae grabs your wrists and pushes you down into the bed so that your back is flush to the bed and your wrists are held above your head. “-I think I will.”

You wake up the next morning bruised and satisfied and so so happy. Jae made pancakes. 

Epilogue

The Governor had lifted retail restrictions in LA and you watched everyone around you explode with excitement at the prospect of getting out of their houses. You felt so odd. You should be excited, and you want to be, honest; but with every new invitation that you get rolling into your DM's from well meaning friends, the less you want to go out. You had built a world during quarantine. You and Jae and your parents and the store and your stupid poster of Kevin Jonas: you had built a home at your house for the first time in years. If you emerged to the outside world now you were scared that it might pop like an iridescent bubble-a dream far too good to be true. 

So you made excuse after excuse as to why you couldn't go out. Sorry love, I have a hair appointment that day. Aww babe, that club is always so full, can't we just stay in? You know I hate that sushi place, but bring me back some boba please! Love you! Now, having weathered through the first weekend after the restrictions lifted from the combined comfort of your own couch and bed, you had thoroughly convinced yourself of your lack of necessity for the outside world.

Your parents were thrilled that you hadn't bolted at the first sign of freedom since they were just getting to know their daughter. You were grateful for their cloying, sweet, hovering. They had never been great at showing their affection but your mom had been the first to  clumsily burst the dam of closeness and positively glowed with pride and love at any given moment. The support was extreme, if a tad excessive. You appreciated the long talks about culinary school and chasing your dreams and her excitement for your goals- but you didn't think applause every time you opened the fridge was really necessary. Your dad too, had been investing time showing you old family recipes and feeding your passion and your appetite. 

Jae, however, was not to be convinced of your apparent new found shrugging off of the outside world. 

"Babe, don't you wanna go do something?" Jae has you in his arms, the both of you curled on the couch watching House MD reruns and critiquing the bad medicine just as you had been for the whole morning. 

"It's beautiful outside. And places are open now, don't you wanna-"

"It's hot." Your tone is far more aggressive than you had intended and you flinch as he unravels himself from you to better address whatever issue he can sense brewing behind your defense. Now you've done it.

"Y/N, we live in LA. Of course it's hot." You sit up on the couch, sighing deeply, before facing him. 

"What's going on babe? Why don't you want to leave the house?" Jae is looking at you with a level of concern that makes your throat a little tight and your chest a little light. Where were you in college? I could've used some looks like that, love. You take a deep breath in and steel yourself for the coming conversation. At the last possible second, you begin fiddling with the sleeves of your shirt and look away from his eyes. He sees too much. 

"It's really no big deal, Jae, I just don't feel like going out."

"Mhmmm. I totally believe that." You look at him and instantly regret it. Shit, why does he have to look at me like that? Like I'm a 3 year old that skinned their knee and now he gets to kiss it better? Unfair.

"Come on, Y/N, you know I'm annoying. I won't drop it." Yes, yes I do.

"Alright, look," you begin. 

"I like it here. The way it is. Exactly the way it is. I've never felt more comfortable and at home and loved in my life. I get to be with people I love with no obligations or timecards or tests or alarms. I get to cook with my dad. Cuddle with my boyfriend. Ignore calls from the student loan collectors. I don't have to think about my past or my future or our future, just the present. I've never been able to do that. And I feel like if we go out, or I go out- that will all be gone. Everything will come rushing back. All the stress and hiding and uncertainty is gonna come back and I'm not ready. I like it here." You don't remember when tears had started to well up behind your eyes but you willed them back down and swallowed your vulnerability. "Besides, don't you want to be careful? What if your fans see us together and freak out? You don't need that."

Jae takes your hand in his and his other hand rests on your jaw, cupping your face and twining in your hair. "Hey-hey-hey, baby." Jae coos softly. "Look at me." He tilts your face up to his and smiles at you slightly. 

"I completely understand. The past 4 weeks have been the best that I've had in a long time. I know you're scared and you don't know what's going to happen next and there's way too much to consider in the coming weeks. You're going to be looking for jobs, meeting new people, seeing old friends that you're scared to disappoint. Not only is it a new world out there, you are a new person. A better person. A happier person. But you've got to trust that your sense of self is going to stick around even when then happiness goes away for a little while. You won't always feel this happy and warm and fulfilled but guess what? That's a good thing. We aren't given grand ideas and hopes and dreams just to think about how nice they'd be. We've got to actually go out there and do them. Which is hard and uncomfortable. But no one ever did anything worth doing without failing a bit." You sigh and sniffle a bit, shuffling slowly into his arms. You bury your face in his chest and just stay there for a minute before letting out a muffled: "I knoooow."

"I  know you know, baby." Jae chuckles and rubs your back, "Do you remember what you told me when I was having a hard time on KPop Star?"

You shake your head no into Jae's chest. 

"Well, you told me that 'Perfection is not an option. Your only option is imperfection. So don't be afraid of failure- embrace it. Try, fail, try again, fail again. Fail Better."

You're quiet for a minute as you let the truth of the statement sink in and assuage some of the rising panic in your chest.

"That wasn't me, that was Samuel Beckett. I just plagiarized it."

"Whatever, nerd, you still told me it."

You finally lift your head from Jae's chest and look him in the eyes. You're a little shocked by just how close your faces are but you persist, "I know, love. You're right. And thank you for reminding me. I just get so scared sometimes. I've taken some really big steps the past few weeks and I'm scared once my training wheels are off and I hit 'the real world' nothing will work out. 

"What is this? A simulation?" Jae laughs but you can tell he knows exactly what you mean.

"Look. I'm real." He punctuates this assertion with a sweet peck on your lips. 

"And this is real." Another kiss.

"And so is this." Another kiss.

He makes his point with one last final kiss that's deeper than the others. You slide further  into his lap to deepen the kiss and he reciprocates. His tongue brushes past your lips and his grip tightens in your hair as a soft moan escapes you. Jae pulls back and smiles a cocky grin at you, in apparent awe of just how fucked out he got you with just a kiss. Embarrassed by your flush and loss of breath, you bury your face in the juncture of Jae's neck. 

"Baaaaaabe are you sure we have to go out?", you whine, grinding your hips down into his lap just enough for him to get the gist. 

"Haha Y/N, no!" Jae laughs a big belly laugh and shifts you off of his lap. 

"I'm not that stupid. You aren't going to cheat me with your feminine wiles."

You return his energy with a giggle and oblige. 

"Let's start off with something simple that you like to do. The thrift store on the south side opened up. Do you want to go take a look?" You perk up a bit at the idea of not only being able to dig through a Goodwill once more to find cute items, but the idea of making your boyfriend try on stupid stuff. 

"Alright, attagirl! Let's go! I'll buy you anything you want in celebration of not having to wear those terrible scrubs ever again."

"Oooh, I've got myself a sugar daddy?"

"As long as we're going to Goodwill, sure! I don't mind giving up a bit of my lobster money for a pretty little lady." Jae's chest puffs out with some sick pride and you mentally note to yourself to find the most expensive thing in the store.

"Alright, let's go!"

You struggle to find parking in the congested area and you remind yourself to refrain from any PDA. You and Jae are friends in public. On the short walk to the Goodwill, Jae grabs your hand and you jump a bit. 

"Shouldn't we be-"

"No. No we shouldn't be." Jae looks at you sideways, hand still wrapping yours. 

"MyDay are chill. They've told me time and time again that they just want to see me happy. And guess what? Right now, if they can see me? I'm happy. There's nothing in my contract restricting dating and the team all knows anyway. We have nothing to hide."

"The team? Who..who exactly is 'the team', Jae?"

Jae goes a little red as if he's said too much.

"Y'know just...JYP" You stop dead in your tracks.

"JYP?! As in, the company? Or as in, Park Jin-young?!"

"....Yes."

"JAE! I thought you were just gonna tell YoungK and Sungjin and the members!"

"Yeah well... we have a group chat and I got a little excited. I wanted to tell everybody." The hilarity of the situation takes you over as you imagine what the contents of a group chat involving the CEO of a major company, and 5 crackheads may entail. You are caught in a laughing fit that nearly takes you down but Jae is just relieved to see that you're not upset. 

"I mean it's not like I'm ever gonna meet the man.", you validate.

"...Well."

Luckily you're at the doors of the Goodwill and are able to effectively quiet him via face mask before he can ruin your life further.  

FEEDBACK IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE :)

[mickeylovebot]

gallavich sad/fluffy/happy ending oneshot - Couple’s Therapy #2 | Mexico

Mickey and Ian sat on the couch in their counsellor’s office. This was the second meeting. After the first one had gone well, Mickey’s anxiety about the situation had diminished and Ian was happy to go again. Their love for each other had only gotten stronger after getting their honest shit on the table. They were closer, always cuddling, spending less time staying up at night worrying.

“Well, no offence you two,” Nadine, their counsellor, began, “But after last time, I am expecting a doozy. You two have been through very... specific circumstances together. And I am curious to learn more and excited to help you both through more.” Nadine smiled. She had a look in her eyes that seemed to say that Mickey and Ian were a miracle.

“Glad to hear it,” Ian laughed half-heartedly.

“Now, what should we discuss today, did either of you have any ideas?”

“Uh...” Ian thought. He bounced around ideas in his head, but none of them stuck out.

Mickey, however, “I want to talk about Mexico,” he blurted.

Ian looked at Mickey at first with surprise and then with a somewhat sad, knowing look. “Okay, Mickey,” he agreed, “Let’s talk about Mexico.”

This time, Ian and Mickey were holding each other’s hands for support. Ian gave Mickey’s hand a squeeze... to tell him that he’s listening.

“Mexico? What happened in Mexico?” Nadine inquired.

“It was before Mexico, actually,” Mickey began explaining to Nadine. “I’d broken out of prison. I was on the run from the cops and... fuck, I wanted to be with Ian,” he and Ian both had lopsided smiles, “And when he met me at the docks... even though he had a boyfriend, it was pretty fuckin’ intense, in a good way, if I do say so myself. And he agreed to go to Mexico with me, sorta. He got in the vehicle and we went and... well, shit happened on the way, but that’s not the point. He left. At the border. He wouldn’t go with me.”

“I see.” Nadine said.

“I’m sorry, Mick–”

“No, no,” Mickey interrupted, “I don’t want you to apologize. You had your reasons.”

“Can we step back for a moment and talk about this?” Nadine asked them both.

“Yeah,” Ian said. Mickey nodded nervously.

“Okay, Mickey, can you talk about how you felt when Ian met up with you and when he left at the border?”

Mickey thought for a moment, and then began, “When I thought he was going to Mexico with me, I felt high.” He gave a small laugh, reminiscing, “I felt like, I don’t know, I had everything. I broke out of prison, I was going to flee the fuckin’ country, and I had him there. There was nothing else I needed, you know? Ever since I came out, and I was with him, I felt like it was him and I against the world. No one else got it. No one else could get it.” He looked at Ian proudly, and then his face fell, “And then when he said he wasn’t going... one step before the finish line... I don’t know. I felt... too fuckin’ much. It felt like the opposite of having everything. It felt like having nothing. Going through the border, successfully even, and having a life out of prison felt like I was watching a fuckin’ boring movie. I wasn’t me anymore. I was on the outside, looking in, feeling like a fuckin’ robot with everything I did. And I’m not sayin’ that’s all his fault. I have my own shit I have to worry about. But I felt betrayed, too, you know? Like he was right there. He was going to go with me, and then he wasn’t. And it was like losing the reason it was all worth it after thinking that reason would be coming to Mexico with me. And... fuck. I’ll admit it; I still feel betrayed. And I don’t want to.” He looked at Ian, “Because I love him.”

Ian’s eyes were watering at this point. He was wiping them with his sleeves. Mickey could only look at him for a second more before looking away.

“Thank you, Mickey. Ian, do you hear him?” Nadine asked gently.

“Yes, Mickey,” He looked at him. “I hear you.”

“Ian, do you want to tell us how you felt during that situation?”

“Yeah,” he wiped the remainder of his tears off and nodded, “I really thought I was gonna go with him. I was happy, too.” He looked at Mickey with love, “He was the only person who could ever make me feel that way. Even my other boyfriends, they could never... it was never the same. And as we got to the border, that scared me. I was living a really simple life. And I was scared to get back in the game... back into really being with someone who had that power over me. Mickey and I had never been... stable. I didn’t know if we would survive in Mexico and that was scary. Leaving him hurt, though, and it made me wonder if I’d made the wrong decision. I cried all the way home. And in the back of my head, I was always kinda comparing my other boyfriends to him. I pretended, I lied to myself, saying that we weren’t good together. And maybe objectively most people would look at it that way too, but I knew he was the only person who could bring real feeling out of me. And that scared me. And that’s why I didn’t go with him. I know you said not to apologize, Mickey,” He looked at Mickey again, “But I’m sorry.”

Mickey blinked away the beginning of tears.

“Do you hear Ian, Mickey?”

“I do, but– Can I say something else?” Mickey looked at both Nadine and Ian. Nadine looked at Ian for an answer.

“Go ahead, Mick.” Ian said.

“I guess... the thing that hurts most is that you wouldn’t take a chance on me. You know, I’d, I’d go to fuckin’... Russia for you, I don’t know. I’d flee the country to Russia or fucking... China for you. I’d take that chance. And I just worry that... I don’t mean that to you. And I know it’s a lot to ask, and it might be unfair. But if I don’t mean that to you, I don’t know. It hurts.”

Ian’s heart sunk. He got it now. “Mickey... You mean everything to me. You’re right, okay?” Ian grabbed Mickey’s other hand and held them both. He looked Mickey right in the eyes. “I should have taken that chance. But right now, we’re married, and I’m taking that chance every day, because you could really ruin me. You have all that power over me now and I’m letting you. Letting somebody in like this was scarier than anything I’ve done. But you’re worth it, Mick, you mean that to me.”

Mickey was speechless. His breath was caught in his throat. Ian had a fucking way of making him cry.

“Do you hear him, Mickey?”

Mickey nodded slightly and looked at Ian. “I hear you, Ian.” He promptly wrapped his arms around Ian and hugged him tightly as he cried into his shoulder. “Fuck,” he laughed and pulled back, sniffling and wiping away snot. “Sorry if hugs aren’t allowed in the office or whatever,” he said to Nadine.

Nadine smiled, proud that the two were communicating. “Don’t worry. They sure are. Now, how about we talk about how you two can talk about these things at home when they come up.”

Nadine talked to them about communication, respect, how to step back when things got too heated, how to listen, mindfulness, and how to talk to each other in ways that aren’t antagonistic. Each of them thought some points were cheesy, but still, they listened. And in the coming weeks, they tried to work what Nadine told them into their everyday lives.

To their surprise – it worked.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {17}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 16. Oh Brothers

17. Never Again

Hans knew it was ill-advised-- because everyone told him so. Still, he was a determined man, and doubly determined to make sure that he made himself useful. So after a few weeks and Hans could pick up his sword from the bureau, he had someone fetch him a cane, and walked out of his room escorted by Captain Kristofferson, to meet the guards they had wrangled up. 

 "Gentlemen," He announced, as he arrived, setting down a stack of papers he had brought with him. "I am Hans, and I have had many titles. Prince of the Southern Isles, Admiral of the same, treasonist, prisoner, fool, and advisor; I'm sure I'm missing a few. To you I am 'trainer' or 'teacher'. I'm here to ensure that people like me can't get past people like you again, so we don't have another raid like what happened a few weeks past. When I'm back in form after having been stabbed in the recent raid, I'll teach you all how to run to catch those who would flee, to fight those who would attack, and to stamp out any cowardice or fear of pain you have. At the end of training we will all have bruises, we will all want a heavy drink, and some of you may hate me, but you'll be a good set of guards in the end." 

 "Some of you were thwarted by a snow-child specifically meant to be kept out of a room you were guarding, and others had no problem letting a prince from another country casually take control of a kingdom. I had better not see abject failure to perform your duties like that again. That you now have a treasoner standing before you telling you how to do your damned jobs is a disgrace, and you need to be aware of that." He paused, looking over the guard staff, standing tall and speaking with the authority of the Commander of the Navy that he had once been. 

 "So, it's a very good thing that we're wiping that slate clean." He gestured to brush his hands off, leaning on his cane as he did. "From here on out, your motto is 'never again and never before'. You will never let that happen again, and it never happened. When you get hit in sparring, it has never happened before and it will never happen again. When you fail to complete physical training, it has never happened before and it will never happen again. When you fail, it will be a unique experience and you will learn from it or by god I will make you learn from it. You are here to guard the Queen of Arendelle, not to protect a sweet-shop in the market square from children. If you don't have an excuse from the doctor, you will train daily. If you aren't mourning a family loss or having a baby, you will be at work, and if you make a mistake you will own up to it and you will deal with the consequences like a man, and carry on with life as normal. And if we're all good at what we do, and we're all alive and well, we might even have a bit of fun with it. I've never been a man of the lash, I've always been more for drinking with the men, but I will bring it back if I have to. Now, everyone, pick up a paper and a pencil. I need to know where you're all at. I'll never have anyone do anything I wouldn't do, once my wound is fully healed I'll train right alongside the rest of you, and I'll challenge you to best me at every step. For now, let's get to know you and your experience." Hans was, and it was easy to forget, a military man. He knew how to command men and how to motivate them, both positively and negatively. 

The papers asked a number of questions. Name, Age, rank, years of experience; but it also included questions about travel, how many languages one spoke, personal hobbies; strengths and weaknesses, that sort of thing. Some things were intellectual questions about math or logic, some were morality questions. It was a strange hodgepodge of all sorts of questions, almost at random. ~~*~~

The majority guard consisted of men from their late teens/early twenties to mid-forties. There were a few outliers of course, but it's seemed like an accurate representation. The age differences seemed to split the men into two categories: the seasoned members that had been serving since before the Coronation and the new recruits who started serving after, many of them joining recently after the raid. So there were a lot of old dogs and new blood in the mix. There had been some murmurs among the men. Mostly among the new cadets, as well as some of the stubborn old men. A lot of them had been taken aback, when they found out the infamous Hans of the Southern Isles would be their training teacher. The newest recruits had only heard rumors of the Prince's return to Arendelle, they had not witnessed him taking charge during the raid nor understood why he was no longer a prisoner. Even if they were supposedly wiping the slate clean and having a fresh start, there was still some notable doubt among them, yet none of them spoke up to voice their concerns. They did as they were told and picked up a paper and pencil, at least they were good at following orders.

Hans adjusted himself to sit on the desk a while, to give them all time to work. 

 "When you're done, turn in your papers up front. If for whatever reason you can't complete a question, come to me and ask. I'm a bit of a bastard, yes, but I'll never tease you for an affliction like not knowing a word or not knowing how to read entirely. Indeed, if any of you know anyone who can't hear and needs a job, bring them here. Deaf people are oft good guards, and unfortunately overlooked. Hell, a few particularly ambitious women wouldn't hurt the guard staff either. We're a bit short staffed, by the look of things." He looked among the room. It was packed tight, but the room was already fairly small for the kingdom's guard staff. "Perhaps things are done differently in the Isles, but I don't understand how a kingdom can exist so readily with so few guards. I suppose I should be glad we lasted as long as we did, during the raid. It isn't the fault of any one man, nor even the group of you, I suppose. I cannot fault a fisherman for not catching fish, if none taught him how. At any rate, this is not a graded test." 

 He waited patiently until the tests were turned in, then stood up again. He moved more slowly, but hid how much pain he was in. "I'll look at these tests a bit later. If you have concerns, feel free to bring them to me privately, I'm sure you know where I'm staying." He offered, leaning heavily on his cane. "Now that that's done, let's clear the air a bit. You all have questions, I can see. I have answers, and I'm not opposed to giving them. Go ahead and ask, I can't do much physical training with you yet, after my own injuries, but I can train your minds, and I've precious little else to do while I'm healing. So, give me your best shot. Ask your questions, 'what did this son of a bitch do to deserve this job'?" He was still a sailor, and there were no royals around. He could curse if he damned well pleased. He waited to see who had questions to ask.

