#i blame me reading it like a month after first watching eva while i was still processing the series for it doing such a number on me 😔

[tomaturtles]

Happy one year anniversary of me reading campus apocalypse for the first time and being so normal about it

[myhockeyworld87]

What Happens in Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 1

Word Count: 4,885

POV: Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Language, Smut, Drinking (all the good stuff)

Notes: Well here it is the new fic that’s been in my head. I tossed around a couple different guys for this, but some of you suggested Marky and well looks like it stuck. Trying to do this a little different and keep this in an all read POV, so we shall see how that works. I don’t see this being super long maybe between 5 or 6 parts. Hope you guys enjoy. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

They say that New York is the city that never sleeps but whoever 'they' is, well, they got it wrong. It has to be Vegas. Lights are always flashing whether you were indoors or out, the jangly sound of slot machines can be heard at all hours and the seven deadly sins seem to be on full display twenty-four hours a day. It's no wonder their tagline for years was 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.' If only that were true.

You wish you could blame someone else but you can't. Vegas was all your idea. As maid of honor, it fell to you to plan your best friend's bachelorette party, and in your mind, there was only one spot, Vegas. Now, you were second-guessing your choice as your head was pounding like there were a thousand drummers who decided to perform at the Super Bowl halftime show, only in your brain. There was only one thought that made it through the marching band playing in your head. What the hell happened last night?

 Maybe you should start off small, like where were you first, considering that the little drummer boy was now doing backflips in your head. You were definitely in bed, which was evident as you could feel the mattress underneath you. You could also feel the duvet comforter covering your body, but there was something else. Something a bit heavier, almost as if a weighted blanket was covering your stomach and your breast, but it wasn't that. It was an arm slung across your midsection and a very large hand cupping your one boob. God, you hoped it was still attached to a body. You should really take a peek. It would be the only decent thing to do.

 As you gradually lifted one eyelid open, the first thing you noticed was that you were not in your hotel room, as the wall looked completely different. No reason to panic, you told yourself. Everything would come back to you as soon as this god blessed pounding ceased. Peering the other eye open, you got back to business at seeing if there was a body attached to the arm currently trapping you to the bed. Carefully, you turned your head to the side to see a very large and very naked man firmly attached to the aforementioned arm. He was gorgeous as he lay there sleeping ever so peacefully. You drank in his features, kind of like you downed drink after drink last night. His brown hair had this golden hue to it that made your fingers want to reach out and touch it, though you refrained. Then there was the beard covering his face, not too much and not too little, and now that you were thinking about it; you definitely felt some of that beard burn on your thighs. If you could only remember last night. The only logical thing to do was to go back to the start of this, back to a time when you were sober.

 It started months ago when your best friend Kennedy got engaged. You honestly didn't see it coming that fast. She'd only been dating Ryan for a little less than a year, but he asked and she said yes, and when she asked you to be her maid of honor you screamed and laughed and cried, and told her you couldn't wait to plan her bachelorette party. Everyone knew the bridal shower was only for boring stuffy old aunts so that they could buy her the latest air fryer or new dish pattern. The bachelorette party was where all the fun was, and what better place to have it than Las Vegas.

 Of course, everyone agreed with you. The only wrench in the plan was that Kennedy decided to up her wedding date and make it a nine-month engagement. That barely left time to find a dress let alone plan the most outrageous bachelorette party of the century. You would've said decade but twenty-twenty was fastly approaching. Thankfully, you had connections. Night one was more sedate since you all were just arriving at the MGM hotel at different times; eleven of you in total when Ryan's sister decided to join at the last minute. You booked a private room at Lago in the Bellagio for all of you to enjoy.

 It was the second night, that was the piece de resistance. A limo picked you all up and took you over to Excalibur to see the legendary Australian group, Thunder from Down Under. I mean what was Vegas without seeing a male stripper or two. The next day, a private bungalow was waiting for you at Wet Republic in the MGM Hotel. One would've thought the night watching men strip naked would've been your undoing but apparently, it all started poolside.

 "I seriously can't believe he pulled you up on stage and proceeded to dry hump you up there," Kelsey rehashed.