It was rather quiet, with only a few hushed voices murmuring among each other. It seemed no one would be brave enough to question Hans, then all of a sudden the silence was broken. 

 "What did you do?" one of the new recruits boldly asked. Surprised, everyone turned to look at the young man. "'Cause last most of us have heard, you were the traitor of Arendelle, tryin' to take over the throne." There were gasps at the cadet's audacity to ask. Even with all the eyes on him the boy stood tall and not sheepish about what he'd just asked. Hans had offered after all, everyone was thinking it, so why not dare to ask to get the answers they wanted?

Hans chuckled a little. "Brave boy, I'll teach you how to lead. It takes guts to ask those questions before others, guts that leaders need and followers need to learn to use." He observed. "I was the traitor, yes. I had my reasons, reasons I'm sure I'll tell you all about at some point, but rest assured they weren't very good. I came back to tell my side of the story and make amends. For more reasons, I was in the castle at the time of the raid. Because the castle rooms aren't built as a prison cell, the doors were left unlocked and guards left, under the assumption that they would be able to stop me if I tried to leave. I won't postulate about whether or not that's a correct assumption, but I never tried the door until I heard the sound change in the hall, and the guards understandably gone. Then I went searching for a sword, to help fend off the attackers. By the time I got to the Queen's side, even Captain Kristofferson was down, so the Queen and I held off much of the attack until Anna's boyfriend -Lord Kristoff, I believe?- came in with bow and arrows. The fight wasn't fun, but we managed against nigh impossible odds. I got stabbed in the process and caught a pommel to the face, the Queen got a slight scratch to her face and an injured arm." He explained. "As it turns out, the pommel truly is the way to 'end them rightly'." That was a very niche and obscure joke he didn't expect a single one of them to understand. As if to illustrate his point regarding wounds, he raised the hem of his shirt so they could see the unpleasant wound to his side, stitches gone, but the wound still red and warped. "It's not my first, nor my last scar, in battle or otherwise, and I was already healing from the lashes one gets for being a traitor in the navy, if you'd like to see those scars, too." He gestured to his back, but didn't show them immediately. He looked more amused than bothered. "Does that answer your question? I'm afraid I do love to ramble, feel free to ask more."

"Yes, sir." The young man answered with a nod. There was a brief silence yet again. 

 "Question," someone else spoke up. This time it was one of the older men. "About the paper we just filled out. The questions made sense, for the most part, but some of them seemed rather arbitrary, for example asking about our personal hobbies. I don't understand how exactly knowing that information has anything to do with training?"

Hans smiled a bit and shrugged. "Whom do you send to learn tactics for battle-- the man who prefers swordplay, or the man who prefers games of skill? The answer is games, for tactics are just strategy games with a risk. Who do you send to battle, the gambler or the logician? The gambler, because he understands chance. Westergaard ways are old ways, I prepare for sieges and swordplay, as well as modern diplomacy. Does anyone know why Deaf guards are so very useful?" He asked, and glanced between them, to see if there would be answers. "A Deaf man on a ship cannot be fazed by cannon fire around him, a Deaf guard in a castle chamber cannot spill secrets. Every man has his use and every hobby has its useful applications, if only we can find them. We in Arendelle have the unique experience of living in an era under which ice is our greatest tactical advantage, so if any of you happen to enjoy ice-skating-- you'll be the finest swordsmen we'll have by the time I'm through with you. If you have good aim, archers. If you favor brute strength, zweihanders and door-breakers, if you prefer to run, we'll have ammunition runners and recovery men. Everyone will have their uses and be able to be dispatched at notice. I will get to know your names and your stories over time, as will Captain Kristofferson, so we will know where to send you at a moment's notice when you're needed. We'll see who's the best not by bragging, but by practice, and everyone here will be the best in the squad at something." He paused, and rolled his neck, to pop it and let the silence hang a moment. "Every man has his use. Does anyone know why a cat is a necessary crewman at sea?" He waited patiently, to see if anyone would answer.

"Vermin," answered one of the men. "To keep rats from eating everything," added another. "They've got nine lives," one remarked more humorously.

Hans laughed. "Yes I am, but what about the cat?" He joked dryly. "For the mice, precisely, but their luck doesn't hurt either! If the ships had mice, the mice would eat the food, and the men would have no food to eat. Thus, we would have a dead crew and a dead ship, all for the lack of one hungry cat. Who among you will be our hungry cat? Someone will be the lynchpin of success, and it could be for any reason, in any event. Who will be Fletcher, the young man in the crow's nest who could point out pirates in a fog too thick to see the fore from the aft? Who will be the cannoneer Grym, with perfect aim? There is a niche for each of you to fill, in order to make a perfect crew, and without the right ones, we may fall. So, I will find you your niche, if you don't find it for yourself." He assured, already getting excited about the prospect. "And as soon as this damned wound heals, we are going to have ourselves a hunt." He rubbed his hands together, already excited at the prospect. "For now... who wants to try some sword fighting? I'm reasonably confident I can take any one of you injured, and I'd like to see you bastards prove me wrong." He grinned playfully, clearly just trying to get them in the spirit of the game, and get them geared up to beat him at sword fighting.

The men's laughter rumbled throughout the room. Hans had managed to boost the troops' morale to start their training and him opening up for questions had seemed to ease some of their doubts. 

 "I'd gladly oblige to your challenge Westergaard, just to try to prove you wrong, I like seemingly impossible odds. Though it's highly likely you're still able to kick my hind, even in your current condition, I don't think the Queen would be to thrilled if she found out I returned you more scratched up than you are now, that is if I managed to surprise even myself by beating you," chuckled Captain Kristofferson. "I'll also take you up on your offer, for real, once you're in peak condition, even if that means the odds are against me. It'll hurt my pride to lose, even if it's just in practice and 'it never happened', but if it helps me improve myself in any way to better protect Arendelle I'll do it in a heartbeat. I hope you're all committed to do the same." He declared, taking the lead trying to set the example to his men as is to be expected of a Captain.

Hans rubbed his hands together. "Excellent, let's show the men a good sporting game, shall we? Out to the yards then, tell me you've got some good practice swords? I expect to have to order you all a whole new armory, but practice swords should absolutely be standard. I don't know whether I'll be more disappointed if they're falling to pieces, or if they're new." He warned. He still leaned on his cane somewhat as he moved. "Luckily my injury isn't on my sword-arm side. You might stand a chance if I had to operate left-handed." He teased. In spite of the cane, he moved quickly enough. He moved out to the practice yard, and claimed himself a practice sword closer to a navy cutlass than his own bastard sword, with a few practice swings. "This'll do." He then went about checking the space to clear it out, and used the point of it to hack a few rings into the space. 

 "Who was present during the raid?" He asked, when he was done, moving himself to the center of the rings he had made. "Who, if any among you, recalls what direction I shouted as I passed by to find the Queen? What advice did I give? And, why am I asking?" He loved to challenge them with questions, in between making them laugh. He was glad to see they had a sense of humor about them. That was more or less how he led ships, too.

There were various voices that answered: 

 "Press in!"

 "Repel them back!"

  "Hold the line!"

 As Hans was having a teaching moment, the Captain was choosing his sword, he decided to go with a standard arming sword.

Hans clasped his hands over his wooden sword-hilt and looked so proud. 

 "My god, you actually listened." He seemed genuinely touched at the idea. He took a moment, then cleared his throat a little. "Now, today we're going to see what I mean by that. We can all see where I'm starting, yes? Bulls-eye." He gestured down, standing in the middle of the field. 

"Captain, drive me as far from this point as you can, and I'll try to defend without moving from the bulls-eye. Then we'll switch, and see who can press the other back furthest. You know the rules, only thieves try to hit family jewels, ey? And I'd like my head as un-cracked as possible while I'm still recovering from my two recent near-death experiences. Otherwise, do your damnedest, or I'll never stop giving you shit about it." He flourished with his wooden blade a little, and readied himself. The Hans who trained men was certainly a different man from the Prince Hans who was all 'Your Majesty's and 'Good Sir's. He suspected this Hans was the one the men would learn from best.

"I won't go easy on you just because your wounded Westergaard, I know you won't hold back either, and I'm quite aware I'll never hear the end of it if I don't give it my all," affirmed the Captain with a nod, holding his sword with both hands in the ready position. Once he saw Hans was ready he charged him with all his might.

"Good, because you'll never hear the end of it when you lose to a wounded man, either." Hans teased. He proved to be an agile fighter, in spite of his cane, which he seemed to have forgotten about, fallen to the ground. He defended and parried skillfully, using short thrusts and sharp raps about the shins to force the Captain to back up as best he could, stepping to one side or ducking or even turning -into- attacks to avoid being forced back. He didn't hit hard, because that wasn't the purpose; nor did he aim to disarm, because that would've gone against the point. He simply aimed to hold his ground. While injured, of course, this was no easy task. Being limited to a circle was a difficult business, and this was certainly the challenged position to begin in. He was forced back once or twice by attacks to his weak side, which he was forced to defend more carefully against, but he regained his position by stepping in close and aiming for weak parts of the abdomen, or careful strikes near the neck. He said he wouldn't attack the head, but he'd never said anything about the throat. He was all business during the fight, perhaps entirely because he had to be, as he was recovering. He kept his free hand over his wound, to protect it from getting any worse, but he never flinched from a blow, even if it did make one of his many injuries hurt.

  "I think we've quite made our point, Captain? We never did specify an endgame, my fool mistake, but if I reopen any of my wounds, my doctor may simply stitch me up with a burlap like a sack-doll, so I ought to be careful." He chuckled a little, clearly wearing a little, himself. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't in full form, and he doubted the Captain was, either. They had proved the point, that was the necessity. The battle was short, but illustrative. "Shall we switch?"

" Of course," agreed the Captain. "Wouldn't want to get an earful from the doctor and much less displease her Majesty by being the one responsible in completing your transformation from man to hessian." They switched places, and the Captain was trying to prepare himself for Hans swordsmanship as the one charging, he knew the younger man was far more experienced in swordplay than he and the only he could really do was try to stand his ground as best he could for as long as he could manage.

 "I'm tempted to say you think far too much of her Majesty's opinion of me." Hans pointed out. The first time he said it, it was an amusing aside. Now he was beginning to wonder what exactly their reputation in the castle was. "You're not implying anything, are you? About Her Majesty or I?" He seemed genuinely thrown by that idea. It took him a moment to think about that, before he began his assault. He started easy, throwing a few attacks, defending a few others. Then as he got back into the rhythm, he took his own message-- Press in. He stepped into the Captain's personal space, ignoring the lines, shoving the other's sword away to get as close as humanly possible. He was also not above throwing in an elbow or a knee. Swordsmanship was one thing, but in close combat, a dagger was more useful, and an elbow would do in the meanwhile. Again, he didn't do it painfully, he was illustrating a point. His goal was not to hurt the Captain, nor to disarm him, but simply to push him out. That was the advice that he gave to the Arendelle guards-- push forward.

"Not at all, I'm not implying anything," the Captain retorted, stern shake of the head. "Just indicating the Queen's compassion, and that it wouldn't look good on my behalf as her Guard's Captain if I mistreat an already injured man." The Captain was just calling it like he saw it, Elsa clearly cared about the Prince's well-being that was undeniable, he wasn't insinuating anything about their relationship, he would never presumptuously speak ill of the Queen. 

 The Captain had not expected Hans to get up so close and personal in his combat, he was finding it quite difficult to continue to roll with the punches. Hans was good at using him as a dummy to demonstrate the tactic.

"Oh good, I might've been a little thrown, then." Hans teased gently, sounding much less bothered now. "My brother Eduard was always much better at this tactic," He admitted, even slipping past the Captain, only to turn and hook his throat with an arm. Harmless, no blade contact, but enough to halt the defense. "But he was good at getting into men's personal spaces for much different reasons." He let the insinuation be playfully scandalous for the men to ponder over. He twisted to kick the Captain's leg out from under him and bring them both down-- though Hans came down on his knee, and grunted a bit as his wound moved painfully. "Ah, and there's where my doctor yells at me." He huffed, cringing at the pain he inflicted upon himself. The landing for the Captain would have been softer, all on the grass, nothing contorted or twisted, just uncomfortable. 

 "Alright then, well done, Captain." He stood back up, though struggling a little with his wound, and offered a hand to help the other up just the same. "Now then, lessons: See how far we moved?" He gestured down at the ground. "I gave the Captain no choice but to retreat, by getting into his personal space. It limited my opportunities, but I am familiar with one of my favorite rules of swordplay: Swords alone are for duels. Wars are won by teeth and pommels, sand in the eyes and dirty tricks. Use your elbows, use your knees, use your god-given wits before you lose them. Hell, use your head if you fancy it's hard enough. Watch your environment, know your opponent. Are they chatty? Wounded? Favoring their left? Do they excel at power or balance? Lord, I think I'm done with demonstrations for the afternoon." He laughed somewhat painfully and used his sword to pick up his cane, to use that. "Don't let me catch any of you using a sword as a cane either, wood or no. Else I'll teach you what a sword is for the way we do in the Isles." He huffed a little, leaning on it. He really needed to be more cautious.

 The Captain took his hand and stood up quickly, not wanting to weigh him down. "We might have been a bit too ambitious. How about we --and I mostly mean you-- don't do anymore physical demonstrations ey, Westergaard? At least until you manage to heal that up well enough not to damage it again, lest you wish to keep the injury there indefinitely. I'll handle the physical training myself until you're up to the mark, you shouldn't worry about anything other than writing up guidance or giving out orders before that time comes. Don't worry I'll be as rigorous as you intend to be, can't cut them any slack. Got to give it our all from the set about else they're bound to rout later, once you're finally ready to train them for real. You might be in charge of retraining, but it's still my job to command the troops."

 Hans chuckled dryly. "Ah, but it's just not as fun for me." He joked. "A little pain never stopped me from a damn thing, but you are right, her Majesty would be vexed by me hurting myself, so I'd best not do that again for a bit. I wasn't really planning to do that, to be frank I was expecting the written test to take longer." He glanced at the sky to check the time. He didn't exactly have a watch, as a prisoner. "I'm just showing my pains now so you'll keep me honest." Why else would he? Pain was useless to him. "I'll see about writing up some simple physical fitness goals and exercises for you to train them with. I may start borrowing men periodically to speak to them about these tests, get to know a few." He looked over at the men pensively.

  "So then, that, my dear boys, is what we call a Pyrrhic victory, something I'm quite prone to. Is a win still a win when you've lost as much as you've gained? That's a philosophical subject for you to decide. For me, as long as whatever I do improves the chances of her Majesty surviving another raid, I'll take my pains and be glad about it. Pain just means I'm still alive enough to suffer it, but maybe that's just a philosophy one gets with twelve older brothers. So, what do we think of me? Hm? Am I good enough to train her Majesty's guards after my wound is properly healed?" He wanted to see, was the murmuring and skepticism still there? Had he won them over? Or were there yet holdouts who hated him? They were the ones he wanted to speak with first and longest.

The men all silently looked at once another for a moment. Then some voices started to spark from the crowd.

  "Yeah!"

  "For Arendelle!"

 The voices all got louder and echoed among the men, they all seemed rather animated, cheering and raising their fists in a sign of support, if there were still any embittered people among them they surely didn't seem to stand out anymore.

Hans seemed, not just surprised, but genuinely touched. In a way, it was bittersweet. They believed him so readily, they genuinely thought he wanted to help Arendelle. And, he did. But god, how did they believe it? What had he done to deserve that same loyalty that he got from his crew. 

 He fixed his usual confident look to his face, with a wry smile. "Excellent. Keep that spirit, men. And do come to visit me if you want to talk about anything. God knows I'm bored, healing. I'll take these papers, and leave you to it, returning to my... room?" He looked at the Captain, almost raising an eyebrow. "I'll be perfectly honest... I'm still not used to not calling it a cell." Did that say more about him, or what he was used to?

 "Anyway, I should be off, before I do some other demonstration and accidentally kill myself." He laughed dryly. In truth, he was leaving so he could get to his room and try not to cry again, this time with, what, relief? It was a good feeling, whatever it was. Bittersweet.

[drarry-with-a-side-of-wolfstar]

Drarry Fic Recs

My Favourite Drarry fanfictions from the past two years. 

Stop All the Clocks (This is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) by @firethesound  [E, 44K] Major Character Death

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

You open always (petal by petal) by birdsofshore [E, 65K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry’s not the kind of person who pays for sex. He really isn’t. Until he is.

Lumos by birdsofshore [E, 41K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

Touch by @bixgirl1 [E, 44K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

When Harry is referred to a professional cuddler for the soothing power of touch, he’s dubious — even more so when the Cuddler who shows up turns out to be Malfoy. But in the years since the war, Malfoy’s changed, and over the next several days Harry is confronted by how much he still doesn’t know about this new version of his old enemy — and by how much he wants to learn.

Draw a Line From Your Heart To Mine by CreateImagineWrite [T, 40K] Creator Not To Use Archive Warnings

Being Harry Potter's best friend isn't always fame and beating off raving fans. It's also the anxiety of hearing your best mate's been cursed by another Dark Lord, or love potioned by some crazy woman. Or having his boyfriend you knew nothing about turn up on the Burrow's doorstep. Crime/Mystery fic.

My Big Fat Pureblood Wedding Series by QueenyMidas  [E, 306K] No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage

Chaos ensues after Harry proposes to Draco on their three-year anniversary. The two must plan a wedding around their fighting friends, warring families, and each other's stubbornness. EWE, post-war, disregarding Remus, Sirius, and Colin's deaths and the fact that gay marriage is not legal in the UK.

Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There by @magpiefngrl [E, 16K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest desires come true.

Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Nearly Lost Things, Carefully Tended by SquadOfCats [E, 46K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Three years after the war, Harry is lost, drifting, and feeling left behind. In an effort to get control of his life, he commits to cleaning out Grimmauld Place top-to-bottom and forcing it to be a home, whether it likes it or not. The rotten old house is stuffed full of antiques, and Harry is shocked to discover none other than Draco Malfoy running the local antique shop. Malfoy is polite -- too polite, and Harry soon finds himself with a mission: to annoy and bother Malfoy with the most hideous, absurd antiques he can find. But along the way, Harry comes to appreciate Draco, his work, and the power of connecting to the people who came before him. It's a hard lesson, but Harry learns that if he wants to build a future, he has to reconnect to his past, and Draco might just be the one to help him do it.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound [E, 149K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Kiss the Joy (Until the Sun Rise) by ICMezzo [M, 37K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The Room of Requirement was severely damaged in the war, but not so much that it could not provide for one lost student and another young hero—especially when they needed each other most of all.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood [E, 21K] No Archive Warnings Apply

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Lost Boys by Dahlia_Rose_83 [E, 32K] No Archive Warnings Apply

On his way to meet Voldemort in the forbidden forest, Harry ran into Draco, who kissed him. Now they're both back at Hogwarts for their eighth year and he doesn't really know how to act towards the blond.

Wish Upon a Star (as Dreamers Do) by ICMezzo [M, 27K] No Archive Warnings Apply

There’s plant magic and celestial magic and dark magic and the normal magic that allows Harry to use a spell to clean his socks when Myrtle’s taken up in his laundry room again. Then there are wishes, and dreams, and love, and those are even more magical still. Career Choices: Harry: Hogwarts Consultant; Draco: Wishmaker

At The Crossroads There We’ll Meet by @firethesound [E, 24K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Potter keeps dying; Draco keeps saving him.

Solder by Oakstone730 [E, 34K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Seven years ago, Harry disappeared out of Draco and Scorpius's life without a trace after Harry's addictions destroyed his and Draco's marriage. Now, Harry’s back, and Draco wants to believe he’s changed. But Harry isn’t the only one haunted by the past.

The Devil’s White Knight  [E, 64K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

When Harry wakes up in an alternate timeline--a timeline where Voldemort was defeated long before the first war--he discovers everything is different. His parents, his godfather, his friends--and him. Harry must deal with the consequences of who he would have been if he had been raised by his parents, and figure out where he stands with his casual hook up, Draco Malfoy.

Teach Me by @xx-thedarklord-xx [M, 34k] No Archive Warnings Apply

"If you can’t learn Occlumency, then you can’t become an Auror.”

No. All of this couldn’t be for nothing. Harry hadn’t spent so much time proving himself, proving that he was more than just a famous name for all of this to go to shite. “This can’t be the end.”

"I have someone in mind that could teach you if you are willing, but I can't guarantee he will help, especially considering your... past."

"You don't mean Malfoy, do you?"

Running on Air by eleventy7 [T, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

The Light That is Blinding Me by Leontina [E, 22K] No Archive Warnings Apply

After Flourish and Blotts stop stocking the books of Harry’s favourite author, he is directed to a queer bookshop and discovers it’s owned by none other than Draco Malfoy, who has more in common with Harry than either of them realise.

Another Mask Behind You by @letteredlettered [E, 116K] Rape/Non-Con

Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity. Harry unknowingly hires him. And then there is porn, questions about identity, domestic bliss, more porn, and truth as seen through a web of lies. (And then more porn. Seriously, if you don’t want sex scene after sex scene you probably shouldn’t read this. And please read the warnings.)

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin [E, 127K] Graphic Depictions of Violence

When they first meet after the end of the war, Draco doesn't want anything to do with Harry. But as time goes by, Draco's growing love may be the only thing that can save them both, because after a serious accident in the Forbidden Forest, Draco's personality begins to undergo subtle changes. At first, Harry credits this to a new enthusiasm for life. But as the days pass and Draco's behavior becomes more and more mysterious, Harry begins to suspect that something bigger--and darker--is at work.

Any Instrument by dicta_contrion [E, 131K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

And Back Again (Where You Belong) by @eidheann [E, 15K] No Archive Warnings Apply

He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.

And I Know the Spark by @firethesound [E, 15K] Graphic Depictions of Violence 

All Draco cares about is keeping Potter alive, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.

The Light More Beautiful by @firethesound [E, 81K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him.

Of Wands And Trees by Omi_Ohmy [E, 45K] No Archive Warnings Apply 

All Draco wants to do is be a wandmaker, but to do so he needs to understand the soul of trees. Of course, the only man who might be able to help him is the one man who is more of a mystery to him than any tree.

My Little Berserker by @aelys-althea​ [E, 105K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Eighth year was supposed to be calm. Moderated. Peaceful, even. Draco returned to escape the chaos wrought upon his shambles of a life and Harry to flee the responsibility of a world that sees him as something greater than was truly possible. Hogwarts was a safe haven, right?At least it was until Hagrid comes up with the wonderful idea to introduce some additional members to the student body of the fluffier variety. Hagrid doesn't do moderated - where's the fun in that?

Paradigm by dysonrules [M, 57K] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Harry Potter is an Auror and Draco Malfoy is a rentboy, but this is not a typical rentboy story.

Tear Out The Pages by alphinski [T, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco didn't do things by halves. Instead of just walking out on Harry, he left the country. He's back now with a book and half the Wizarding World fawning over him. Harry refuses to join that number.

In The Hand by aideomai [T, 28] Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Two months after Harry went missing, when Hermione was frantic with fear and panic and sleep deprivation, Draco Malfoy cornered them outside the Great Hall before breakfast.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place  by @bixgirl1​ [E, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

The Frisky Furnishings of Malfoy Manor by @writcraft​ [M, 19K] No Archive Warnings Apply

The course of true love never did run smooth.Or: Hermione has a crafty plan, Harry and Draco are fake boyfriends and wizarding traditions have a lot to answer for. Featuring awkward dates, mince pies, a saucy sofa and a line of sequined house-elf haute couture nobody asked for but got anyway.

The Arrangement by RurouniHime [E, 65K] No Archive Warnings Apply 

It's worked for years. Why change it now?

The Truth is in the Rain by aki_hoshi [E, 74K] No Archive Warnings Apply

It rained, and Harry Potter was his friend. There isn't any hard and fast rule for friendship, or even love. It comes, sometimes as unwanted as the rain, and its effect lingers long after it's gone. Draco struggles to understand why this is all happening to him, and why Potter can't just go bother someone else.

Adventures in Solitude (Are You There Sirius? It’s Me, Draco) by oceaxe [E, 25K] No Archive Warnings Apply

Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war... and secrets about Harry Potter.

The Standard You Walk Past by @bafflinghaze​ [E, 46K] No Archive Warnings Apply

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened.                                                                    That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

I could be wrong, I could be ready by @harryromper​ [M, 57K] No Archive Warnings Apply

At first Harry wonders if they’ve managed to destroy his vaults and are trying to tell him in the most oblique way possible. But when he turns the page he realises they’ve found a vault. A vault in the name of Lily and James Potter.    The parchment trembles a little in Harry’s hand. He takes another gulp of wine. Harry Potter left Britain after the war and didn’t look back. Ten years later, when Gringotts discovers a vault containing his parents’ belongings—including their badly spell-damaged wedding rings—he’s forced to face up to friends and family who’ve grown in ways he could never imagine, a wizarding London rebuilt beyond his expectations, and the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the entirely unforeseen problem of Draco Malfoy. Featuring pureblood wizarding traditions, ancestral magic, open mic nights, marriage equality, a diner in Brooklyn, and the return of Fleamont Potter.

I’ll probably keep adding to this list as I find/read more amazing fics!

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Hjem(løs)  - Ivar x OC - Modern AU - Part 11

Hjem(løs) = Home(less)

Synopsis: It’s Juleaften and Silje walks home from a late Christmas shopping spree. On her way back to her apartment, she makes an unexpected encounter.

Word count: 13.3k (Let’s say I’m making up for the last two chapters who were ~only~ 7k or so)

MASTERLIST

Part 10 <<< >>> Part 12

She had left him in the dust. Ivar’s revelation left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, and he was so tense when the words came out of his mouth that he didn’t react when Silje stormed off, stomping away like a fury, her jaw locked in anger.

Or perhaps she had said something. He couldn’t tell. His ears were buzzing a little now, and all he was able to register was the look of betrayal in her eyes, the shock, the incomprehension. An understandable reaction.

He sighed in defeat, and walked onwards, only now realizing the irony of it all. He stood in the park where they first met. Somehow, they always ended up right here whenever something went down. Maybe one day she would walk away for good, and he would return to his damned bench. But tonight, he wasn’t going to let her go.

His legs carried him home on auto-pilot while his brain tried to come up with a way to talk Silje out of her anger-induced mutism. She was a hot head, and he knew there was no point in trying to reason with her while she was angry. The best solution was to wait out the storm, and then try to talk about the issue.

By Odin, he had messed up big time. He knew from the very beginning that he should have told her, but he kept persuading himself that it was premature, he should wait until he was certain. Well fuck him, that was dumb. A ball of nerves had settled in his stomach by the time he climbed the stairs up to the apartment. What was he to expect up there? Were all his belongings piled up in the middle of the living room, soaked in gasoline, and Silje standing over it with a lighter in her hand?

Well perhaps not literally, but he sure felt as though she was mentally doing that. He couldn’t complain, he put himself in this situation.

It was lucky he had a key because if it depended on Silje, he would have slept on the doorstep tonight. Bracing himself, he entered, but found the place quiet. He soon realized Silje had locked herself in the bathroom, and he sighed. It was worse than he thought, she was giving him the cold shoulder. The silent treatment.

He took this opportunity to go grab his pillow in her room and retrieve the blanket he used before moving into the bedroom. When he was all set, changed, and back on the couch, he felt as though he had taken a step forward and a hundred steps backwards.

The bathroom door opened but he forced himself to stay quiet – if she wanted to talk, she wouldn’t wait for him to give her the green light anyway. Whoever could make Silje do anything was not born yet, especially if what she wanted to do was to give someone a good tongue thrashing.

He heard her stop, then resume her walk, and slam the door to her room. And that was it. That was how Ivar’s evening was going to end, or so he thought.

About half an hour later, the bedroom door swung open – he hadn’t even blinked in since she locked herself in there, so he didn’t care much for the interruption.

“What on earth happened Ivar? An hour ago, we were talking about moving into a bigger apartment together and now you want to leave me and can't even share a bed with me anymore!” Tears filled her eyes and her voice wavered though she was still yelling loud enough to make the walls tremble. “What's so repulsive about me all of a sudden?”

Ivar shot up from the couch, holding out a hand.

“You’re imputing me ill-intentions, Silje,” Ivar defended himself, trying to calm her down – a hopeless task. “I only wanted to give you space.”

“Space?!" she shrieked, her voice reaching impossible notes. “By moving out of the country? I don’t need this much space, Ivar!" her anger was justified, he couldn’t even deny her this. He deserved to be yelled at, therefore he would let her lash out.

He wanted to explain but knew what wasn’t in a state to listen right now. His shoulders fell. Very well, this was the fruit of his own doing, he had to take it.

“Please, sleep on it, and-”

“Shut the fuck up, Ivar!" she cut him off in the harshest possible manner. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, and don’t you dare tell me what to do. I have every damn reason to be mad, and if you have a problem with that, the door’s right there!" she pointed at the front door.

If looks could kill…

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested.

“Don’t serve me this bullshit,” she huffed in disdain. “I don’t care what you meant, what matters is what you do or say!”

She was right, there was no denying that. He kept his mouth shut. Her eyes were fixed on him while she heaved, until her head finally whipped to the right.

“I can’t even look at you! How could you-”­ the sentence died in her throat. “When has this happened? How long have you- Where-?” All her questions were interrupted, and she raked her fingers through her hair in frustration.

She wanted to argue, to let the anger out, but here he was, standing in front of her and passively taking in everything she said. No reaction whatsoever. Just plain, cold silence.

Before she began to thrash her own place out of pent up rage, she made a beeline for her room. The door slammed shut once again, and Ivar thought it was over for tonight. A second later it opened again, and this time she had a bag slung over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?" he asked her.

Silje didn’t even spare him a glance when she grabbed a coat, slipped into her shoes, and went out the front door.

It will be a long night.

*

Ava was a night owl, Silje knew she would pick up her phone, even if it was already one in the morning when she stood outside her building. The moment she heard the distress in her friend’s voice she buzzed her in. Silje looked poorly and felt worse.

“I can tell there’s trouble in paradise,” Ava said after taking in her best friend’s appearance.

Sweatpants tucked into leather boots, a lille havfrue 1 t-shirt under a jean jacket, and her usual handbag. Never in her life had she seen Silje so dressed down. She gave an embarrassed pout and stepped inside. Ava was in her pjs but looked more put together than her.

“Can I sleep here tonight?" she asked in a pathetic voice.

Arguing, even for such a short moment as they did, had exhausted her.

“You know the answer,” Ava said, welcoming her in.

Her studio was even smaller than Silje’s, and she had to make do with a single bed and a worn couch all in the same room. Students really weren’t given enough credit for living in such conditions, but then again, some people didn’t even have that.

“Thank you, I didn’t feel like sleeping at my place.” She voluntarily omitted to mention that it was because Ivar lived with her. “I need to clear my head.”

“How slowly do you want me to kill him?” Ava plopped onto the bed, next to her open laptop which played soft background music. It made Silje smile, though not for long.

“The judges are still debating on his case,” she replied with as much playfulness as she was capable of at the moment. “We argued.”

“I can tell. What about? You two look like you’re on the same page most of the time,” Ava’s attention was divided between Silje and her social media, but her ears were wide open.

“I would really rather not talk about it,” Silje sighed and dropped onto the couch after kicking off her boots. When her head hit the cushions, she felt a little dizzy and nauseous. “ I promise if I can't solve the issue quickly, I will tell you about it, but I would really rather try and keep Ivar and I's dirty laundry to ourselves. If divine inspiration doesn’t come tonight, I’ll tell you everything.”

She could see on her gossip-hungry friend’s face that she wasn’t happy about her answer, but she agreed to Silje’s terms, nonetheless.

“You are no fun, girl.” She shook her head. “You do you, you can stay as long as you need. I hope it all works out; I’d be sad to see you split up.”

Yes, Silje would also be sad, she mused as she curled into a ball and huddled under the blanket provided by Ava.

Silje could tell exactly what hour Ava went to sleep, she could also tell when the upstairs neighbour got up, probably to go to the bathroom, and she knew when the sun came up. That was it. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, she was sleep-hangover and felt sick and tired.

She wanted nothing more than to be in her own bed, and not fight with her boyfriend anymore. If the sun was up it couldn’t be that early. It was time to leave.

With as little noise as possible, she got up and left a note for Ava to find, telling her how much she appreciated her letting her crash without asking questions. Then she sneaked out and went back home. She rarely left the comfort of her bedsheets before eight, and she had almost never seen the city in the waking state where everything was slowly getting into motion, the air crisp, and the sun blinding.

The walk was much more relaxing than expected, and it lifted her spirits after the awful night she just had. Sleepless nights felt twice as long as any day, Silje was honestly doubtful they lasted the same number of hours. She had counted the cracks on Ava’s ceiling ten times over, and then she tried to think of what to tell Ivar when she went back, but it ended up making her even more confused.

She should have stayed and listened to what he was trying to tell her, instead of fleeing like a coward because he had pained her. Everyone knew she wasn’t the most level-headed person when something upsetting happened, but it wasn’t an excuse.

Having regrets now wouldn’t lead her anywhere. Her feet at least knew where they had to go, because she came to in front of the familiar door of her building. Now wasn’t the time to turn back. With as much dignity as she had left after her childish outburst yesterday, Silje climbed the stairs and quietly opened the door, just in case Ivar was still asleep.

Did he sleep on the couch even though she left? Or has he claimed the room?

Neither, apparently. He didn’t notice her right away, so Silje took off her shoes and jacket, throwing it on the couch to signal her presence.

“Hej,” she said in a whisper, pushing her hair back and planting her hands on her hips. What now? She still hasn’t come up with anything to say.

Ivar didn’t give her much time to worry about what to say though.

“Silje! Oh, thank the gods!" he jumped from the kitchen stool he had been sitting on, silently and sullenly contemplating his bowl of soaked cereals. Dishevelled and heavy-lidded, Ivar hasn’t slept at all, it was plain and obvious. “Are you okay? I tried to run after you when you left but I couldn’t see you! Where have you spent the night? I was worried out of my mind!”

Without waiting for an answer, Ivar grabbed Silje’s wrist and pulled her towards him. She hit his chest and felt his arms squeeze her against him, a testimony to his relief upon seeing her come back. Her throat was tight now, and her eyes prickled. She fought back the tears, even if seeing Ivar so concerned for her well-being after the way she spoke to him made her weak in the knees. Her arms naturally found their place around his shoulders and behind his neck, where she rubbed small circles with her thumbs.

“I crashed on Ava’s couch,” she told him. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

They pulled back, looking at each other and taking in their sad state. Ivar was worse for wear, he must have had a horrible night, worrying himself sick over his temperamental girlfriend who stormed out in the middle of the night with nothing but her handbag.

She did not want to start thinking about what she looked like this morning. As for Ivar, he didn’t think much of it, and even found her stunning. He was just happy she was back and didn’t spend the night under a bridge – it might be summer, but he wouldn’t ever wish her a night on the street.

“I’m sorry,” she began, startling him.

Ivar’s brows shot up in surprise because he thought he would have to apologize to her, not the other way around. Their hands still touched, and so Ivar dragged her to the couch, where his pillow and blanket still lay, unused.

“I was very upset and said some harsh things,” she admitted shamefully, looking into her lap instead of meeting his steady gaze. “I’m sorry about that. And I’m ready to listen now, if you still want to explain.”

“You’re not angry anymore?" he couldn’t help but ask after a moment of silent staring during which Silje's breathing encountered some troubles.

She was overwhelmed with all sorts of contradictory emotions standing there with Ivar at arms length.

His eyes scanned her, taking in her messy nest of blond hair, tied in what must be the knottiest bun there ever was – it was alright, he would shampoo it for her later if everything went fine. Her tourist t-shirt made him smile a little, knowing she only wore it to bed, and wouldn’t be caught dead in it, but still had it on all night.

At least the fire in her eyes didn’t burn him anymore, and she had settled down enough to discuss the matter calmly.

“I-” she paused, then finally settled on, “I would like to hear the full story before making up my mind.”

“I don’t even know where to start. Why don’t you ask me questions?" he suggested. At least this way he could put her mind at ease regarding certain matters.

“Why are you leaving? When? To go where? How long? Will you even come back?" she fired question after question, her voice gaining in volume as she remembered why she had been so panicked after his revelation.

“Slow down, Sil,” Ivar took her hands in his, and she sucked in a breath. He hadn’t expected her to physically react to his touch, but if it succeeded in making her stop shooting questions at him, then very well. “The first question isn’t the easiest to answer,” he warned her.

“Just tell me, I won’t interrupt,” she promised, sitting back and hugging her knees to her chest.

“You know I was eager to pick up where I left before my parent’s death, go back to university, finish my master’s, all of that…”

Silje nodded, not saying a word, as promised.

“From the moment I healed from my leg injury and we decided I had to get a job and get my life back on track, I tried reaching out to my former thesis supervisor. I didn’t actually get around to setting a meeting before you pushed me to attend the open lectures, but when I finally went to his office and talked to him, he came up with a suggestion.”

Silje was so, so tempted to ask questions.

“At the time I genuinely thought he only offered because he felt bad for me after I told him why I had to drop out. If I had known it would lead to something serious, I would have told you right away. But I figured, why make you worry over something that might never come to pass? Besides we weren’t together at the time, and I was still sleeping on your couch. I was looking for a way out, and not be a burden anymore.”

“You were ne-”

Ivar tsked her, sending her a scolding but playful look. “You promised,” he reminded her.

She mimicked to zip her mouth.

“I almost forgot about it after a while. I lived day by day with you. Going to work, attending lectures, beating you at monopoly.” He smirked at her, knowing she had to stay quiet and couldn’t protest. She squinted her eyes at him – he was enjoying this too much. “And we started dating. It changed everything. I still hadn’t heard back from my teacher, so I assumed it didn’t work out. You have no idea how torn I was. I wanted to tell you, just in case I was wrong, and it did work out, but our relationship was so young and fragile, I didn’t want to risk it over this.”

She hated that such sap worked on her, but Silje caught herself melting slightly at his reasoning. Damn be this effortlessly charming boy.

“So, I kept my mouth shut, and now I regret it of course. Last week, I got a call from my teacher, and he told me the news. I tried to tell you a hundred times, but I kept postponing it. It couldn’t have come up in a worse manner. I spent the last forty-five minutes of our dinner at Hvitserk’s drenched in cold sweat, cursing myself for letting it go this far.” Ivar looked at Silje and sighed. “Alright, you can speak now, you look like you’re about to explode.”

And she did.

“What the hell are you going on about? You keep talking about something not working out, but you haven’t told me what!" she pressed him on, growing impatient. Ivar did have a gift for telling stories, but now wasn’t the time to demonstrate his skill.

“It’s a year abroad, Sil. I applied for a position as a history class assistant in a private school.”

The look of excitement on his face struck Silje like so many bricks. He was looking forward to going, and maybe later she would be happy for him, but right now she felt entitled to being distraught at the idea of watching him leave.

“I’d be teaching a few history classes at the school and work some extra hours in exchange for housing; and the rest of the time I can attend Trinity College and work on my thesis, to get back into the swing of things, so to speak, before resuming my master’s in Denmark.”

At the very least, he did plan on coming back.

“Trinity College? In Dublin?” Silje squeaked, her throat going dry.

“It’s not that far by plane,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. She was so cold, his smile dropped.

“And if you’re teaching at a secondary school, it means you’re leaving soon,” she gulped down, feeling the full weight of the sadness that came with the thought of his departure.

“Yes.” His tone became sombre. “In five weeks.”

“Five weeks!” Silje repeated a bit louder.

She did the math in her head, and it added up, much to her chagrin. July was reaching towards its end, and August was only four weeks long. Five weeks. Only five weeks left until Ivar flew to another country to live there for a year. She didn’t know how she felt, because the predominant feeling inside her right now was ‘sick’.