 "Really, Kels?" Kennedy said downing another mimosa. "How could you not see that happening? (Y/N) has known Nate for a couple years. I mean he did get us front row tickets." This was all true. Nate, the emcee for Thunder from Down Under and you were friends, had been since your firm had done their calendar shoot two years ago. He had generously given you prime seating to the show that night and also set you up with a few other perks for the trip. "The only thing I'm surprised at, is that this one," she bumped you with her hip, spilling both hers and your mimosas. "Didn't end up going home with him last night."

 "Oh my god, Kenny you did not just say that." She may be the bride and your best friend but really, she was pushing the line.

 "Come on, it's not like it hasn't happened before."

 At least four pairs of eyes turned towards you, Ryan's sister Gretchen being one of them. "Ok, admittedly, I slept with him, once." Both Kennedy and Kelsey gave you that look. "Ok, maybe it was twice, but he has a girlfriend now, and we are just friends."

 "I'll give you that," Jade spoke up in your defense and suddenly she was going to earn the title of new best friend, not that the lines weren't blurred in your little group as you were all sort of best friends. "But what about Edward, the one with the turtle tattoo on his hip."

 "You were so looking at more than his hip." Eva teased while Jade simply hid behind her champagne glass. "But yeah (Y/N), he was totally hitting on you."

 "He was not."

 "Oh, he was," Kennedy added her two cents. "And as the bride I take offense, they should've been hitting on me."

 "Wait, why would they hit on you?" Jade sputtered. "You're taken bitch." Of course, bitch was said in the most loving way.

 "I'm not dead."

 "No, but I'm sure my brother wouldn't appreciate it." Leave it to Gretchen to be the mood killer. "I think I'm going to go take a nap. I'll meet you at the pool later."

 She headed out the door, and honestly, you were ecstatic about it, for she was too judgmental for your liking.  "Wait, Gretch, that's not what I meant."

 "Leave her go, maybe a nap would do her good." They were Jade's words but your sentiments. "Now back to why (Y/N) did not take that beautiful man up on his offer last night."

 "There was no offer," you insisted.

 "Come on (Y/N), there was an offer. There's always an offer. Remember when you were doing promo for that Batman flick." You tried to shut Kennedy up with a death glare, but she continued to prattle on. "We all know you ended up doing the nasty with Superman."

 "WHAT?!?!" Yeah, that definitely came out of the other nine people's mouths in the room.

 "Thanks, Ken. No one knew that but you."

 "Oops, my bad." She had the grace to at least be embarrassed about the whole thing.

 "You mean you slept with that guy, the British one, tall, all muscular, extremely good looking. Damn it what's his name." You could see Eva wracking her brain for his name and you just didn't want to go there.

 "Hen…"

 "Yes, him," you admitted, stopping Jade before she could finish his name. "Can we please change the subject?"

 "Why, when we are all living vicariously through you," Kelsey added. "Especially poor Kennedy, who is now committed to spending the rest of her life with one man."

 "Geez, you make it sound like a death sentence. I love Ryan and I'm perfectly fine spending the rest of my days with him."

 You had to suppress an eye roll. Not because you didn't think that Ryan and Kennedy weren't in love. If you were being honest, you just thought they were rushing things a bit. The problem was telling your best friend that; you tried in the past and never succeeded. "We know you're in love Kenny." And then because you couldn't stop yourself, you added. "It's just are you sure you want to be tied down so young? We still have our whole life to live."

 "Jesus, (Y/N). We all know you're not ready for marriage and what comes with it, but we can't all be you with your fancy job in LA, meeting celebrities all the time. Some of us have real lives and want to settle down and have a family."

 "Kenny, that's not what I meant." The last thing you wanted to do was argue with her at her bachelorette party. "I only want you to be happy."

 "You have a funny way of showing it." The air in the room took on a chill and not from the air conditioning. If you didn't do something soon this party was going to go downhill.

 "Oh, would you look at the time," Jade chimed in. "We should probably be heading down to the pool." Everyone grabbed their stuff, Kennedy giving you the cold shoulder as you made your way out of the hotel suite. Jade came up and wrapped an arm around you. "She'll be fine. She's just on edge after the whole Gretchen thing. We'll give her a few shots and you two will be good as new."

 "I hope so." Unfortunately, things weren't fine. Kennedy seemed to avoid you and your attempt to make things right, even after a few shots. That didn't stop you from taking a few more. You had a strict one drink to one water rule, that you threw out the door today. Downing shots like it was your job. It was probably an hour later when you were in one of the private pools, with a few of the girls that a large group of very attractive men walked in. They were definitely different from Nate and the guys from Thunder, and at first, you thought it was some fraternity get together with how young some of them looked, but at second glance there were some gentlemen that were your age or older.

 "They've gotta be baseball players," Eva whispered over after they took up residence in the three bungalows next to you.

 "Nah, none of them have a dad bod." Jade was right, they were too fit to be in the MLB. You'd been around enough major leaguers to know while some were incredibly in shape, some were not. That didn't seem to be the case with this group.

 "I'm gonna rule out NFL as well," you told the girls. "None of these guys look like they're an offensive guard. Those guys are huge." You noticed a few of them staring at the six of you that were in the smaller pool reserved only for the bungalows. Grabbing another shot, this had to be your fourth in just sixty minutes, you downed the drink really starting to feel its effects.

 "Looks like we may just find out here," Jade said, nodding to let you know some of the guys were headed your way.

 "Ladies, care if we join you?" One of the men asked, you had to admit he was extremely handsome but also gave off an air that he had more than a few notches in his bedpost.

 A couple of the girls nodded, but when no one said anything, you found yourself saying, "Come on in."

 "So, what brings you to Vegas?" This from a different guy, who had quite a number of tattoos covering his arms, and you had to admit that the ink just made him more attractive, that and his height. He was well over six feet tall and you didn't mind looking up to see his face as he took the seat next to you.

 "Bachelorette party," Jade blurted out and you saw a few eyebrows raise.

 "Tell me you're not the bride?" His breath was warm or maybe it was the sun, either way, you definitely felt a warmth in your belly that wasn't there moments ago.

 "I am definitely not the bride." Shit that sounded desperate. "Though I am the maid of honor, at least I hope I still am." You looked inside the bungalow to see Kennedy in deep conversation with Gretchen.

 "Hmm, sounds like there's a story there. Care to tell me? I'm Jacob by the way, though the guys call me Marky."

 He held out his hand, the one that didn't have a beer in it, and you took it. "(Y/N), and I'll tell you though it's rather dull, on one condition." He quirked a brow at you. "You tell me what sport you play."

 He chuckled. "What makes you think I play a sport? Maybe I'm an investment banker."

 "Well, first there's your accent, though I suppose you could pull off investment banker with that. Second, you are all…how shall I say this…physically fit. A quality most athletes have and considering the number of you; I doubt this is some kind of investment banker convention."

 "Ok, I'll give you that, though we could be bodybuilders or…" the lights on the billboard on the strip changed to a Thunder From Down Under ad and you saw a light bulb in his head go off. "Or male strippers." Shit, you almost spit your drink out on that one. "What, too much a stretch? Maybe it's your lucky day." He started to sway his hips in the pool, one of his friends joining him while you and Jade tried to contain your laughter.

 "Nah, it's already been (Y/N)'s lucky day with them. She knows them all rather intimately."

 "Jade!" you yelled at your friend, or ex-friend, though you weren't in a position to be losing anymore at the moment.

 "Oops." She at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Alcohol made everyone do some crazy things and Jade was no exception to the rule.

 "Intimately huh?" Jacob asked as you splashed water on Jade causing her to shriek and hide behind Jacob's friend who you learned was someone named Erik. "Have I lost the competition before it even starts?"

 "There's no competition."

 "So, you're single then?"

 "Yes, though you still haven't answered my question." As soon as Jacob heard you say yes, he slid a little closer to you.

 "What was that question again?" He said with laughter in his eyes and before you could get annoyed with him, though you doubted that would happen, he added. "I remember, just giving you a hard time. Anyhow, we play hockey."