“You look so calm,” she stated. “How can you be so chill about this? I’m freaking the fuck out over here.” Her nails paid the price of her anxiousness and Ivar had to pull her hand away from her mouth to avoid her biting it off.

“I’ve been doing my fair share of freaking out over the last week, I’ve come to terms with it,” he tried to joke but it landed flat on its face.

“I didn’t even notice! I’m such a disaster girlfriend!”

She stood up now, ripping her hand out of Ivar’s grasp and turning her back to him. This was too much; her brain was going into overdrive what with all the information Ivar dumped on her shoulders.

“Last night when you said you were leaving. I thought you were going for good. And that was it, that was how you dumped me,” she admitted much to her embarrassment. “I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore, that you wanted to move on with your life someplace new,” she mumbled pitifully.

“Yeah, I was meaning to talk to you about that. You mentioned some similar nonsense last night before slamming the door behind you, and I really need to get this straight: you won’t get rid of me this easily, young woman.” Ivar laughed when Silje turned around, one hand on her forehead, and the other hanging by her side, contemplating her own stupidity.

“Talk about a misunderstanding.”

“Now I know why you were so mad, shouting at me about finding you repulsive,” Ivar chuckled, rubbing it in. It earned him a shove.

“It’s your fault! You told me “I’m leaving Denmark” and expected me to deduce that you weren’t dumping me? Who does that?" she accused him, and he had the gall to look offended. “Speak clearly or be ready to face the consequences any resulting misunderstanding!”

“How is it my fault? I tried to explain everything, but you wouldn’t hear a word of it!" he defended himself, standing up so he could look down on Silje and be in a position of superiority.

“I had a natural reaction,” she countered. “Don’t try to put this on me! You’re a history major! Don’t you know wars have started because of poorly spoken words?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to realize that you should know the facts before casting a judgement,” Ivar protested.

They both fought enthusiastically, a smile on their faces, revelling in things going back to normal now that all quiproquos were cast aside. If felt good to banter and throw the hot potato until one of them dropped it. It gave them an outlet for all their pent-up tension.

“Are you calling me stupid?” Silje challenged him to say yes, puffing out her chest.

She realized too late that it did not have the same effect as when Ivar, or one of her brothers did it. Ivar’s eyes shifted to her bosom before moving back up to her eyes.

“I might,” he said.

“Excuse m-”

Silje’s outrage was short lived because her feet left the ground and she shouted in indignation when Ivar swung her over his shoulder, holding her by the legs while walking around the couch.

“Ivar! What the-?! Put me down!" she protested in a noisy and vehement manner, hitting him in the back. “I’m serious, it’s not very wise to throw someone who hasn’t had any food or sleep in ten hours over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. What on earth are you doing?”

“Increasing the blood flow to your brain, because it clearly needs more oxygen,” he joked and put her down. She was white as a sheet but smiling. “If you thought for a second that I was breaking up with you, you must be brain dead, Silje. Even your silly friends know I’m completely whipped, how can you not have noticed?”

“Matters of the heart should not be guessed,” she recited. Impossible to tell if she read this somewhere or came up with it, but Ivar couldn’t deny the rightness of her words.

The time for playfulness was past now, they could feel it in the air, sizzling between them. Ivar took the step that separated them and crashed into Silje, who welcomed him. The embrace they shared was hot, vibrant, it gave them life and healed the wounds they inflicted each other over the last few hours. An ardent need ignited in their hearts, both of them lighter than before, having found a happy conclusion to what seemed like a mountain of a problem.

“We need a shower,” Ivar said after breaking the kiss, his nose still touching Silje’s. “We look and smell awful,” he added, as though she needed to be reminded.

“Mmh,” she hummed in agreement. “Warm water might just be what I need to relax my muscles. I honestly don't know how you managed to live on my couch for so long, my back hurts just from sleeping there one night,” she complained.

Ivar merely laughed at her dramatic behaviour, watching her rub her shoulders. It was still very early and they hadn't slept at all, but they were wide awake now, and the day was all theirs. A happy perspective that made both their hearts flare up.

“Silje,” Ivar called her, and the hint of seriousness in his voice caught her ear. She immediately quit her antics and paid attention. “If I were going to start a new life somewhere, it would be with you.”

*

Life tasted different from then on. They both felt it but chose not to talk about it. Instead, they made the most of what little time they had left together. Silje filled her idle days with her creative hobbies to the point where the entire living space was covered in magazine cut outs, yarn, colour pencils, and sometimes – much to Ivar's confusion – a pillow fort would wait for him when he came back from his shift.

Ivar didn't enjoy having to spend his last weeks in Denmark in an old, decrepit bar, serving cheap booze to equally old and decrepit men. But he needed the cash. Silje knew it too, and she didn't say anything, even if her kisses lingered when he left for work.

Two days after their argument he was surprised to find Ava on their doorstep, demanding to know what happened between him and Silje (who had forgotten to update her friend about their reconciliation). He couldn't remember ever getting a verbal thrashing like that – it really put his meeting with Silje's parents in perspective, because Ava was terrifying in that moment.

When her wrath simmered down and Silje had forcefully dragged her away from Ivar to explain and put her mind at ease, Ivar sighed. Girls.

It was the only incident that occurred since the misunderstanding that led to an argument – not their first but certainly their biggest. They had announced the news to Laura, Nicolaj and the others, and all of them seemed happy for him and understanding of their mitigated mood. Silje clung to Ivar, she couldn't help it.

She hated being that girlfriend... but her heart strings tugged each time she dared think of his upcoming departure. However, she would have to face reality soon enough, because his flight would leave in ten days, and the big suitcase he bought was now lying open on the floor, slowly filling up.

She often stared at it, as though it was the suitcase's fault if Ivar left. She couldn't believe how quickly the weeks went by after she found out. Time truly did fly.

But not today. No, today time stretched endlessly, and she wasn't sure which was worse.

*

The brightest source of light in all of Denmark was Silje's smile - a lot of people agreed on that, Ivar being the first one. But sometimes, like the Sun, it hid away. As was the case when Ivar came back from work that Friday afternoon.

The clock barely hit four and yet Ivar found Silje curled up in bed. At first when he entered the seemingly empty apartment, he had thought she went out with friends and was running a little late (since she would most likely have notified him if she planned on spending the entire evening out), but he heard faint music coming from the bedroom.

He was tired, he'd had to deal with annoying customers today and all he wanted was a bit of love. But what raised a red flag in Ivar's mind wasn't the unusual bed time Silje had picked but the fact that she was huddled under her duvet in the middle of summer.

“Too tired to say hello?” Ivar joked, his arms crossed on his chest as he leaned against the door frame in an attempt to look cool. He heard some grumbling before her head emerged, dishevelled.

“Go away!” Silje groaned. “Can't you see I'm not feeling well?”

“Oh?” Was Ivar's enlightening answer.

“I'm not in the mood.” Silje fell back on the mattress, resting an arm across her face. “-feel like shit. I just wanna sleep it off.”

“You can't just sleep off sickness,” Ivar huffed. “What's the matter? Do you need medicine? I can get it for you if our stock is low,” he offered immediately.

Silje didn't have a lot of off days unlike Ivar, so if they were out of something it was most likely his fault. It was only normal that he'd be the one replacing it.

“I don't want to stuff myself with medicine, I'll be fine I just need to lay down and just...” She now stared at the ceiling and froze altogether. “- just find a position in which my stomach stops killing me and not move anymore.”

So that was the problem.

“Hey, I just came back from a tough shift, mind if I join you?” Ivar asked, already taking off his shoes and jeans. Silje sent him daggers with her eyes. “C'mon don't make me spend the rest of the day alone in the living room.”

She grumbled something that sounded a lot like 'damn you' which Ivar interpreted as an invitation to get in bed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he ushered when he climbed next to her and Silje groaned in pain. He could tell she was trying to hold it in but failed. “Painful period cramps?" he asked.

“Dunno.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” Ivar's left eyebrow rose up. “You don't know if you're on your period or you don't know when your period is?”

“I don't know when it is. Could be that,” she said after a while of calculating in her head how long it has been since the last time. It didn't quite line up, but it wouldn't be the first time mother nature surprise visited her. “Not entirely sure though.”

“So, you don't know.” Ivar shook his head, amused. He opened his arms for Silje to lay her head against his shoulder. He knew she needed to lie on her back. “Shouldn't you though?”

She was growing annoyed at his nosy questions.

“I don't know Ivar! In case you haven't noticed I wasn't exactly seeing anyone these last few months, and it had been a while I hadn't done anything before you,” she barked at him even though she knew he didn't deserve to be spoken to so harshly.

She was just in tremendous pain; had been for the last couple hours, and it was wearing her patience thin.

“Why would I have kept track? It's not like I could get a pregnancy scare.”

He didn't say anything for a while. Her outburst threw a cold over them, or so she thought. But Ivar's fingers distractedly ran through her hair and suddenly she could feel what was bothering her in the atmosphere.

“You're smiling,” Silje said although she couldn't see his face.

“I am,” Ivar answered, not ashamed one bit.

“It's because I just admitted you were the first in a long while?”

“Could be,” he chuckled.

“You are so smug about this! Get over yourself you idiot. I can't see you, but I know the shit eating grin you have on your face right now. Wipe that smirk away!”

“Why on earth would I? It's a normal reaction!” Ivar argued, still smiling from ear to ear. “And it's the same for me, you already knew that.”

“Did I?" she frowned.

“Well... I told someone. If it's not you then it must be Hvitserk.”

“Why would you tell- no never mind don't answer that. You told me you haven't had a girlfriend in a long time, but that doesn't mean you haven't had sex.”

“Well let's just say I had a dry spell, yeah?”

“For how long do you need to not have sex to become a virgin again?” Silje hummed her question to herself.

“Is that how it works?” Ivar laughed.

“That's what Nicolaj says,” she laughed. “Every time he goes home alone after a party,” she snickered, visibly very amused at the thought of her friend's dramatic antics.

“Huh, yes I can imagine him say that,” Ivar said, letting his head fall onto the pillow again. “So how was your day?”

“Awful, I woke up with cramps and they haven't gone away yet,” she groaned, tucking herself in but leaving Ivar clear of the duvet as he was boiling hot next to her. “Yours?”

“Long. People are the worst. I wish I was allowed to talk back sometimes,” he sighed, rubbing his temple with his one free hand. “There are a few things I'd want to tell them, starting with a lecture about how to speak to your bartender if you want your drink spit-free.”

“You don't do that, do you?” Silje asked, laughing a bit but trying to keep it under control because it made her tummy ache. “It sounds straight outta Fight Club.”

“If I wanted to go Fight Club, it wouldn't be spit,” Ivar pointed out, making Silje fake gag. “Which doesn't mean I'm not really tempted, even if I never act on my lower instincts.”

“Any chance you could channel those low instincts you speak of and go punch mother nature in the gut for me?” Silje asked, wincing a little as she arched her back, pressing her hand to her sore sides. “I'm dying over here.”

“I wish I could do something,” he told her, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. It was a pointless gesture, but she sighed and closed her eyes, nonetheless. It might not reduce the pain, but it sure felt nice to know her boyfriend was here and willing to help.

“You're already helping. I feel better when I'm not alone and wallowing in my own self-pity,” she said sleepily, snuggling closer to his side. “What am I going to do when you're gone?”

Ivar did not answer, because he didn't know the answer, and he most especially did not want to think about when he would be separated from Silje. She had been his anchor, his one tether to this perpetually moving world in which he thought he would never find his place.

He said nothing and kissed her temple instead.

*

They had quietly fallen asleep together last night, and when Ivar woke up in the morning the other side of the bed was empty. Silje was already in the kitchen preparing her breakfast when Ivar got up, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, kissing her neck and making a muffled greeting noise to which she smiled.

“Feeling better?” Ivar asked after she had coaxed him into using words instead of grunts.

“My stomach still a bit sore-” she admitted, prompting Ivar to move his arms away from the tender area.

“Shit, sorry. I wasn't thinking,” he apologized. Silje smiled to herself and put her butter knife down, turning around in Ivar's arms to face him.

“It's fine. It's not cramped up anymore. I'll live.” Her words of reassurance were accompanied by a gentle arm rub and Ivar's mouth twitched slightly. Silje stood on toes to plant a good morning kiss on her boyfriend's pouting lips. “Thank you for being there for me.”

Ivar smiled in answer, not knowing what to say to that.

“Also, I'm sorry about what I said,” she added. “About not knowing what to do when you're gone. I don't want to guilt trip you, I was just being dramatic.”

“I didn't take it like that, don't worry about it,” he reassured her. “But thanks.”

“That said, we'll need to discuss some things soon. You're leaving for quite a while and there are some rules we need to establish before D-day.” Ivar looked at his feet while Silje fiddled with her cup, dropping and raising her bag of tea. “I don't want unaddressed issues to hang between us.”

“What kind of issues? What kind of rules?” Ivar questioned, pushing a stray strand of hair out of her face to make her took up. She tossed the tea bag in the bin and looked up, her big shiny eyes staring right into Ivar's very soul – or so it felt. A timid smile tugged at her lips.

“Wanna talk about it now? Over breakfast?" she asked, her brows knitted together.

“Sure, I'm wide awake, so why not?" he shrugged, grabbing the other cup of tea Silje had prepared for him with one hand, and the tray of food with the other. “Let's do this!”

“Alright,” she chuckled, following him to the coffee table with the napkins.

At first neither of them said anything, whether because they did not know where to start or because they didn't know how to bring up what was on their mind. Ivar stirred his tea and grabbed a piece of bread and a knife to butter it eating breakfast as usual, while Silje nervously fiddled with the napkin on her lap, and let her nails tap again her mug until she decided to put it on the table to avoid accidents.

“So, what is it you-”

“Are we still going to be exclusive?" she cut off Ivar by blurting out her question. Ivar, who was in the process of lifting his own tea cup to his mouth, nearly spilled all its content on himself, and narrowly avoided a first-degree burn. “Oh gods, I'm so sorry,” she apologized, quickly using the napkins to soak up what little liquid spilled over and onto Ivar.

The she leaned back and hid her face behind her hands in shame.

“Fuck!” Ivar cursed, causing Silje to peek through her fingers. He shook the hand that held the cup seconds before and held it against his chest. “I'm good,” he said between his teeth. “Gods, why is tea so hot?”

“I'm sorry,” Silje repeated, feeling like disappearing in a mouse hole.

“Don't apologize, it's not your fault.” Ivar now put the scathed part of his hand to his mouth. “I was surprised, 'is all.”

“I feel so stupid.” Silje leaned down, letting her elbows rest on her knees with her face still buried in her hands.

“What kind of question is that? Is that the unaddressed issues you mentioned?” Ivar asked, and though she couldn't see his face Silje felt a tinge of amusement in his voice that gave away the smile he wore.

“Not only,” she grumbled.

“Hey, hey, Silje,” Ivar tried to get her to stop sulking. “Look at me, now.”

She turned her head towards him and looked at him through her fingers, still not removing her hands from her flushed cheeks. He rolled his eyes.

“Don't be difficult now, please. You're the one who wanted to talk, you know, like adults.” Using her own ideas against her, that wasn't fair.

“Fine, fine!" she gave in, sitting upright again and meeting his gaze as bravely as she could. As soon as they faced each other she felt her cheeks heated up again though, much to her embarrassment and annoyance. “So, what's your answer?”

“What's your answer?" he shot back with a teasing little smirk on his perfect fucking face.

“Ha!" she exclaimed. “No questions to answer my question! You go first, I asked first.”

“So much for the adult conversation,” he teased her, laughing at her antics. “Of course, we're exclusive Sil.”

Her shoulders relaxed as if the weight of a thousand bricks lifted up from them, and Silje's defensive stance disappeared altogether. The sheer sound of his words gave wings to her heart.

“I had to ask, I'm sorry,” she apologized for what felt like the tenth time this morning. “I know it's silly, but I don't want to spend months wondering-”

“-if the grass is greener in Dublin?” Ivar helpfully provided an elegant way to finish her sentence. Talking about possibly cheating on each other was a touchy subject, and perhaps not one they should be discussing over breakfast on second-thought. “I think you severely underestimate how much I love you,” Ivar told her, the blunt statement making her feel twice as embarrassed about her question, and ashamed too.

“I'm so-”

“You need to stop saying you're sorry, Sil,” Ivar laughed, easing up the atmosphere and leaning back against the couch. “What else is on your mind?”

“I- I don't really know, I was pretty obsessed with this question in particular,” she admitted. A minute passed during which Ivar waited patiently and Silje racked her brain. “How many times do you reckon we'll see each other? Our schedules won't allow many visits I suppose.”

“I can't tell you about my schedule yet, I'll only receive it once I get there. We'll see if our holidays line up then,” he told her, resting a hand on her flexed knee. Silje's eyes darted there. “But Jul.”

“Definitely Jul,” she agreed, joining their hands. “You should save as much money as you can, I'll make the trip. All the trips.” She saw he was ready to object so she quickly added, “and it's not negotiable.”

“You won't be able to celebrate Jul with your family if you're in Ireland,” Ivar pointed out.

“I was in Denmark last year, and I still spent it with you and not them,” she replied, making Ivar nod his head, forced to admit she had a point.

“Jul in Dublin it is then,” he concluded. He smiled gently when he saw the slight frown on her pensive face and laced their fingers together to draw her attention on him. “Don't worry too much, everything will work itself out. We'll talk a lot, we can play card games online, so you won't miss me beating you at those,” he added, if only to make her smile again. It worked.

Silje bit down on her lower lip to hold back her grin but it was a nearly impossible task when her boyfriend gazed up at her with these eyes while caressed the back of her hand with the tip of his fingers.

“I'll give you my address as soon as I get it, so you can send me detailed handwritten letters describing your longing for me and how the sheer thought of me rouses lustful thoughts in your mind.”

This elicited a real laugh from Silje who slapped away his hand. Ivar still felt it was a victory, for he much better liked to hear Silje laugh then have her thinking about their upcoming separation in brooding silence.

“Can I drink my tea now or do you have more questions?”

*

Every morning was the same ritual, like clockwork.

When the coffee machine stopped brewing, Silje set two cups on the counter, filled them to the brim, added two sugars in hers and one in Ivar's, put a spoon in each one; and then Ivar, who had already tucked a pile of napkins under his arm, grabbed the cups and carried them over to the coffee table.

Silje followed after him with a tray stacked with toasted bread, butter, jam, a knife, a spoon, and a bowl of cereals. They liked to eat in relative silence and watch Rick and Morty while their brains slowly emerged from the fog. Silje sometimes poked fun at Ivar for eating his toasts like an old person - the boy dipped his bread in his coffee before taking a bite. He argued each time but Silje insisted that only old people did that, and short of having proof she was wrong, Ivar had to accept that he ate his breakfast like a grandpa. Meanwhile Silje spooned her cereals like a robot, and when she was done, every morning without fail, she would get up to fetch the Nutella and eat the last remaining piece of bread. She never brought the Nutella on the tray, which Ivar already pointed out to her numerous times, but got up to get it instead.

And that was how every day started for Silje and Ivar, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Yet Silje noticed a big change in Ivar's general mood and behaviour this morning. Perhaps it was the nerves finally catching up – after all, he was leaving in less than 72 hours. A thought she didn't want to dwell on.

Somehow, the silence was not as comfortable as usual, and it made it hard to eat her cereals. Just when she was about fed up with it and was going to ask him what bothered him, Ivar spoke up, the veil of sleepiness lifting from his eyes too as he met her concerned gaze.

“I want to show you something.” He continued staring at her, waiting for a reaction. Silje also waited – for more details.

“Well, what is it?" she eventually asked. Had Ivar's brain not come back from dreamworld yet? “You're scaring me now.”

He smiled gently. The very sight of him made Silje's heart burst with joy and love. His tousled hair, his wrinkled shirt, his grey sweatpants, the soft sleepiness about him made her smile to herself. He's mine, she thought.