 "Oh, nice. Like professional level? Or are there minors in that sport?" You really weren't one hundred percent sure. You'd taken in a game here and there but not really paid any particular attention to it.

 "We're in the NHL, playing for Vancouver. Just came out to do a little team bonding before the season starts. So, are we going to talk about this intimate encounter or why you think your maid of honor duties are getting revoked?"

 "I think I need another drink to talk about either of them."

 Jacob flagged down one of the personal waitresses for the area, requesting a couple of shots and drinks for you both, and you had to admit you liked the way he worked. "Now that that's taken care of…"

 You blew out a frustrated breath, more with yourself than anything else. "I said something stupid right before we came down here." He kept silent, his eyes totally focused on you and what you were saying. A refreshing change from some of the men you spoke to. "I just think she's rushing into things. They've only known each other a year and we are too young to get married. She's only twenty-five, we have our whole lives ahead of us. You know?" He simply nodded his agreement before you continued. "I want to see the world, go places, and do things before I'm strapped down to one man forever. Not to mention being tied down with kids. How can Kenny not want that too?"

 "I totally agree. I've gotten to see a lot with hockey but there's no way I want to be tied down just yet."

 "Exactly, you totally get me." Your drinks arrived then and Jacob took one shot and handed it to you before taking the other.

 "Well, I say we toast to being young and free with no commitments."

 "I'll drink to that." He clinked his glass to yours and the two of you downed the drinks. It seemed like the DJ noticed the change in your mood, as the music got louder and the energy seemed to kick up a notch. You got up and started to dance in the pool; the other girls joining in. It wasn't long before you felt Jacob behind you. His hips grinding into your backside, as his large hands encircled your waist.

 Drinks flowed freely the entire day, and if you were being honest, you couldn't remember a time you'd been that drunk before the sun had even set. You were laughing and dancing, and quite literally having the time of your life; your maid of honor duties completely forgotten at this point. Gretchen came up to you at some point and told you that she, Kennedy, and Kelsey were heading up and would catch up with the rest of you later. Everyone else was having too much fun with the Canucks to want to leave.

 A few more drinks and an hour later, the party was winding down. Most of your friends had headed up to their room to pass out, only a few stayed behind. Jacob had somehow maneuvered you into one of the bungalows that was empty. You shared a few kisses here and there out in the pool area, but now that you were out of view of prying eyes things were getting a bit more heated. Jacob's hands were on your ass, as his tongue was down your throat; not that yours wasn't doing the same thing to him. He moaned into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core. Your bikini bottom was no longer wet from the water of the pool, but the press of Jacob's cock against it.

 You both stumbled back, landing down on the large daybed in the bungalow, though somehow Jacob's reflexes softened your fall. His hands went straight to your breasts, kneading the flesh there. He was just about to untie the string of your bikini top when someone walked in. "Jesus, Marky! Take it upstairs would you!" You squinted trying to make out who it was but at this point not remembering anyone's name besides the man that was on top of you.

 "Oh, shit…thought I was in my room." It was funny, you thought the same thing. "Sorry, Jay."

 "His name is Jay? Like the letter?" you mumbled as Jacob helped you off the couch. "What comes after J?" Fuck you were drunk and when you were drunk you tended to ramble. You once actually talked to a damn parking meter because you thought it was a person, and you were pretty sure you could talk to one now if there was one around.

 "Doesn't matter, babe," Jacob said kissing your lips. "Wanna head up to my room?"

 You had to go up on your tiptoes to loop your arms around his neck. "Yes, I do." He planted a kiss on your lips then cupped your ass cheeks causing you to jump a bit.

 "Let's go," he finally said breaking the kiss. You had enough sense to grab your things and tell your friends not to worry that you'd catch up with them tomorrow. They all winked and nodded or at least that's what it looked like in your head because that's when things started to get hazy. You had vague recollections of making your way through the casino, stopping here and there. Part of you thought that the two of you even stopped to play roulette only so you could have another drink.

 You did remember tumbling through the door of Jacob's suite. His lips were on yours and neither of you were paying attention as he unlocked it. Thankfully his quick reflexes caught you; apparently, even when drunk, goalies couldn't lose some of those natural instincts.

 His hands, you remember them being everywhere on your body, and how incredible they made you feel. His calloused touch lit a fire inside you, that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He rid you of your white swim cover-up easily, flinging the garment across the room, and then his lips were all over your body. It was easy to recall the way he made you feel, as he softly bit down on your nipple through the fabric of your bikini. You'd craved this all afternoon. It had been a couple months since you'd been with a man and Jacob was everything you'd been waiting for.

 You ripped off his shirt. Your hands immediately going to his chest and roaming down his tattooed arms. He was all muscle, hard and lean everywhere, but when you slid your hand down inside his swim trunks to his cock; oh, it was hard all right, but lean was not a word you'd used to describe it. You were barely able to wrap your fingers around his girth, and as you stroked him, you realized God had not only blessed him with height but length as well. The man was made to star in a porno, you thought as you shoved his trunks down.

 Somehow, during that time Jacob had managed to get your bikini top off, though you supposed with its simple string ties it wasn't a hard feat to manage. You dropped to your knees, licking your lips before taking your tongue and swirling it around the head of Jacob's cock. "Det kanns sa bra min vackra prinsessa (that feels so good my beautiful princess)." Jacob's mumblings had you pulling back and looking up at him. "Don't stop, baby." This time you knew what he said as you slowly sucked him into your mouth. There was no way that you could take him all in, so you pumped the rest of him with your fist. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked him inside, using every trick in the book you knew. Jacob muttered more in Swedish to you, things you had no clue as to what they meant, but judging by his reaction they were things he was enjoying very much. He threaded his hands through your hair, pulling it back so you could look up at him with big doe eyes. "Jesus," he swore, his hips bucking into your mouth at the sight of you with his cock in it, looking like that. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out shouting," Tillrackligt, enough. I think you're trying to kill me, princess."

 There was something about the way he called you princess. It wasn't anything you'd been called before and most times you'd preferred babe or baby, but the way the word rolled off his tongue did things to your insides.

 Jacob helped you off the ground, his lips ghosting over yours before picking you up and tossing you onto the bed. His large form handled you easily, arranging your body just the way he wanted to before slipping off your bikini bottoms. His large hands worked their way from your ankles to your calves, all the way up to your thighs; spreading your legs as he went. "So beautiful." He traced his fingers lightly over your pussy lips and you quivered in anticipation of what was to come. One long finger slid between your folds all the way up to your clit, once, then twice, and then once again. "So wet, prinsessa, and all because of me."

 "Mmm, yes, Jacob." He dipped that same finger inside you then. The digit slipping in easily and so he added another. Then his mouth was there. Tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made you squirm with pleasure. "Oh yes," you moaned, caught up in the pleasure that was coursing through your veins. "Just like that." Your hips lifted up on their own accord, seeking more of what this giant of a man was doing to you. Jacob never let up, making a come-hither motion with his fingers and you found yourself unraveling around him; legs shaking, breath panting as your orgasm overtook you.

 “So pretty when you cum, prinsessa.” He pulled his fingers from your pussy then brought them to your lips. You opened without any thought, licking your juices off of them. Before you could get them clean, Jacob’s mouth joined yours, kissing you while you sucked on his index and middle fingers. Your tongues mingled together, as Jacob positioned himself between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged between your folds and you sighed into his mouth at just that first touch. Slowly, he filled your pussy, until he bottomed out. Only then did he release your lips. “Fuck you feel so good.”

 Jacob loved the feel of you clenching around him. It felt like he was in heaven. Part of him didn’t even want to move that’s how good your body felt, but then you shifted your hips up just a hair bit and he had to suck in a breath at the pleasure that went straight to his groin for fear he would spend inside you right then and there. He willed his body under control and only then started to move.

 With every snap of Jacob’s hips, a wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails raked down his back, probably leaving marks, but it seemed to only spur him on. “Yes, Prinsessa,” he moaned out, as you bent your knees allowing him to go deeper. You moaned as he hit that treasured spot that had you seeing stars. “You like that?” Another moan was his answer, as he continued to fuck you.