“Don't worry,” he told her, raising a hand and tapping under her chin with his fingers. He pushed back her hair a little – it was always all over the place before she brushed it. “Let's call it a surprise. I'll take you there later today.”

“Where are we going?” Silje asked.

“I can't tell you where it is. The location is the surprise,” Ivar said, quite mysteriously.

He called it a surprise, but his expression suggested nothing of the sort. Before she could read into it too much, Silje forced her attention back on her breakfast.

The morning swooped by very quickly, mostly in silence. It wasn't tense but Silje could tell Ivar was holding something from her, and she grew restless the more time went by. Finally, they were ready to leave and go wherever Ivar intended to take her.

She picked a basic cotton dress and sandals because she didn't know the occasion. Ivar's eyes were glued to her, drinking in her appearance as if it was the first and last time he saw her. He took her hand before closing the door behind them, and off they went.

The train ride was silent. Silje would usually sit much closer to Ivar, lean against him, rest her head on his shoulder in some instances, but not today, however much she wanted to. Deep in her bones, she sensed it wasn't the right time. The mood was off for some reason. She spent the whole way racking her brain in search of something she might have said or done that could have upset Ivar in any way, but it was fruitless.

These last few days had been a bliss. She was happier than ever – and she thought he was too.

He made her walk some more, still not telling her where they were headed, but at least he didn't let go of her hand. Their interwoven fingers reassured her somewhat. He guided her without a word through small streets, wandering towards the less fancy part of Copenhagen as they progressed, away from the liveliest areas.

Finally, he stopped at a bench. There wasn't anything particular here, only tall, narrow buildings that didn't look like anything Silje would want to live in. He sat down and gestured her to do the same.

“So, what are we doing here?" she inquired after a moment of contemplative silence.

He wasn't looking at her; his eyes darted towards the apartments across the road. Silje knitted her brows in confusion.

“You see the balcony over there? On the floor with the closed shutters?" he asked, pointing at the second floor of the building.

It looked old and not very well maintained, the painting peeled off, the door looked ancient, the number was erased. There was a crooked 'for sale' sign hanging from the railing of the balcony Ivar pointed at.

She had a sinking feeling all of a sudden.

“Yes?” Silje answered hesitantly.

She more or less guessed what he was going to tell her now, and her eyes were fixed on Ivar when he confirmed her suspicions.

“That used to be my home, where I lived with my parents until...” he didn't finish but his eyes left the building and became unfocused. Silje knew until when. She took his hand again.

He swallowed, prompting her to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“What were they like?” Silje questioned. Ivar looked at her in confusion. “Your parents, I mean.”

“You never asked about them,” he simply said, as if he dismissed her lack of questions as disinterest.

“Not because I didn't want to know, Ivar,” she assured him. “They are a part of your past and I know it's a sensitive topic, so I thought you'd tell me about them in your own time.”

“I would have told you everything, had you asked,” he said. “But thank you. I know I'm not always easy. I have... baggage.”

What was she supposed to answer? Everyone had baggage. At some point in life you simply had to come to terms with that. Only teenagers could claim not to have any baggage or emotional ties holding them back.

She darted her eyes back onto the building and its dangling for sale sign swaying in the slight wind.

“Do you want to go in?” Silje asked, not even sure if that was possible.

Ivar blinked dumbfoundedly, not sure what she meant by that.

“What?" he asked her with a shake of the head.

“Do you wanna go inside? See how it is now?" she repeated.

They looked at each other for a little while. Ivar wasn't entirely sure why she even suggested that, or if he wanted to, and if it was at all doable.

“You mean, visit the apartment? Posing as buyers?”

“Yes,” Silje said with an energetic nod.

She still didn't know why Ivar was in such a melancholy mood today – maybe it was become of his imminent departure – but she wanted to lift his spirits. If this helped him turn the page and move on, then she would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

“Can we do that?" he asked, a bit stupidly he had to admit.

Silje shrugged.

“Why couldn't we? It's just a visit.” It wasn't just a visit for an apartment. It was a visit inside Ivar's past. “I can try and call at least?" she offered.

It was a crazy idea, but he nodded before he could think again and refuse.

Silje whipped out her phone and dialed the number of the real estate agency. As per usual, she stood up and began to walk back and forth; she could never stay still during a phone call. Ivar only heard bits of the conversation.

“... the second floor apartment... yes this one... would like to visit... right now is possible?... that would be great... we'll try... tak... hav en god dag2.”

It lasted only about three minutes – which he spent twisting his fingers and wiping the sweat of his palms on his jeans – but Silje seemed satisfied with the outcome of the conversation. Her phone returned to her bag.

“They say we should see if the old couple living on the ground floor is home. They have a key. If they aren't there, I can call again and they'll send someone,” she informed him with a bright smile and an open hand.

Ivar took it and allowed Silje to gently pull him towards the entrance. He needed to get himself together. He was the one who brought her here, there was literally no reason at all to feel shy or scared. Still, he felt weird about this visit.

And more than that, he wasn't looking forward to ringing the old couple. He knew them – or he had known them – but they probably wouldn't remember him. He had changed quite a bit since then, and surely they wouldn't expect him to come back here. This place was a shithole, always had been. He always figured they stayed because moving at their age was too much of a hassle.

Silje read him like an open book, and he really shouldn't be surprised by now.

“You know them?" she asked, her finger hovering near the doorbell. He nodded, lips forming a thin line as he looked straight at her. “I'll do the talking.”

Both relieved and embarrassed, Ivar followed her lead when someone buzzed them in and she pushed the front door open – not without difficulty, because it was heavy and scraped against the floor in some places.

He didn't get to mentally prepare himself to see his old neighbors again because they stood right there in the hall way. At the foot of the stairs sat their properly ancient basset hound, a leash around his neck. Ivar briefly mused that this dog would outlive him.

“Hi!” Silje immediately greeted them. “I hope we're not bothering. We're here to visit the apartment on the second floor. The realtor said you have a spare key?”

She sure did not beat around the bush, and didn't give the couple a second to ask questions or even let their attention drift to Ivar who stood a couple steps behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” The woman exclaimed, her face breaking into a large, friendly smile while her husband took the leash from her hands. “Let me get it for you!”

“You two arrive right on time. We were about to leave for Oliver's walk,” he told them before scratching the dog's ears. “So you're interested in buying?" he questioned them, finally spared Ivar a glance.

His eyes did not linger on him.

“We're keeping an eye open for a new place,” Silje answered vaguely. “A studio is a bit small for two.”

The old man smiled good naturedly.

“Not when you're young and in love,” he argued and shot them a quick smile, showing some missing teeth.

That was arguable, they both thought. But Ivar only smiled awkwardly while listening to Silje's strange interaction with Mr Asbæk. Meanwhile, he stared at the dog who looked just as impatient as him to have this discussion arrive to an end. Surely Silje's cheeks were hurting from smiling so tensely; Ivar knew she hated making small talk and chatting up complete strangers for the sake of propriety.

“Ah! I found it!” Mrs Asbæk came back and closed the door to their apartment behind her. “It took me a few minutes to get my hands on it, but here you go young lady.” She dropped the keys in Silje's open palm.

She thanked her with a warm smile and bid them a good day.

“Oh dear!” The woman called after them when they were already halfway up the first flight of stairs. “Just leave the keys in the mailbox, will you? We don't know how long we'll be out. It's beautiful day, it would be a shame to spend it inside four walls.”

A shame indeed, Ivar thought as they continued their way up after assuring Mrs Asbæk that the key would be dropped in their mailbox.

“After you,” Silje told him and let him walk in front of her. She slipped the keys in his hand as he walked past her.

“It's surreal. Being here. Even just knowing the building hasn't disappeared altogether is strange. It's almost like it waited for me,” he commented despite the inanity of it.

He felt as though he was carrying a stone in his stomach.

Silje's hand skillfully unlocked the door to the apartment, not trembling like his did. An encouraging smile from her was all it took to make his nerves calm down though. She stepped aside to let him in. His soles were made out of lead when he stepped through the door.

The wooden floor still creaked like in his memory. For a while he merely stood there, frozen like a statue, incapable of the slightest movement. Meanwhile, Silje walked in, closed the door, then headed for the windows to open the shutters keeping the sunlight out.

Even plunged in darkness, the place looked bigger than he remembered. As soon as light came in, all familiarity disappeared. The air was stale because of the dust and accumulated heat. Nobody had visited this place in a very long time apparently, no wonder the realtor was reluctant to come all the way here to show them this dump.

“It's not how I pictured it,” he told Silje who stood aside and nervously awaited for a reaction on his side. He would have smiled at her secondhand anxiety if he wasn't so entranced. “I've never actually seen it empty.”

“We're not in a hurry. Just take all the time you need Ivar,” she said in a breath.

Her mind was put at ease now that he spoke with an even voice and his hands stopped trembling. It was like any big first step, the anticipation was worse than the act itself.

“Do you... want me to give you some alone time?" she suggested after a minute or so of tense silence. Ivar couldn't seem to pick something to look at and frantically looked everywhere. “I can wait outside if-”

“Don't be stupid,” he dismissed her idea with a hand gesture. “You need to be here. You're the reason we got in, anyway. C'mon.” He held out his hand for her to take.

Her eyes darted at his palm, then back at his eyes before taking it. Ivar pulled her toward him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, much to her stupefaction. He revelled in the feel of her pliant body against his. Before going any further, he placed a kiss to her temple.

“I'll give you a tour,” he said. She did not point out his tearful voice or glossy eyes, choosing instead to return his impromptu embrace and hold his waist while they walked to the middle of the living room.

“It looks very...” She didn't know where she was going with that sentence and quickly regretted even opening her mouth, but it was the damned silence hanging in the air between them she needed to get rid of.

“Shabby? Bleak? Like the last place on earth you'd like to live in?” Ivar helpfully provided, if only to see Silje's flushed face.

There was no point in trying to deny any of what he said. Ivar knew her well enough to know she was too precious to live in anything less than what she already had. He often made fun of her expensive taste – playfully of course. His teasing tone only earned him to be tripped and nearly crash onto the creaky, dusty floor.

“It looks like not even ghosts would wanna haunt this place,” she told him truthfully, and there was really no arguing with that statement.

They might already have suffocated to death if she hadn't opened the windows the second she walked in. The sunlight hit the washed off beige walls – something white, something black, depending where their gaze landed. The corners of the ceiling had some spiderwebs long deserted by their makers, and a few lighter squares on the old wallpaper showed where there used to be paintings or pictures.

“It looks bigger now that it's not full of our crap anymore,” Ivar observed in a rather detached tone. “If if didn't smell like the inside of a vacuum bag and look like a dirty old pair of granny underwear.”

Silje couldn't stop the snort that came after his comment. It was an astute description as far as she was concerned. The placed looked positively decrepit.

“How sexy,” she replied with a slight smirk. “You still must have good memories here. It can't just be an empty place to you now,” she continued when she realized he was trying to put off talking of how he felt by joking around with her.

Silje loved to joke around with Ivar, but sometimes, circumstances called for seriousness.

“There,” he started, pointing at the wall with the painting shapes still on the paper, “was our worn out leather couch. I liked it when I was a kid because it was so old and used that I sunk all the way to the floor when I sat on it.” A smile danced on his lips. “I didn't get to sit here often because my dad was lying there half the time, eyes glued on the TV.” His smiled dropped. “In hindsight, I didn't spend much time here after I became old enough to understand what was wrong with him being slouched here all the time.”

“How old were you?” Silje inquired, reluctant to interrupted his story but also curious.

“Not old enough.” He swallowed, blinked a few times and then looked away from the now empty corner of the room. “The alcohol stains on the floor are a testimony to his occupations back then. Doubt they'll ever come out.”

Silje looked and saw what he meant. Ivar turned around toward the window, walking to the one which had a small one-person balcony with its rusty balustrade. It felt refreshing just to step out onto it instead of being trapped in the deserted, dusty apartment full of stifling memories.

Silje never thought Ivar's life had been so rough/miserable even before he was forced to live in the streets. From what little he had told her about his parents, she assumed they had a good relationship. But after his anecdote about his father slugging around on the couch from dawn to dusk, drinking himself into oblivion, it didn't look like the picture she had painted in her head.

Her train of thought was interrupted when he huffed. Something on the ground seemed to have caught his attention. An ashtray.

“Can't believe they took everything except this.” He nudged it with his foot. There was still a cigarette butt in it. “Of all things, they forgot this.”

“You used to smoke?” Silje wondered, standing back because there was really no room for more than one person on the balcony. She leaned against the wall, ignoring the small voice in the back of her head listing all the diseases she might get from getting too close to these walls.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he laughed. “But this wasn't mine. That's where my mom went to calm her nerves whenever my dad was passed out on the couch or spending all our money on horse races bets, or gambling online.”

“Oh.”

Dumbest answer ever, Silhe thought to herself. Ivar was finally telling her about his family and that's what came out of her mouth!

“Yes. 'Oh',” he repeated. “She really did have a lot of patience with him, and she worked long days while he failed to keep any job, or even find one! I was so angry all the time toward the end! I wanted to go away, leave this place and my useless parents behind with all their debts and ways.”

He came back inside and stormed past Silje. His long strides forced her to scurry behind him and to the kitchen, whose state was no better than the main room. It was a pretty small place, there were only two other rooms aside from the bathroom. The room was narrow and only had the bare minimum. Out of curiosity, Ivar opened the tap but no water came out. He didn't try to turn on the lights but he figured electricity was out too.

“Look at that. Doesn't it make our little kitchenette look like a housewife's wet dream?” Silje mused out loud to make Ivar's burst dissipate.

“Believe it or not, it was much worse when there was furniture in there,” he assured her with a shake of his head, no doubt remembering what it used to look like. “Do you smell that? You can tell my mom spent a lot of time here.”

“Cigarette,” Silje said. “Yes, it's in the walls now. Nothing like the good ol' stench of cold cigarette to make you wanna buy a flat.” She opened a cabinet but it only lifted the veil of dust inside, which made her start coughing.

“I stopped smoking after their death. Not just because I couldn't afford it anymore, but because I'll never associate this smell with anything but my mother.” He shrugged when he caught her gazing at him with concern shining in her eyes, asking a silent question. “I'm fine, Sil. I'm just taking a walk down memory lane. Everything's not shiny in my past. In fact, the only impeccable thing in my life I can think of is my school record and my taste in girls which is out of this world.”

This brought back the smile on her face though she hated that all it took was a little compliment to make her forget the solemnity of the situation. How vain she was! She needed to work on that – later – and stop getting distracted by boyfriend's honeyed voice.

“Don't use your sexy voice on me to deflect my attention!" she rolled her eyes. “I'm not buying it. You're putting up a strong face for my sake, which is dumb. I'm not going to think less of you if I see you cry or show vulnerability.”

“What a relief,” he chuckled. “Actually, coming here isn't as terrible as I thought it would be. Not that I ever even considered coming back an option. When I was kicked out...” A sharp intake of breath. “I just accepted that it was no longer my home. I never entertained the possibility of returning here ; to me, this place was gone. At least, as I knew it.”

Dragging Silje behind him, Ivar led them to a small room next to the kitchen. Words weren't needed here: it used to be his room, she knew it. Untangling their fingers, Silje also went to the window to open the shutter and let some light and air come in the narrow room.

“I didn't spend much time here either. As soon as I realized I could hang out in libraries for free I just went there as much as their opening hours allowed. It's so dark here.”

Silje nodded in silent agreement. Even with the sun shining bright outside and the window wide open, some corners remained dark – probably because of the deep blue wallpaper. The atmosphere was oppressing. She couldn't imagine what it could have been like for a child to grow up here – a person's bedroom was supposed to be their personal space, where they could express themselves and feel safe and cosy.

“Why didn't you leave?" she couldn't help but ask.

His head whipped towards her, a questioning expression on his face.

“You said you wanted nothing more than to get out of here and make a new life. What held you back?" she clarified.

Confusion gave way to dolefulness and his gaze softened.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted under her intense eyes, feeling the weight of every word on his tongue. “It was a shitty life, but it was my life. It was familiar and so I stayed. Frankly, I thought I'd never escape this hellhole. At least until...” he trailed off;

“Until today, three years ago.” It was an easy guess. What else could put her Ivar in such a gloomy mood. “It's their death anniversary, right?”

His eyes told her the answer. Ivar turned around and went for the wall, leaning against it and slowly sliding down to the floor, knees up. Silje shoved aside any worries she had about the sanitary menace this place was, and joined him on the floor, sitting next to him but facing the other way. Their hands found each other and held on tight.

“I thought I did at better job at hiding how much this particular date still affects me,” he confessed with a weak little smile. “Guess not.”

“I don't think there'll be a day when this date leaves you indifferent. You're allowed to miss your parents, Ivar. However much your relationship was complicated.” If she held him any tighter it was going to cut off his blood supply, but she was desperate to take some of his sadness away.

“They don't deserve it,” he said, his tone harsher than usual but also wavering with tears. They didn't fall but Silje knew he must have summoned a lot of strength to hold them back. “Three years later, their mistakes still affect me. Sometimes it feels like I'll never be able to move on and be free from my past. I just wanna forget them.”

“You don't mean that.” Her free hand rose up to his face and gently grazed his jawline. “Love isn't about what someone deserves. They were your parents, you can't snap your fingers and erase them from memory. I'd be worried if you didn't mourn them on the anniversary of their death. Losing both your parents the same day must have been terrible.”

“It's the day my life was put upside down, yet I don't remember it at all. Everything from that time is a blur in my mind.” He looked down to avoid her eyes. “I wish I could get over it and stop dwelling on the past. But I didn't have the guts to leave in their lifetime, and even after their death I couldn't bring myself to get out of this place.”

“It's full of memories!” Silje argued.

“Bad ones,” he immediately scoffed.

“That can't be true! Tell me one good memory you have about your parents,” she demanded. “Anything, just so long as it's nice.”

“Stop it, Silje,” he asked, and if his voice wasn't so supplicant, she would have pressed on. “Not everybody has a warm, loving family with caring parents. I did not have any kind of relationship with my parents past age 12. After that I shut them out like they did to me, and we each lived like roommates. I focused on school and they dilapidated what little money we had and ignored me as usual. End of the story.”

“That can't be it,” she insisted, like any privileged child who grew up surrounded by love and who wanted for nothing would do. “You never had movie nights with your parents? Your mom never made you pancakes for breakfast? Your dad never taught you to drive? You never went to the beach in summer?" she fired question after question while Ivar shook his head.

No. He didn't do any of this. His mother worked day and night, she was too tired to wake up extra early and make pancakes, or to want to spend her day off with her feet in the damp sand. His father was a jobless parasite, the black hole who sucked in all the hard earned money his mother brought home. A mess of a man who did the world – and Ivar – a favour by never returning from that drive three years ago.

Irony wanted that they crashed their car the day his father decided to do something for someone other than himself and drive all the way to Fyn because an old friend needed help to move. His mother was enrolled as well, though he didn't know why she agreed. It didn't matter anymore. They were dead. Ivar had been alone from then on. Alone in this dump, wondering what the hell would happen now.

Fate had worse things in store for him before he finally got to crawl out of the hole he had spent his whole life in. The day Silje extended a hand to help him out of his misery was the turning point. The pinpoint moment when his life took a turn for the better.

“Please, let's drop it,” he begged her, which made her lean even more into him, their joined hands resting on top of his knees. “I don't hate my parents Silje. I'm not insensible to their death. But I think I've earned my peace of mind now, I need to say goodbye and start a new chapter.”

Acceptance shone in the blue of her eyes, still somehow managing to catch the light. At least she wasn't going to argue with him on this subject anymore. He knew how much she cared about her large family, and he understood that it must be hard for her to fathom not having this kind of bond with one's parents. But right now, Ivar needed her to understand his point of view too.

“Alright,” came her hushed voice. “I suppose it's a good thing we came here right before you leave then. You really are about to start a new chapter very soon.”