 That peculiar feeling started to wash over you. Your pussy fluttering around Jacob’s cock as the orgasm finally broke. Back arching, legs trembling, you were moaning out his name as the climax seemed to continue, as Jacob drove wildly into you. As you came down off your high, Jacob found his. With a few erratic thrusts, he was spending deep inside you with a loud groan. He slumped forward, his sweety forehead resting on yours. “Det dar var otroligt.” You looked at him curiously, your brain not working at all but also knowing he was speaking something in Swedish to you. He smiled, a glorious one that you found yourself getting lost in and you found yourself returning it. “I said that was amazing.”

 “Yes, it was,” you breathed out. Jacob rolled you both onto your sides, tucking you into his. It wasn’t long before both of you were passing out.

 Now here you were, finally putting most of the pieces together from last night. You looked back over at the sleeping man, who had given you such pleasure even in your inebriated state. He really was gorgeous. You honestly wouldn’t mind going for round two, after a couple of Tylenol, of course. Speaking of which you needed to get up and see if you had any in your bag. If only you could move him without waking him. You carefully took your right arm and went to move his left which was slung across you, but then something caught your eye. There on his ring finger was a ring. Oh, it wasn’t just any ring, it was a wedding ring! You knew he didn’t have it on when you were in the pool. You were not the type of woman to go hitting on a married man, let alone sleep with him.

 You pulled your other arm out from underneath him, fully intending to grab your stuff and get the hell out of there when you noticed a bright and shiny diamond on your ring finger. There was also a matching wedding band. Then like a tsunami hitting the beach of a small island a memory came flooding back to you of the two of you entering the hotel chapel. This man wasn’t married to just anyone, he was married to you!  

.

[backtothestart02]

Don’t Give Up On Me - 1/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Idk what this is. It was gonna be the next Muse chap with just a couple paragraphs of angst, but I managed to change it into nearly 2k of angst and I can’t bring myself to write the happy ending tonight, so it’s turned into a two-shot that I’ll hopefully finish later this week. Enjoy. Bring tissues.

...

Synopsis: Early S7 - Barry and Iris deal with the after effects of the Mirrorverse on Iris.

...

Chapter 1 -

It was a dark, dreary day in Central City.

Iris sat in a light sweater, jeans, and fuzzy socks by the window, her long hair cascading down her back, her forehead pressed to the chilled glass, and didn’t say a word. She’d been silent all morning, sipping her dark roast and forcing small smiles towards Barry whenever he approached her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him being near. Hell, she’d been without his presence for months, and it nearly killed her. Just being able to feel him nearby was a relief and soothing to her worn-down senses. But she was so lost in herself, still recovering from all that had happened, that on days like today with crime at a low and both she and Barry off work because of the weekend, she really let herself accept what had happened to her and how far she still had to go.

It had been three weeks since she escaped the mirror verse and together with Barry and team Flash defeated Eva McCulloch once and for all. It had given her a high at the time, and frankly she’d just been glad to be alive and sane and reunited with the people that she loved, especially Barry.

But as time passed she started to face the reality of all that she’d lost, the fact that her doppleganger had been able to convince everyone for so long that she was the real Iris. On the surface she didn’t blame anyone. Mirror Iris was a very good actress, because in a lot of ways she was her. She had the same memories, knowledge, emotions… But she wasn’t alive. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t Iris. And for months Iris had been screaming into the void, the ever-present mirror that occasionally let her see her family and friends, that they see the truth. And how could they not see it?

Especially Barry. Barry knew her so well…

Later she’d come to learn that he had suspected Mirror Iris right from the start. She had cooked better, spoken in a foreign language fluently, and hit some guy over the head with a glass bottle, a boundary Iris herself probably wouldn’t have crossed, even undercover. She’d spoken the truth about how she felt about Barry always putting her in a corner when it was time to fight the bad guys, but Iris would’ve never started an argument just for the sake of it. She wouldn’t have made her husband think they were growing apart or that he wasn’t proud of her. She wouldn’t have stormed off.