She made a valiant effort to smile but he could read the dispiritedness behind it. He appreciated the effort though, and straightened out his legs to pull her to him. She shifted to his lap and let him encircle her with his strong arms.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise it won't be as long as you think it will be.

She had her fair share of doubts about that, but now wasn't the time to argue about the relativity of time.

“How is it that I already miss you and you're not even gone?" she asked, only realising how silly it sounded once the words were out.

Ivar didn't laugh at her though, he didn't poke fun at her for saying that. No, he stared longingly into her eyes, brushing back a strand of her long hair to better see her face. He cradled her face into his palm; Silje, as per usual, nuzzled into his open hand like a cat, because soon she would be deprived of his rough, warm touch. His hands weren't smooth and soft, but they always handled her with care and gentleness.

Their eyes met and they got lost in each other for a brief moment – or perhaps a long moment, they wouldn't know, what with time skipping by so quickly whenever they were together. This is what had Silje so needy all of a sudden – the fresh memory of this one night she had spent on Ava's couch, turning and tossing and staring at the ceiling without so much as dozing off because she wasn't with Ivar still burning.

How would she occupy her days once he left? By picking up knitting again? Learning French like her mother always wanted her to? Enrolling in Hvitserk's stupid gym class? The thought made her shudder, which Ivar noticed.

“That's because I'm a nearly perfect boyfriend with a wicked kind of charm,” he finally answered and though it was said in good humour, she couldn't say it was a lie.

“I guess I'll just have to make the most of what time we have left now. You're all mine for the next,” she glanced at her wristwatch, “63 hours.”

She looked very proud of her basic math skills, grinning at Ivar who still gawked at his beautiful girlfriend like a love sick fool. And a love sick fool he was.

“I'll stay all yours long after those 63 hours end,” he assured her tilting her chin up with two fingers.

He heard her take a sharp breath and then hold it as he trailed the tip of his nose along her cheek. The two of them were still cuddling on the dirty floor of his former home, drunk on each other's very presence.

Their lips met in a quiet but deep and meaningful kiss. Ivar's back was already pressed against the wall when Silje leaned against him even more, her chest flat against his while her hands slowly slid upwards. One wandered a few centimeters under his shirt and the other found its home in Ivar's neck. Her thumb brushed along his jaw, feeling it move as they lost themselves in that kiss.

It was hot but caring, it taste like sin and sugar: it wouldn't have taken much for Silje to completely forget where they were and let their embrace lead somewhere else. Instead, they broke apart when their lungs began to burn from lack of air. Silje's lips felt warm and swollen when she ran her tongue over them. Ivar's pupils were blown wide and his hands couldn't let go of Silje's waist.

Ivar kissed her again. The sweet taste of her against his lips fueled him with passion and ardor. He would have burnt for her, consumed himself entirely if her cool hands weren't nestled in his neck, keeping him from pulling back. She was addicted to his kisses too and so they sunk deeper in this whirlpool of affection.

For once, it wasn't too pressing. It wasn't meant to lead to sex at all - and it had nothing to do with them being in this dump instead of Silje's delicate sheets. It had everything to do with the preciousness of the moment they shared presently. It called for physical restraint and emotional abandon.

They had proved it to each other a thousand times in a thousand different ways already, but some things were worth saying nonetheless.

“I love you.”

Neither of them could have imagined what those words could do to them. They floated in the air around them, like a puff of smoke. It was hard to believe they were that easy to say in the end. After all the time and energy spent on worrying over those three words. Was it too soon? Was they be coming on too strong? Would they be reciprocated?

Nothing was sure until the moment they grew the courage to put them out into the world. And since they did, they smiled like fools, incapable of wiping that smile off their faces. No, they simply kept on grinning. They were in love and they didn't care.

1 The Little Mermaid, famous statue in Copenhagen.

2Thank you... have a good day.

TAGLIST: @thamexx@kianya-loves@deleteidentity@feistybaby@cute-freak27@teenagephilosophersandwich@marco-hvittyvik@kenzieam @captstefanbrandt @kimskew @aduncanzombie@admerxin13@meikolia@vikingsmania@dina-m16@thinemineours @didiintheblog@mblaqgi@thedorkcitycentral@hallowed-heathen@ivyfatale

[mariaaamaaarquez]

the second one- where does this start?

okay okay so I guessss this is the part where I kind of have to talk about myself since honestly truly now that I think about it- not a lot of people know MY story.. its usually me asking to someone else what theirs is and why they are the person they are, but sometimes not even my closest best friends know, because they never asked? weird, I know lmao. buuuut okay where to start right? well I was born in Guatemala, September 21st 2001, for the ones who didn't know hahah aaaand I was a happy kid. always a happy kid. to keep the long story as short as possible, moms filed for a divorce, father said no. for my fifth birthday though, they both wanted to take me to Disneyland, in Cali. this meant that we had to get a tourist visa from Guatemala granting us permission to leave the country, which for those of you who don't know how that process works, its HARD. somehow we managed to get it, and a few weeks later I was celebrating my birthday in Disneyland. that was when my mom made the decision to run away from my dad. obviously telling this story now, I know we had family in Virginia. and being an immigrant traveling with your also immigrant daughter as you're already in the United States- not so hard. I woke up to my mom packing bags, she just told me to go back to sleep and that we were going to the beach later that day. I, listened to my mom, and proceeded to waking up basically in an airport. just like that my life had shifted. we flew into Virginia, and proceeded to living there, hiding for six months. hiding was tough. my father had even filed a missing child case basically saying I had been abducted. Amber Alert who, right? During my time there, I did start to notice money coming in, we would go shopping, and I would get random presents out of nowhere. AAAAnd thats where my stepdad comes in. Once again, to summarize, my (now stepdad) had been in contact with my mom ever since they were high school teenage sweethearts. when my mom split up with him, it was because he had decided to flee to the United States and stay as an illegal immigrant. that’s when she met my father and had me- talk about a cockblock. anyways I soon came to find out that all the money and presents coming in, were from him. he came to Virginia for Christmas, also took me to New York for the first time and I got to get hello kitty EVERYTHING inside that Toys R Us- and then we came back home to Virginia and I was completely in awe of how good this man was treating me and my mom- aaaandd thats when they dropped the bomb on me. We were moving to Seattle. shortly after making that decision, it was January of the year 2006 and I was on a plane (again) and headed to my new life, with a new dad, and SOOO many new toys. I was happy. 

Fast forward a few months, moms is pregnant, has my brother in 2007, I can suddenly speak and understand English FLUENTLY, and I have an entire new family. As if it couldn't get crazier, my 3rd grade year, my biological dad reached out to my mom, told her he was in town. I had no idea until we stepped into the closest mall by my house, and there he was. Live and in the flesh, it was my father. I ran into his arms and obviously balled my eyes out, and I just couldn't believe it. 

Fast forward a few years, he visited again and then after that visit went kind of MIA. No more emails, or letters, and most definitely no calls. When I turned 13, I still waited for that phone call, waited all day for my mom to tell me “your father’s on the phone” and nothing. Until it was 1AM, September 22nd, and my mom told me THATS when he called. 1 fucking am here, meaning 3 am over there, basically the day after my birthday. After that year, noting stayed the same. No longer waited, or anticipated, just- nothing. I later came to find out through social media, that he was having a daughter. Insane. I couldn't believe it, but part of me saw it coming. I mean this is what I wanted right? for him to move on and start his new life, and I didn't care anymore if I was a part of it... right? On my 16th birthday, he called. By this time I wanna say my little sister was probably around 3 or 4, (still hadn't gotten a call, until now.) When he called me I was in the middle of a small get together with just family, my boyfriend and bestfriends at the time had already left and I heard the phone ring. my mom looked at it and went silent, and showed me the phone. I knew who it was. I recognized the number. and I didn't want to answer, but I needed answers. 

so I pick up.

“hello?”

“hi mija, god how I've missed you I can't believe I actually got a hold of-”

“stop.”

you can’t believe you got a hold of me? you never tried.

I proceeded to basically cussing him out, and asking about my sister. You know when you accidentally rat yourself out to your parents by saying something you shouldn't have? yeah thats exactly what happened to my not so dearly beloved father. he basically spit out that my sister’s mother was the same bitc- lady, that my dad had cheated on my mom with- go figure! no wonder the woman ran away from you, jesus. 

“look, im sorry. god I am so sorry for everything I promise I will make it up to you what do I have to do?”

“never speak to me ever again. just like how I was basically dead to you and had no right to know the truth about everything, as far as im concerned the only thing that connects us is blood.”

he ruined my 16th birthday.

never talked to him ever again.

fast forward to my senior year- tf when did that happen?

I’m in Washington DC on a school trip (so much fun by the way AMAZING) and I call my mom to say hi and catch up (actually just calling because she was across the country and if she didn't hear from me she’d think I was dead inside the White House or something, hispanic moms, you know) and she then proceeds to tell me that she saw on Facebook (once again this damn social media) that my dad had just became a father, again. another baby sister. also that he had been living back and forth from Germany to Guatemala. 

sounds like a blast daddy dearest. 

(yeah he has a lot of money by the way, still waiting on the child support from the past decade but its good HAH) 

FAST FORWARD AgaIINNN to March of 2019. 

I became a legal resident of the United States, free to travel in and out of the country without a problem, free to work wherever I wanted, free to go to college and actually have a social security number when im asked for it- just simply free. 

April 2019. 

The month I got the chance to go back to my beloved Guatemala for the first time in thirteen years. THIRTEEN. To not bore you with all the details of my trip, on the last night, fate decided that it was time, and yes ladies and gents, there he was, in the flesh, my father. I always call him “father” and my stepdad “dad” just because all that other guy did was help with the process of me being born he was never a real dad to me ever, as heart wrenching and harsh as that may sound. so fuck him. seriously, fuck him. I saw him, with tears of anger streaming down my face and my entire body shaking, and he walks up to me crying.

he leans in for a hug.

“not a step closer don’t you dare touch me.”

he walks away and disappears into the crowd of hundreds of people, and I proceeded to having the worst panic attack I have ever had. paramedics asking if I was okay, my mom on the floor with me as I was sobbing and screaming, and everyone scared out of their minds because suddenly I felt trapped in a ball of water with no air as everyone watched the color of my skin slowly beginning to fade until I became white as snow. when I snapped out of it and finally calmed down, I cried. god I cried so damn much. I was so hurt, mostly because part of me thought he would take a stand for once and try. just try. even though I told him not to I knew a part of me wanted him to, but he didn't. and he disappointed me- just as I expected he would.

haven't heard of him since.

that was almost five months ago. and that leads us to today, the present! and thats my story, without all the minor details because with those included id have people reading for hours. But, even after this longgg ass post, if you're still here hi! thanks for reading, and for being interested in my story? not a lot of people tend to be, but if im gonna be writing on here I might as well include it- right?  

anyways- yep thats me, this along w other crazzyyy things are part of what shaped me to be the person I am today. As for my family? My mom, my dad, and my little brother? I’d take a bullet.

and as for my father? 

I don’t know,

I don’t bother to ask,

I don’t care.

besitos,

ria.

[the-heartbeat-carries-on]

With My Heart in My Mouth

(Original fiction by Mod Cuore of @the-heartbeat-carries-on)