In the following weeks, she wouldn’t have shut down around him if he didn’t give her what she wanted. When he reassured her that he trusted her, she wouldn’t have merely smiled and thanked him and walked away. She wouldn’t have spent the night away from him while he merely sat reading in the dark. She wouldn’t have told him that it was for the best that the speed force was dead, and he’d lose his speed indefinitely. She knew how big a part of his identity being the Flash was. If he wanted to walk away from it, that was one thing. But to encourage it when he didn’t? She would have never done that.

The revelation that Mirror Iris had slept with her husband, both literally and sexually, hadn’t hit Iris hard at first, but in time it did. How could Barry not tell? In their most intimate moments, how was he not aware that it wasn’t really her?

But when she learned that at the same moment she had declared her undying love for him with her hand pressed to the mirror of another universe, so had he? She forgot all of that. How could she blame him, especially when he realized it was her after she did the most heinous thing? Mirror Iris had tried to fracture their marriage.

How dare she.

Iris would never. And Barry knew that. He knew it.

Everything started to align after that. In the end, Iris had saved herself, shocking everyone and slapping Barry with a burden of guilt unintentionally. Because she’d nearly gone mad, and he hadn’t connected the dots soon enough, and he should’ve been able to rescue her. He was her husband, the Flash. She might not be a damsel in distress, but she needed his help, and he failed her.

Her ever-constant need to be near him, to touch him, to make love to him helped ease his guilt. She was just so glad to be back and to be with him. She forgave him, she said. She loved him, she said. She never wanted to lose him again.

But that was the first week.

It had been two weeks since then, and Barry could feel them growing apart. Iris didn’t say it, but he wondered if she was starting to blame him for not figuring out she was gone sooner. They hadn’t made love in a week, and the last time they had, it had been the result of a fight. He had started it. He’d wanted to push her into admitting she hadn’t really forgiven him.

She hit him with the blow he hadn’t been expecting, even though his argument implied he should have.

“I have forgiven you,” she’d said, tears fresh in her eyes. “But forgiving and forgetting are two different things.”

And he’d felt so empty, he didn’t know what to do. Tears started to stream down his cheeks at the reality that she would never forget how he’d been with someone that wasn’t her, even if he’d been unaware of it at the time.

She approached him then and laid her hand over his heart.

“I blame her, not you. She manipulated you. She made you think I wasn’t your home.” Her voice cracked.

“Then why did you need to forgive me?” he asked sadly.

She kissed him, unwilling to answer his question, not really knowing how to. She walked backwards till she fell back on the bed and eagerly stripped him of his clothing, as he did hers. They made love that night with the intensity of a lightning storm. And in the morning, they were okay again; except they weren’t really. And Barry didn’t know how to fix it.

But he didn’t bring up the subject again. He didn’t want to fight. So instead he walked around her as if on eggshells. He did whatever he could to make her happy. But they didn’t make love since that night, and they rarely kissed, except for a peck here and there when leaving for work or arriving home. Barry still dropped off love letters at her work during her lunch hour, but she didn’t acknowledge them when she got home anymore like she used to. He wondered if there was any use writing them at all. For all he knew she was throwing them away.

His carefully written, poured from his soul love letters to his beautiful wife might be in the trash. And that worried him most of all.

“Want a refill?” he asked, now, in the present, forcing himself out of his morbid thoughts. Because the day itself looked morbid, and Iris looked sad, and all he could think of was to give her more dark roast, because hell, he knew she at least wouldn’t turn down that.

“Hmm?” she asked, turning away from the window to see him holding the coffee pot before her. “Oh.”

Her brows furrowed, then she looked down into her half-empty cup.

“No, I still have some.”

“Is it cold though?” he asked, before he could get down on himself.

She took a sip.

“Mm…lukewarm.” She wrinkled her nose and held out her mug, and he filled it up to the brim. “Thanks, babe,” she said and took a sip before settling in at the window again.