Here it is! Decided to write a bit of original fiction with a cardiophile theme :D This was fun. A little rambling and very informal (and first person, present tense, what even), but still fun to do. I hope you all enjoy it! (Rated PG for mild language)

~~~~~~~~~

Right now, teleportation sounds like the best idea in the world.

Picture me, a young woman in love, having brought her boyfriend back from the airport after a nervous but still joyous car ride. I'm beyond excited and happy that he's finally in the same house as me instead of a few thousand miles away. Picture him flopped over on the couch. He's exhausted from all the travel, but still eager to spend time with me and is in cheery spirits (even if his eyelids are dipping every so often).

And then, picture me, wanting to dive into his arms and flee the country at the same time (the latter possibly including a new identity). We’d hugged for a long while at the airport; in fact, I’m pretty sure people stared as the minutes-long embrace went on… and on… and on… So why was I getting cold feet about… well, about this?? Isn’t it natural for a girl like me to want to cuddle with her boyfriend? And listen to his heartbeat? Even though it’s something he doesn’t like? His heartbeat, not the cuddling. Jury’s out on the cuddling. But I know for a fact that he’s said before he doesn’t like heartbeats. Which you’d think would be a dealbreaker for someone like me, a cardiophile who’s loved hearts for as long as she can remember.

But noooo, my heart didn’t think that was a problem. So here we are, in my house, me sweating like a fountain and him stretched out on my couch… looking so nice and relaxed… and looking like he has the perfect spot next to him where I could fit in nice and neat--THERE I GO AGAIN.

Unfortunately, for me, he seems to have picked up on the anxiety. “You all right, Jenny?” Dammit. Either I was too obvious or he's just that good at reading people. Probably both; he’s always seemed like a people-person.

“I…” Right now would be the perfect time to lie about it, right? No, no good… he hates liars. I suddenly found just about every piece of advice I’d ever heard about honesty starting to flood my head. “Communication is key,” it all says. “It’s important to talk things out,” comes another voice. Sage advice to be sure, but with my heart pounding as hard as it is right now, can I even get the words out?

“You…?”

My lips finally part. “...Are you tired?” DAMMIT, Jenny. Just… go bury yourself in the corner, why don’t you.

He nods. “Yeah, I mean… it was a really long flight. But you look tense.” He pauses a moment, an odd look of shame crossing his face. “Oh, no, sorry; you probably wanna sit. Hold on.” In a few swift moves, he’s sitting up on the couch, cheeks a little red. Nooo, Will; that’s the LEAST of my worries. You’re not taking up space.

Well... if he’s offering me the spot, it’d be rude to not sit there, right? It’s a few moments before I find myself creaking toward the couch, like I’d just hopped off of Frankenstein’s table. Will isn’t keeping it a secret from me that he’s confused by the way I’m acting, his bushy eyebrows doing all the talking. Honestly, he has every right to be; I feel like an idiot. And all because I want to cuddle up next to him and…

He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re looking really pale; you sure you’re all right?”

I try to look over, but the gaze from his slate blue eyes is a little too much. My heart punches me in the back of my ribs and I cough a little. “I’m… just kind of…”

His expression melts into one of warmth and concern. “If you’re nervous, you really don’t have to be. I mean… wait, what am I saying…?” He takes his hand off my shoulder and buries his face in his hands. “I mean… okay, I’m a little nervous myself. But… I guess a bit of nerves in the beginning is healthy. Means you’re not taking this lightly or for granted.”

That’s true; after all the time I’ve spent, thinking about me and him together, I’m not going to let any of it seem as though it’s something I’m owed. Heck, the fact that I’m together with anyone seems like a miracle in of itself after all these years (crushing on people is hard… at least for me. I feel lucky this even happened). So, with that in mind… I guess I can relax a bit. I smile, trying to look at him but still avoiding his eyes. “Y-You’re right. I guess I’m just nervous. I just… I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He smiles, his slightly crooked teeth glistening in the remnants of daylight streaming through the window. “Me too,” he says.

A few moments of thick silence (save for the ticking of the living room clock and the ridiculously loud pounding my heart is doing, what the heeeelllll) pass before I decide to clear my throat. “Um… I h-hope this isn’t too forward of me, but…”

What am I doing?

“...I was wondering…”

Oh no.

“...if you wouldn’t mind…”

MAYDAY, MAYDAY; SOMEONE OVERRIDE MY STUPID MOUTH, QUICK!!

“...could we, you know… cuddle, maybe?”

...I blew it. That was WAY too forward, wasn’t it? I mean, this is only our second time of meeting in person, the first time we’ve met as a couple. Heck, maybe he’s not even into cuddling. He’s a hugger, sure, but… but maybe… ohhhh, I blew it.

“...Sure.”

There’s no way I can accurately describe the tone of his voice. A period doesn’t do it justice, and an exclamation point makes it sound way too enthusiastic. But there’s a definite tone of… happiness to it. It’s lighthearted, gentle… maybe not super eager, but it actually sounds like he’s… into it.

I can feel a stupid grin crawling onto my lips; good luck prying that off, I tell myself as he starts stretching back out, watching me, waiting for me to… oh, he’s patting the side next to him. I look at his face.

He’s smiling. Ohhh heavens, I can’t take this. Maybe it’s quicker than I should move, but I almost slam myself down by his side trying to fill in the space.

“Whoa! That was a rush and a half…”

I breathe in sharply. “Are you okay?? I didn’t hurt you, did I??”

Thankfully, he’s shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. That was just, I dunno, REALLY sudden.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry…” I mutter, resting my head on his chest. I try to make it as casual as I can, but, truth be told, this is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m just hoping HE’S okay with it.

I can feel him gently wrap his arm around me as I settle my head down, suddenly hearing the sound I’d longed to hear ever since my feelings for him developed.

B-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump b-thump…

I am both simultaneously mesmerized and flustered. On the one hand, I’m finally getting to hear his heartbeat. On the other hand… so much faster than I was expecting!

...And I suddenly realize that it’s probably beating that way because of me. My own heart skips a few beats, something I don’t realize he can feel.

“I think something happened…” he says. I look up into his face; his eyebrows are still reaching for his hairline.

“A-Ah, yeah…”

“It felt like your heart just kinda had a freakout.”

A wave of warmth rushes through me as he says that word, “heart.” Ordinarily, anyone saying that word would make me smile, but him? The way he curls the vowels and the “r” sound just… it’s too much. My face goes a little redder.

“I’m just… I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows crease even further. “Sorry? Sorry why? You literally haven’t done anything you need to apologise for.”

I sigh, more blush creeping up my neck. Might as well remind him, shall I? “Okay, I… you’re right,” I start. “I just… d-do you remember that first letter I gave you? Way back when we first met?”

He closes his eyes as he thinks back. “Man, that was so long ago. So much happened too; what was in it?”

No use turning back. “Well, I… I told you in it about my being a… a cardiophile.”

Yep, there’s a definite silence here. “A what?”

“I like hearts. A lot. It’s like…” The words just started pouring out. “It’s like a lifelong obsession for me. I’ve liked them ever since I was little.”

“Ohhhh…” he says, looking up as though he’s searching his brain for memory banks. “So that’s why you’ve got all that heart stuff on your blog.”

I nod slowly. “Y-Yeah…”

“So…” He looks down at me. Not two seconds go by before someone turns on the light behind his eyes (I could almost swear I can see it). “Ohhhh. You can hear my heartbeat right now, can’t you?”

All I can do is nod. “I just… I just remembered something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You said on your blog, a while back, that you don’t like heartbeats.”

He thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I just, couldn’t really stand hearing my own so often. Like, lying in bed at night when I’m trying to sleep… Also kind of reminds me of all the horror games I’ve played. And that’s not something I want to have when I’m trying to sleep.”

He stops a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “Buuuuut I mean, if you like hearts, hey, who am I to judge?”

...Did he just say that? Really?

I can hardly believe it; it feels as though a weight has been lifted. “You’re… okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? If it makes you happy, then like away. Just because I don’t like my own heartbeat doesn’t mean you can’t. I mean... it’s not hurting me or anyone else if you do. At least, I’m assuming you’re not gonna plunge a dagger in and scream ‘Kali-ma!!’ or anything like that. If you do, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to rethink this relationship thing.”

I giggle. I have never felt so good or validated in my entire life. Smiling intensely, I let my head nestle into the gentle curvature of his chest, taking in every enthusiastic beat. A few seconds slip by before I say “In that case, let me love the parts of you that you don’t like. That way, all of you can be loved and appreciated.”

“Awww…” His expression lightly rumbles through his chest and his heartbeat picks up slightly. I catch a bit of blush on his cheeks before he closes his eyes, sighing deeply. It’s a few moments before I realize that he’s drifted off, finally robbed of consciousness at last by all the travel.

Welp. Looks like I’m stuck here beneath his arm, nestled between him and the back cushions of the couch. But with his stamp of approval and my new location next to his heart, you won’t hear me complaining. In fact, you won’t hear me at all. I can’t hear his heartbeat if I’m making any sounds of my own, after all.

[gold-from-straw]

Reassembled - AT LAST!

Hey there! Remember when it was A Thing to write all the Avengers living happily together in Stark Tower? Well, I love to live in the past! In fact, anything beyond Avengers is completely ignored in this fic that’s been neglected for 9 whole months, and has finally resolved itself in my mind! I’m hoping to finish the final chapters in the next couple of weeks - and from then on, no more uploading fics unless I’ve got at least a first draft! I hope you’ll enjoy - a lot of people probably haven’t come across it before, so here’s the link to the first part, and I hope it allows you to pretend (as I regularly do) that Ultron, Civil War, and Infinity War never happen ;) For those who do know this fic, here’s the chapter below, or on AO3!

Natasha poured her second cup of coffee and added a shot of hazelnut to it before leaning back against the counter, wrapping her fingers around the porcelain. It had been a quiet week. They’d even managed to catch up on their paperwork, and Steve was talking about taking some time to travel around the country on his vintage bike.

The door hushed open and Tony walked in wearing plaid pyjama bottoms and an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Natasha smirked at his bed head. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Hey,” he yawned, and poked the coffee machine.

Natasha watched him smile at the black liquid, then smile at the sugar bowl, and at the pot of blueberry yoghurt he pulled out of the fridge. “Ha!” she said, and poked gleefully at the hickey on his collarbone. “You guys had sex.”

Tony blushed. Tony freaking Stark’s Italian complexion went tomato red to the roots of his hair and Natasha almost squealed, it was the cutest damn thing. “What?” he stuttered. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing though!”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god, Tony, you absolutely are.” She nudged him. “I’m happy for you, that’s all. So you got your shit together and talked, huh?”

He snorted. “Oh, we already did that ages ago. But... we’ve been taking it slow, you know. It’s not like... there’s no rush. I would have been fine with...” He trailed off, and she hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get redder but he did, ducking his head to drink his coffee.

“You’re so gone for him, aren’t you?”

He bit his lip. Natasha couldn’t bear it, she pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug. “That’s so fucking adorable, Tony.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“I’m not kidding. You guys deserve to be happy.” She let him go and sipped her coffee again. “So... do you love him?”

His breath rushed out of him, and she could read the truth from the little smile he was trying to hide under his beard. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Uh...”

“You do,” she said, her voice much softer. “You’re allowed to, you know.”

He looked up at her, all that vulnerability he usually hid under sarcasm and a smart mouth suddenly bare for her, and she felt a weight of responsibility settle warm in her chest. It was her job to winkle this sort of stuff out of the most powerful men in the world, and Tony had been no exception. For him now to offer it up to her... she knew what a huge gesture of trust this was. She squeezed his arm. “I’m so happy for you. Have you told him?”

The red flared across his cheekbones again and he nodded down into his coffee. “A few days ago. She... she said it back too.” His shoulders were rounded, and when he looked up at her she saw the fear that mixed with the happiness. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly.  Fear he didn’t deserve it, fear he wasn’t good enough, fear that it would end. When Tony let himself love someone, it was a forever thing. She could tell he still adored Pepper, and he’d worshiped Rhodes consistently since his teenage years. Natasha got the impression that Loki was exactly the same.

The door slipped open again, and Loki himself joined them. Natasha watched Tony’s expression soften just to look at his boyfriend, how he leaned slightly towards him like a plant when he brushed his fingers up Tony’s arm and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, Natasha.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply. The sky suddenly darkened, and the tower trembled under the force of something, a great rumbling sound vibrating through their feet. “Woah, what the hell’s going on, JARV?” Tony yelled.

“We seem to have an anomalous atmospheric disturbance directly above the tower, sir,” JARVIS replied, voice raised but unflappable. “The data I’m collecting doesn’t match... ah, excuse me, no. There have been incidences before, in New Mexico.”

“The Bifrost.” Loki’s voice was soft, almost trembling. Natasha’s gaze snapped to him, narrowed. He would usually have shifted into his armour at the first sign of trouble, but now he stood, his eyes unfocused, still in his soft sleep clothes. As she watched, he took a deep breath and looked up at her, hiding his haunted expression under a cold mask, and shifted into an elaborate green and black armour, one she hadn’t seen before.

Feet thundered up the stairs, and Thor and Steve burst into the room, closely followed by the others. “Loki!” Thor shouted. His eyes were terrified, and he stopped short to see his brother dressed like that. “No, Loki, you cannot - we must flee. Steve has offered to stall them, we must go, now.”

“I will not—“

“No, Lokes, if they’re coming for you, go. We’ll be able to stop them here long enough for you guys to get to safety.”

“I will not leave you,” he said, turning a furious gaze on Tony. “I will never leave you, Tony, you cannot believe I would.”

“I need you to!” Tony said, gripping him above the elbows. “I need you to be safe, you hear?”

“And do I not need the same thing? I will not have you fight without me there to protect you.”

“Shit, let’s all run,” Clint said, running his hands through his hair. “I mean, if Norse Gods are planning on running, I’m up for the good old strategic retreat.”

“No,” said Loki, straightening his back and looking around at all of them. “To run is to be pursued, and that brings even more danger to your door. It would also leave your world less protected, and none of us will allow that. No.” He looked to Thor. “Brother, we stand.”

Thor clasped Loki’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut. “Aye, Brother. Then we stand together. To the roof.”

***

The team marched to the roof as the storm reached its peak, striking the tower and testing its foundations. Tony grumbled into his faceplate as the suit formed around him.

When the doors opened onto the helipad, Natasha kept her face perfectly controlled, only allowing the micro expressions she wanted to project to cross her lips and the skin around her eyes. A great circle of runes was burned into the concrete, matching the ones she’d seen from the files on the New Mexico event. In the centre of the runes stood a group of guards - some of whom she also recognised from the files - and a silver-haired man with an eyepatch and a great golden spear.

“Thor,” he said, and his voice, while not raised, carried clearly across the helipad. The authority in it almost physically bent her knees. She softened them to absorb the pressure, and stopped beside Clint in an at-ease stance.

Steve walked forward to meet him. “King Odin, I presume?”

Odin glanced at him with the most genteel of sneers, and looked straight past him. “Thor, my son, what is the meaning of this? You had orders to return with your brother and the Tesseract to Asgard as soon as the skirmish had ended, and yet we find you dallying with the mortals?”

“Father, we could not use the tesseract,” said Thor, and Natasha could almost see the sweat dripping off his temples. He was the world’s worst liar, but right now it looked like he was the only one with any chance. “The mortals, and the organisation SHIELD have need of it.”

Odin scoffed. “A goat has no need of a grimoire. Your time here has clearly softened you. Perhaps banishment to Muspelheim would have been a better choice in the first place.”

“Your dad’s charming,” said Tony, loudly enough for the Asgardians to hear. “I’ll cancel the tea party, don’t suppose he’d want to be entertained by goats.”

Thor looked embarrassed, glancing around at the other Avengers. “Father, the mortals have come so far since we commonly travelled to Midgard. Will you not meet with their leaders?”

“I have no interest in discussions, Thor,” he snapped. “I have come to bring the war criminal Loki to justice now that the Bifrost has been returned to its full function. Or do you wish to see him pardoned of all his crimes just because he was your playmate as a child?”

Thor’s jaw dropped. “He was no mere playmate,” he said, incredulous. “He is my brother, and always has been.”

“He is the child of a monster!” Odin roared. “Had I not taken him, he would have died, frozen on a rock. And he chooses to repay me by embarrassing Asgard in every way?” He shook his head. “It is enough. Time to end this foolish charade. It was an experiment that has failed, and must be put to rest.”

Natasha spared a quick glance for Loki, whose fingers were trembling, almost imperceptibly. He still stood as a statue, staring at his father impassively. He’d be fine, she thought, glancing at the others. It was the others who might be a problem, leaping to his defence when he could easily compartmentalise if left alone.

“Hey, if you don’t want the experiment, we’ll keep him,” Tony said, mock casually. “One man’s trash is another’s treasure and all.” Natasha suppressed a twitch of a smile. At least Tony was dealing with it better than could be expected.

Odin actually turned to look at him. “You would like to ‘keep him’, mortal? Like a pet?” He snorted and glanced at Loki. “An intractable, oversensitive cat. Perhaps that would be appropriate, but he has crimes for which to answer.”

“What crimes he committed on Earth have been officially pardoned, your highness,” said Phil, consulting his StarkPad. Natasha knew he would have Fury on speakerphone, silent but preparing for everything in real time. “We appreciate you sending Thor to assist us, we couldn’t have broken the mind control without him, and we wouldn’t have been able to stop the invasion without Loki and Thor’s help.”

“And reparations have been made to Jotunheim - Loki has been pardoned by the new king himself,” Thor added quickly.

“Crimes against Midgard and Jotunheim are nothing but crimes against a herd of beasts. I refer to those committed when he occupied the throne of Asgard. Attempted fratricide, murder, destruction of the Bifrost and treason.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” yelled Darcy from the back of the group, and Natasha almost groaned. She had less subtlety than even Tony, and wasn’t surrounded by a gold titanium alloy when baiting space gods. “Isn’t Asgard, like, an absolute monarchy? And when Loki did all those things, he was the rightful king, wasn’t he - so everything he did was within the law? Not that that’s a great system, man, I mean talk about being open to abuse.”

Odin smiled at Loki, and that was more terrifying than all his sneering and insults. “Ah, but you knew differently, did you not, boy? A Frost Giant can never sit on the throne of Asgard.” Loki’s face paled, his fingers spasming into fists, and Natasha tensed her muscles, ready to leap into action. “You are not the son of Odin. Therefore your ascension to the throne was unlawful.”

“And what of matrilineal inheritance?”

The Avengers and Asgardians all turned as one to the new voice. Even the Asgardian guards startled to see the woman in a golden dress who’d materialised among them, brushing an elegant cowl back from her hair.  “Mother!” cried Thor. She smiled at him, but turned her sharp gaze to Odin.

“What are you doing here, Frigga?” he asked, and Natasha made a mental note of how he reined his authority in to speak to her. This woman had a lot of power.

“I have come to ensure my son receives justice,” she said, and walked straight to Loki, stopping and turning in front of him as if she was planning on shielding him with her own body.

“He is no more your son than mine,” Odin scoffed. “I took him from the battlefield and—“

“And I took him into my heart,” she said coldly. “As an adoptive parent is wont to do.”

“That means nothing to the ascension of the throne. Loki took Gungnir unlawfully and used the power to commit unforgivable crimes upon our family and reputation.”

"There was nothing unlawful about it, husband,” she said with a pleasant smile. “An adoption by blood and magic is as tight a bond as that of birth.”

Odin froze almost imperceptibly for a second. He narrowed his eyes at her. “The adoption was never formalised.”

“Perhaps not by you.”

There was silence, broken only by the distant sounds of New York, and the whistling of the wind around them. Natasha didn’t even dare to move to shift a strand of hair out of her face.

“What have you done, Frigga?”

“What needed to be done,” she said just as softly. “For many years I tried to deny the evidence of my own eyes, hoping that you would love Loki just as dearly as I did. But when it became clear that not only did you have no true feeling for him, but that you never intended on finalising his lineage, I knew I would have to do so myself. Loki was indeed third in line to the throne, but only on his mother’s side. All that he did as king of Asgard was lawful, for he was, at the time, the law.”

The silence fell once more, and Natasha shifted this time, concerned at the pure fury pouring off Odin in waves. Frigga held her hand out to Tony. “Anthony Stark, would you grant us the use of a room so that my husband and I may discuss the politics of this situation? Your hospitality has been much appreciated thus far, and the continuation will be considered a great favour to me.”

“Uh… sure… your majesty? If you’d all come this way?” Natasha had never heard Tony sound so flustered, but then, meeting the parents this way wasn’t exactly ideal. Frigga inclined her head to him and turned her back on Odin, walking into the tower with her head held high. Odin, with just a flicker of tension around his good eye and a slight tightening of his fist on the spear, followed.

“You,” he said to four of the guards. “Remain with the mortals, the prince, and the accused. The rest of you, with me.”

Natasha caught Steve’s eye, returning his slight eyebrow raise. This was going to be interesting.

[bobby-singers-library]

A Whirlwind Romance Chapter 5

A/N Read the other chapters here; chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Bobby stared at Jo with his eyes narrowed, “You...YOU want time off? You've never asked for a day off in your life.” he groused at her.

“Yeah well, now my boyfriend wants to whisk me away to London for the weekend, soooo I need a couple days off.” Jo raised her eyebrows at him, “If it makes it any easier we were thinking about bringing you home a couple of books?” she weedled while giving him a big smile.

He gave her a considering look, “I'll send Crowley a list of the books I'm looking for. Are you going to tell your mama that you're fleeing the country?” he grumbled.

Jo puckered her lips and glared at him, “I'm not fleeing, we'll be back on Sunday. I could send her an email from the plane? Would that count?”

“Yeah, if you're a chicken shit.” he glared back at her, “You know if you don't tell her, I'm gonna be the one who gets hell? She thinks we are in cahoots, she informed me that I wasn't your father and that I shouldn't know more about your life then she does. It was not a comfortable conversation, luckily Bill took the phone from her before she could really get going, but it was enough, believe me.” He gave her a tired look.

“Ah fuck Bobby, I'm so sorry. When we get back I'll just bring him for family dinner and end this. At least that way she will yell at us and leave you alone. I really don't understand what's going on with her lately.” Jo said in a contrite voice. She couldn't believe her mother was talking to Bobby this way, they had been friends since before her parents had been married.

“You don't understand? She thinks she's loosing you Joanna. She is panicked and lashing out, I don't think she knows what else to do. I tried to tell her that her own attitude is a big part of the problem but you can imagine where she told me stuff my opinions.” he pulled off his hat and ran a hand over his head before cramming the dirty thing back on his head, “She keeps saying 'this Crowley person' is leading you astray. I tried to tell her that wasn't true either, but you know Ellen.”

“Crap. This is just great. I just wanted us to be a couple for awhile and get to know each other without the rest of my family butting in.” Jo sighed. “Was that really so selfish?” she asked him with a sad look.

“No, I don't think it was. You've had bad luck with introducing people to this crazy ass family of ours, but I think Crowley can handle it. He seems like enough of an asshole to fit in perfectly. I bet  Dean's gonna hate him though. You know how he is.”

Jo snorted out a laugh, “Yeah, he's gonna think Crowley's talking down to him.” She rolled her eyes.

“My thoughts exactly. Look, just tell Ellen where you're going, and tell her you're gonna bring him for dinner the next week. I wouldn't tell her until you are about ready to go though, as soon as she finds out you are leaving the country she will try and stop you.” He threw her a wink.

Jo threw back her head and laughed, “You bet your ass she would try and stop me. Why do you think I haven't got to use my passport yet? She doesn't want me to fly. She's sure the plane'll crash.” Jo shook her head, Ellen was the pentacle of the worrying mother.

Bobby patted her shoulder, “You go and have a great time, Jo Jo. But don't forget my books.” He walked out of her office and headed back to the garage.

Jo laughed to herself and sat down at her desk. She had a lot of work to do if she was taking Thursday and Friday off. She shot Crowley a text letting him know she got time off and to expect a book list from Bobby.

The week went by super fast and very slow at the same time. Jo packed her bag at least three different times. Before she knew it, it was Thursday morning. She and Crowley were in his car and heading towards the airport, Jo had her phone out trying to psych herself up to call her mom. Crowley had one hand on her knee as he drove, but didn't comment. He knew it was a tough situation for her.

She finally just hit the button to call her mom and put the phone to her ear, Ellen answered on the second ring, “Well, this is a surprise. You haven't called me in weeks Joanna Beth.” said Ellen as a greeting.

“Hey mom, yeah well, things have been kinda strained, haven't they? I didn't think you would want to hear what I had to say. But I needed to talk to you, I certainly didn't want you yelling at poor Bobby again when he knows something you don't.”

“He shouldn't know anything before I do Joanna. It's not his place, if you would just talk to me instead of everyone else.”

“Mom, that's not what's going on and you know it. He's my boss, and he's Crowley's friend as well. And you would know plenty if I didn't feel like you were going to be confrontational every time I did try to share something with you.”

“I just don't understand why everything has to be so secretive with you. I'm assuming you have something to say to me if you actually took time to call me.” Ellen sighed.

“Yeah, I do. I am currently on my way to the airport, Crowley and I are heading to London so I can meet his family.” Jo waited for her mothers reaction, but there was silence on the other end of the phone, she pulled the phone away from her face to make sure it hadn't disconnected. It wasn't so she brought it back to her face. “Mom? Are you still there?”

Jo jerked the phone away from her face when her Mom started screaming on the other end. Crowley shot her an alarmed look at the sounds coming out of the phone. “MOM, mom! Oh my god, calm down! Just listen!” Jo waited for Ellen to quiet down, “It's only for three days mom, and next weekend I'll bring Crowley over to family dinner so all of you can meet him.”

Ellen was silent for a few more seconds, “Joanna, you bring him this weekend, I don't want you getting on a plane. It's dangerous.” Ellen said in a stern voice.

“Sorry mom, we are already at the airport. I'm going. I love you, and I'll see you next week.”

“Joann Beth Harvelle you better not hang up, we are not done.”

“Bye Mom.” Jo hung up the phone even though she could hear her mom cussing.

“Well that was stressful and I wasn't even on the phone,” remarked Crowley as he parked the car.

“Yeah, no shit.” Jo's phone started buzzing, it was her Mom calling back. Jo turned her phone off, and looked at Crowley, “Lets go, Crowley.” Jo grabbed her duffle bag out of the back seat while Crowley got his fancy roller suitcase out of the trunk.

The flight to England was pretty uneventful, they had a short layover in New York to change over to a bigger jet. At first Jo was surprised to find out they were flying first class, then she realized it had probably never occurred to Crowley to fly any other way. By the time they made it to England it was 1 AM the next morning. There was a chauffeured Rolls-Royce waiting for them at the airport, Jo was so tired she barely noticed the drive to the more rural outskirts of the city as she was mostly asleep on Crowley's shoulder. When they pulled up to the ivy covered front entrance Crowley shook her awake. His father was waiting at the door with a smile. Crowley was surprised, he assumed that everyone would be asleep.

Crowley helped Jo from the car while the chauffeur pulled their bags out of the trunk. Crowley had his arm around Jo's waist as she looked around bleary eyed. “Father, you didn't have to wait up.” Crowley smiled at the older man.

“It was no trouble, I had a conference call out of country so I was going to be up late anyway.” he clapped Crowley on the shoulder, “Now, who is this lovely young lady?” He extended his hand towards Jo.

Jo reached out to shake his hand while Crowley introduced them, “Father, this is Joanna Beth Harvelle. Jo this is my father, Roderick Crowley.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” smiled Jo.

“And you as well, my dear. Welcome to Park Hall Manor. You look exhausted, Crowley take her to bed. I made sure your room was aired out today and ready for your stay.”

“Thank you Father, just have someone leave our bags outside my door would you?” replied Crowley as he started to lead Jo into the house.

“Of course, son.” Roderick waved them away with a smile.

Crowley led Jo up the center staircase then took a left towards the family wing of the house.

“This place is fucking huge.” Jo muttered to him sleepily.

Crowley chucked, “It's not as big as some.”

Jo snorted. This was the biggest house she had ever been in. Crowley led them into a large bedroom, unlike the penthouse in Nebraska, this room was definitely Crowley's, there were swords mounted to the walls, as well as family pictures. Jo wanted to look around more but the bed looked so good. She pulled away from Crowley and flopped face first onto it. She could hear Crowley laugh at her but ignored it.

Crowley sighed and started pulling off her boots. She grumbled but turned over to watch him. He dumped the boots on the floor, then started on the rest of her clothes, when she was down to her panties she tried to crawl under the covers but Crowley made her put on one of his shirts first.

“Why?” she grumbled some more.

“You'll be thankful to have something on when my son runs in here to get in bed with us in the morning.” he laughed. Jo sighed and buttoned the shirt on before promptly pulling the covers over her head and closing her eyes. Crowley just shook his head, put on some pajama bottoms, and joined her in bed. She murmured happily when he pulled her close, her head resting on his chest. They were asleep in minutes.

A/N Here is a picture of Park Hall (Manor) It is a real place in England, I borrowed if for Crowley :) ALSO you can read this story on my AO3 http://archiveofourown.org/series/830193

[watermarginhk-blog]

Thriving in The Orient

FICTION

Ever since their fall from grace into middle class, Mum’s temper had quickened and the tallies marking her lips had grown to outnumber the ones around her eyes. Wilhelmina had suggested some creams, but Mum was in denial.

“Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to Hong Kong,” says a man with a funny accent. “It is a safety requirement that you remain seated yada yada yada. Yada yada yada, on behalf of Captain Darryl and my team, thank you for flying Cathay Pacific and enjoy your stay in Hong Kong. Goodbye!”

Wilhelmina, or Willa as her friends back in Grimsby call her, has butterflies. As in she has literally hidden a jar of dead butterflies, cleverly wrapped in a scarf, in her bag. What if they stop her at customs?

She’ll probably breeze through. They eat turtles and frogs here for crying out loud.

Plus, she is wearing her rose quartz choker. Willa chants a long ooommmmm in her head and shivers as it reverberates through every chakra of her body. She smiles and bows to the flight attendant, who smiles back at her wearily. It had been a long flight.

* * *

Two months into her new position teaching English at a Youth College for disadvantaged youths in the New Territories and Willa is ready to hop on a plane to Bali. Or Laos. Or Vietnam. She has been dreaming of Angkor Wat since her best mate back home Constance Jane returned from her Asia trip eyes wide skin red and peeling like an apple under hot water. She’d told Willa about a tiger-breeding monk who had taken her under his wing for a day and opened her third eye during a short ceremony she couldn’t clearly recall.

The week after, Willa’s ex-boyfriend Colin, who graduated the year before with a 2:2 in English Literature, same as Willa, got back from his teaching job slash gap year in Hong Kong.

When he asked her out for coffee, she knew it was an omen. A symbol from the Creator that she should explore her options in Asia. Career-wise. The guys there were a bit on the short side for her liking, but her good friend Laura had written in her weekly newsletter that her Chinese boyfriend worshipped her like some kind of goddess, and especially loved her hair, which was blonde. She’d made a pact with herself after she and Colin’s mutual break up over Skype, anyway.

Willa thinks about asking Margaux, one of the other female NET teachers, about travelling together at the next Bank Holiday weekend. Margaux is French and has Rosemary’s Baby hair. At lunchtime, Willa goes downstairs to ask the quiet receptionist girl, whose name is either Vicky, Kathy or Fanny, where Margaux’s classroom is.

“Upstairs the second floor, Room 15,” says Vicky or Kathy or Fanny. “Thanks,” says Willa, and dutifully inclines her head.

“Margieee hiyaaaa!!! Want to grab a dim sum after work?” she asks, swinging from the doorway, a bit like Pocahontas from a tree.

Margaux whirls around. She’s wearing fluorescent orange eyeshadow today.

“Mais yes, sounds délicieux—but s’il vous plait never call me with that name again uh?” she rasps with a sophisticated wrinkle of the nose.

Willa’s cheeks itch and Margaux turns back to her monitor.

She was only trying to be friendly.

“Brilliant!!! Meet you there at six, Margaux!!!” she warbles and turning to leave, almost trips over a small child. Quiet as ghosts, these children. Like their parents are training them up as ninjas or something. Even more disturbing is when there’s thirty of them staring vacantly at the whiteboard after being asked a seemingly obvious question, like how to conjugate a verb to match plural nouns.

She is dreading next class. Maybe, if she’s lucky, the ring leader will have caught that nasty stomach bug that’s been going around. Maybe the back row girl gang won’t threaten her life today.

She had taken this job at the Youth College, despite it being farther out, because four days into her initial job at St. Margaret Teresa Catherine’s Royal Kindergarten, she'd realised she hated young children, actually, because they were annoying little cunts who snotted everywhere and never listened no matter how many times she shouted for them to sit down.

The older the better, she had mistakenly thought, but it seems Asian kids only have two settings. Dead loud or dead silent.

As soon as her last student fucks off out the door, Willa packs her bag, checks her lipstick and virtually flees the school. Today is one of those days she questions her very impulsive decision to move thousands of miles away from the comforts of home to a foreign country where barely anyone knows any English. Did these people learn nothing from the Brits?

* * *

There’s no queue outside Dim Sum Palace, which is not its real name, but it sounds good on her blog and the name stuck. It’s usually quiet at this time, which is confusing, because don’t Chinese people eat dinner too? She approaches the pinch-faced hostess and holds up two fingers. Leng gow, she mouths, meaning two people in Chinese. The hostess looks bemused and smiles at her as a mama bear would smile at a sweet little rabbit in the woods.

Twenty-two minutes late, Margaux shows up with Nina. And Marty. Of course.

Margaux undulates into one of the chairs at the next table, Nina and Marty either side of her. Seeing the p-d off look on Willa’s face, Margaux grins.

“Willa cherie don’t look so angry uh? The more the merrier non?”

She crooks her finger and Willa comes to sit.

They order the usual ha gow (shrimp dumplings), sew moy (pork dumplings), cha sow bow (roast pork buns), low pak gow (fried turnip cake). Marty insists on steamed chickens feet because he wants to “expand his horizons.”

“Your wife not doing it for you lately?” Willa asks.

“Well as you know Willa my wife just gave birth hey and look I hope this won’t put off your appetite guys but as you know guys I don’t do well with all this lady stuff right and when I come back in the room after her you know Scisserion right you know where they snip the belly open right because what with me being a Westerner and all the baby would’ve got stuck or something so they handed me the baby and I said guys I said no right I mean come on that thing came out of my wife’s……like it was covered in blood and piss and shit before they wiped it I mean what were they expecting me to do here right?”

Nina frowns at her tea.

“But Marty you are le papa de bébé non? Why don’t you want to ‘old ‘er?” Margaux asks.

Before he can spring to self-defend, steaming baskets of pungent dim sum appear on the lazy susan. Everyone deploys their chopsticks as best they can and the wait staff try not to laugh.

* * *

An hour later, Willa is home and scanning the fridge. She’s still hungry from dinner because actually, she finds Chinese food abhorrently bad, and Marty’s story about his wife’s placenta or whatever really did put her off her appetite. But she wants point 28 on her “Things You Should Know About China Before You Move” list to sound authentic. Readers can intuit lies, so she always does the things she writes about so she can’t be called out.

She settles on the Quinoa Egg and Baby Spinach Protein Boost Pot she bought from M&S last week. Definitely worth the $30 it cost for the thirty minute cab ride home.

“Willababes is that you? Could you grab a beer for me while you’re at it please?” shouts Colin from the living room.

Willa reaches for the last Kronenbourg. Behind it is a small velvet box. The kind they keep rings in. She drops the can and it explodes across the kitchen.

“Nevermind that, love. We’ll get the cleaner to mop it up tomorrow,” says Colin from behind her.

He’s down on one knee.

Willa squeals and throws herself onto him, knocking him over onto the wet floor. They lie kissing in the beer puddle until the doorbell chimes off-key Für Elise.

“Don’t you want to get that, babes?” asks Colin, nuzzling the bindi on her forehead.

Willa can hear giggling behind the door. She gets up to answer it, thankful that the Chinese prefer tiles to carpet.

“CONGRATULATIONS MRS COLLINSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Constance Jane, Mum, Laura, Margaux, Nina and Marty are grinning ear to ear, waving streamers and blowing party horns.

Willa pulls out her phone and snaps a picture for her blog.

[americanmyths-blog]

The American Dream and America’s Youth; How “The Bell Jar” and “On the Road” critiqued 1950′s America

Mary Hughes

Dr. Rothenbeck

English 2270

26 April 2017

                                The American Dream and America’s Youth

          1950’s America offered an image of The American Dream that was unauthentic. Women were homemakers and men were breadwinners in this idealistic scenario. Human nature allows men and women to vary and to desire different things; the Dream suddenly becomes the Myth in the face of America’s youth that rebels against it. The American Dream looms overhead as a reminder of what is expected but unachievable. Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar depicts a young woman who rejects the path that has been chosen for her and is overcome with the anxiety that follows. Jack Kerouac’s On the Road shows a young man dissatisfied with his own pre-determined fate and struggles to find a meaning to life. These two novels collectively show how America’s youth reacted to the idea of The American Dream and how gender and mental illness shaped each character’s path. 

          The American Dream was largely about individual’s roles in society. Men worked corporate jobs and were considered superior by nature. Women were culinary experts, energetic hostesses, doting mothers, and dutiful wives. Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar showcases the life of 19-year-old Esther Greenwood and how she fits into this dynamic. Esther comes from well-groomed stock and her mother has tried to enforce a The Stepford Wives lifestyle on her daughter. Esther says, “in spite of the Girl Scouts and the piano lessons and the water-color lessons and the dancing lessons and the sailing camp, all of which my mother scrimped to give me, and college, with crewing in the mist before breakfast and blackbottom pies and the little new firecrackers of ideas going off every day--I had never been really happy” (Plath 77). This description offers an image of an American specific childhood that many adults of the time would have considered nostalgic. As a child, Esther was given a specific role to play in society – a role that even then, she did not want to play. 

          In the novel The Bell Jar, Esther has landed an internship with a fashion magazine and spends her days in New York City, attending luncheons and receiving monogrammed compact mirrors. Esther is clearly unlike the women she is surrounded by. Esther describes the women that she works and lives with as, “mostly girls my age with wealthy parents… and were secretaries to executives and junior executives and simply hanging around in New York waiting to get married to some career man” (Plath 15). Esther doesn’t relate with these women and doesn’t take many of them seriously. Being surrounded by these women, Esther’s anxiety and depression fester. With no way to properly express herself mentally, sexually, or physically, she feels confined by society. This confinement ultimately leads to her mental breakdown, overwhelmed by the pressure put on her to conform to The American Dream. 

          Jack Kerouac’s novel On the Road details the life – and the determined avoidance of living a life – of Sal Paradise. Sal is dissatisfied with The American Dream and he also rejects it. Sal’s rejection sparks the idea to see a different side of America – the landscape. He packs up his belongings and heads out by car to see what he feels the country truly has to offer him. The American Dream and the people that come with it sound boring to Sal. He doesn’t want to surround himself with businessmen and plastic women, he wants to experience all the different possibilities that life offers and the people that are out there. Early in the novel, Sal declares, “… the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles” (Kerouac 5). Sal’s main characteristic is his desire for authenticity; experiencing things just to experience them and even the bad experiences aren’t all too bad because of the memories they make. His rejection of society can be interpreted as Sal seeing The American Dream as inauthentic, and being on the road makes for a more authentic life experience. 

          Kerouac’s Sal Paradise begins to form his own idea of what The American Dream is. To Sal, it’s finding an America untouched, or unaffected, by modern society; an America of “the good old days”. While in LA, Sal is delighted by the free-spirited and seemingly unjudging folk he finds there. “I wanted to meet them all, talk to everybody,” Sal says on page 55. While still feeling dissatisfied with America’s societal standards, Sal can hold onto the hope of finding the substance or the meaning that he is searching for from town to town. 

          Sylvia Plath’s Esther Greenwood, in turn, feels as though she is suffocating under the pressure that she receives from around her to conform and buckle down under the rules set by The American Dream. She feels like the magazine she is working for is unauthentic and selling an idea to young women across the country that is unrealistic. Ladies’ Day magazine preaches values such as; hard work, healthy grooming, and virginity until marriage. Esther seems less than impressed with these ideas, but still finds herself at odds with her desire to be a published writer and her disgust for the beauty industry. Esther obsesses over a cosmetic kit that had been gifted to her at a luncheon, and reveals, “I got such a kick out of all those free gifts showering on to us” (Plath 3). She acknowledges that the beauty industry is shallow, but, as Garry M. Leonard points out, Esther “participates in this process of commodification because it is such a relief to masquerade as a thing (a “feminine woman”) instead of enduring the painful ambivalence of un-commodified subjectivity”. Leonard goes on to say that Esther’s attachment to the giveaways she receives, such as the cosmetic kit and sunglasses that she keeps into her adulthood, represents her “ambivalent yearning” to conform to a standard of femininity, “even though she recognizes that to do so trivializes her status as a person”. To Esther, this idea of American Femininity goes in hand with The American Dream, and both threaten to strip away the authenticity of Esther’s being. 

         Both Kerouac and Plath’s novels follow rebellious American youths, but each character’s path is characterized and shaped by the gender roles indoctrinated in 1950’s American culture. These gender roles were a crucial part of The American Dream that allowed it to pigeon-hole women as caretakers. Plath critiqued this aspect of society through her theme of femininity in her novel. Esther hears snippets of misogyny from all around her throughout the novel, most regarding sexual purity or a woman’s place in society. “All I’d heard about,” Esther laments, “was how fine and clean Buddy was and how he was the kind of person a girl should stay fine and clean for” (Plath 35) but she later learns that Fine And Clean Buddy had slept with a waitress on Cape Cod; Esther was supposed to stay fine and clean regardless. Esther’s boyfriend Buddy recalls how his mother told him, “What a man is, is an arrow into the future and what a woman is, is the place the arrow shoots off from” (Plath 37). On page 43, Esther flatly says, “The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from”. Esther’s rejection of gender roles can be interpreted as Plath herself critiquing The American Dream. 

          In the novel, Plath uses a metaphor of being trapped in a bell jar. Garry M. Leonard suggests that “being encased in glass brings to mind the plate-glass windows of department stores, where “women” (mannequins) strike a “feminine” pose with such perfection that only a dead woman could hope to rival it.” Plath argues that The American Dream and society’s eagerness to obtain it has detrimental effects on women who are exposed to unrealistic ideas of beauty. Plath also highlights the hypocrisy in The Dream’s emphasis on purity. Esther reads an article that her mother cuts out of Reader’s Digest that gives all the reasons that a girl should save herself for marriage. Esther says that the article’s point was that “a man’s emotions are different from a woman’s emotions and only marriage can bring the two worlds together” and “the best men wanted to be pure for their wives, and even if they weren’t pure, they wanted to be the ones to teach their wives about sex” (Plath 41). Esther, and by extension Plath, point out the ridiculous guidelines that The American Dream sets and how they differ from gender to gender. 

         On the Road’s use of gender as a theme highlights the differences between men and women in 1950’s America. Sal Paradise is a young white man so everywhere he goes on his adventures is a place that’s safe for him to be. Sal doesn’t feel the gender-specific pressure that Esther feels in The Bell Jar. Sal isn’t afraid of losing his identity in his relationships and pursues them actively. He falls in love with every woman he sees but it’s not the physical pleasure that Sal seems to desire, it’s the emotional connection that offers him the authenticity he seeks. “I wanted to go and get Rita again… and really make love to her this time. Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex… without proper preliminary talk” (Kerouac 36) Sal writes, though he most likely won’t ever see Rita after they embark for the next adventure. Sal seems to use sex as a means of escaping The American Dream’s looming pressure. 

          Scholar Mary Paniccia Carden points out that while Sal is fleeing The American Dream, he’s still living by its gender rules. Carden says, “[Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarity] intimately link freedom of movement to masculine independence and integrity”. She goes on to say, “while many commentators have celebrated Kerouac’s connection to “the American Adam”, they do not explore the ways in which such nostalgia glorifies performances of masculinity based in an uncomplicated opposition to and exploitation of feminized spaces, resources, and subjects”. On page three, Sal asks his companion Dean, “And where’s Marylou?” to which Dean responds that, “she’d apparently whored a few dollars together and gone back to Denver – the whore!” Sal Paradise means to reject The American Dream and society altogether, but fails to realize that his treatment of women throughout the novel shows that he’s still conforming. 

          Esther is also yearning for the same authenticity that Kerouac’s Sal is, but seemingly on a deeper level. On page 2, Esther describes her life, “I just bumped from my hotel to work and to parties and from parties to my hotel and back to work like a numb trolleybus… I couldn’t get myself to react”. The mental stability of Esther Greenwood begins to deteriorate. Plath shows just how much pressure America’s youth was under by the gender and societal roles that they were bullied into following. Plath describes Esther’s crippling anxiety with a metaphor involving a fig tree and the ripening fruit. “One fig was a husband and a happy home and children,” Esther says, “and another fig was a famous poet… I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind… as I sat there… the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet” (Plath 39). Plath invokes the imagery of the rotting fruit to expound on the fear Esther has of being forced to pick between The American Dream and living a more authentic life. 

         When Esther Greenwood eventually gets medical treatment for her depression and anxiety, she finds that even in the sanctuary of a physician’s office she can’t escape conformity. She recalls, “I made out men and women, and boys and girls who must be as a young as I, but there was a uniformity to their faces, as if they had lain for a long time on a shelf, out of the sunlight, under siftings of pale, fine dust” (Plath 73). Esther receives electroshock therapy designed to help her illness, but it doesn’t offer her any relief. Rather, it seems to strip her of her consciousness; “I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently” (Plath 76). Plath points out that there is no escaping the pressure society puts on people to adhere to its guidelines and that The American Dream is virtually inescapable. 

           Jack Kerouac’s On the Road shows a different side of mental illness. Through Sal Paradise’s constant avoidance of societal conformity, the reader is introduced to dissatisfaction as a theme in the novel. Sal believes that the only way to rebel against The American Dream is to live a life of absolute spontaneity, but he finds that maybe he’s not cut out for it. On the road, Sal finds himself losing his sense of identity instead of finding, describing an instance where he “woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the distinct time in my life… when I didn’t know who I was... I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost” (Kerouac 10). Like The Bell Jar’s Esther Greenwood, Sal Paradise is also a struggling artist and he finds that life on the road isn’t necessarily conducive for writing. Where he once thought life on the road would offer the perfect authentic life experience, Sal finds himself anxious and dissatisfied with constantly trying to outrun The American Dream. 

          Throughout the novel, the reader sees Sal Paradise and a group of vagabonds trying to outrun a society they find undesirable. Once they’ve reached one destination, Sal finds himself dreaming of the next stop. When he finds himself on the outskirts of Denver, Sal notes that “all I could say was, ‘Well, what the hell are we doing in Denver?” (Kerouac 28) There is a consistent thought that the next stop will offer Sal the solace he seeks. “Suddenly,” Sal says, “we came down the mountain and overlooked the great sea-plain of Denver… I was itching to get on to San Francisco” (Kerouac 36) further illustrating Kerouac’s point that Sal was running from place to place and only finding release in the travel to and from. Sal Paradise’s need to escape The American Dream only increases the pressure that he feels to find his meaning in life. 

          Jack Kerouac and Sylvia Plath both use their respective novels to critique The American Dream and to point out the debilitating side effects that it produced. Both Sal and Esther reject their pre-determined destinies and rebel in their own ways. Each character is affected by mental illness that could stem directly from the pressure pressed upon them by an unobtainable idealized version of America. Sylvia Plath uses her novel to critique gender roles of the 1950’s and to show how they damaged the psyche of the American woman. Kerouac’s On the Road shows the flip side of 50’s gender roles in the free-spirited lifestyle of his character Sal Paradise. Kerouac and Plath use their novels as vessels to point out the detrimental effects of The American Dream and how mental illness and gender roles added to the pressure inflicted on America’s youth.  

Work’s Cited

Leonard, Garry M. ""The Woman Is Perfected. Her Dead Body Wears the Smile of Accomplishment": Sylvia Plath and "Mademoiselle" Magazine." College Literature 19.2, Cultural Studies: Theory Praxis Pedagogy (1992): 60-82. JSTOR. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. 

Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar. New York: Harper & Row, 1971. Print. 

Carden, Mary Paniccia. "What's Your Road, Man?" Project Muse. Southern Illinois University Press, 2008. Web. 29 Apr. 2017. 

Kerouac, Jack. On the Road. New York: Penguin, 1976. Print.