He nodded once, too afraid he’d say something he’d regret if he opened his mouth again, and returned the pot to its holder in the kitchen. He stood there for a while again, watching his wife. She didn’t seem to notice, and she noticed even less when he went upstairs to change and then sped out of the loft to take a run in the rain.

He needed to get away, to figure things out, to put his relationship, his wife, back together again. As fate would have it though, he was unable to come up with anything any more than the previous times he’d gone out for a run for this exact reason.

Realizing staying out any longer wouldn’t do any good, he sped and stopped abruptly once inside.

Iris wasn’t sitting by the window anymore. In fact, she was coming down the stairs when she stopped suddenly, spotting his sad-looking self standing in front of the door.

“Oh, my God, Barry, you’re dripping! Let me-”

She rushed to get some towels and help him dry off.

“I figured you’d left, but I didn’t realize it was to run in the rain. Of all the stupid-”

He tensed, and she stopped herself. She met his eyes and searched them with concern.

“Barry… Are you okay?”

And he hated himself. Because she’d been about to lash out, but she held back because she knew it would hurt him. He wished she’d just hurt him. This dancing around each other thing they were doing was only making things worse. He wished she’d just acknowledge it. If she couldn’t get over what he and Mirror Iris did, the least she could do was be upfront about it.

He didn’t answer, so she pressed forward as if she had.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” she suggested softly. “I’ll order some take-out and we can watch a movie after.”

‘You’ll touch me?’ he almost said but held back. That would start a fight. He didn’t want to fight, but he didn’t know how to act anymore.

So, he just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Iris forced another smile and headed into the living room to retrieve her cell phone and make the call. Barry sped up the stairs, lightning crackling behind him, so she wouldn’t see him dragging his feet the way he wanted to.

Then he entered the bathroom, undressed and turned on the shower. The hot water should’ve been soothing, a relief to him after the cold rain that had nearly drowned him as he ran outside. But it only made him want to scream, want to yell, want to shout. He wanted to bang on the walls because how in the hell did he pull them out of this emptiness.

The evening would be fake, put on as a means of not fighting and because both of them were tired.

As it turned out, when Barry finished with his shower and dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, he came downstairs to the sight of Iris sleeping on the couch. He lifted her up and carried her to bed. When the delivery man came, Barry paid him and stuck the food in the fridge. He wasn’t feeling real hungry anyway.

...

*Will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.4]

Masterlist

The first thing Eva did when she came home was finish downloading the rest of Palaye Royale's discography. It was as though pushing the arrow on the saturation scale and suddenly her apartment with skeleton white walls and empty shadows was bursting with a new variety of rich colors. Songs that pulled back the whites in her eyes and forced open her ears to this new euphoria that was rattling through her brain and body like a pinball game.

The band's music drifted through the apartment for the rest of the night, tracks on a loop that was sure to make the tenants upstairs despise her. By the time she finished cooking dinner for herself she was lost in the cynical poetry of Warhol, entranced by the echoing of Remington's rasping screams that were never out of tune. And while she was supposed to be working on her latest article, Eva was instead watching the video for Lonely, the entire time feeling like her throat had been ripped out by a bare fist and forced to watch it beat out.

All in all, Dying in a Hot Tub took the crown for favorite. On a Saturday night, when she would usually be out with friends and drinking her problems away at the local bar, Eva was dancing through her apartment, pretending to sing along to the miserable and comprehensive words. A glass of cheap white wine sat on the counter, aiding in her inhibitions for having a rock concert in her living room. Pluto wasn't having any of it, retreating to his bed and ignoring her for most of the night.

Meanwhile, holed up in his own bedroom Remington scrolled through the Tumblr blog that Eva told him about: posts filled with poetry and proses that had him hooked as sure as he was doing drugs. Each post told a story, ranging from questions about her femininity, difficulties in growing up with an absent mother and a know-it-all dad, the first boy she had who humped and dumped her after prom. Remington wanted to read it all, falling deeper into the rabbit hole of Eva Kuznetsov.

His focus shifted from text to music when he heard a familiar sound: that sound being his own voice. The faint echo of words he was singing to crowds not months ago were suddenly swirling in the air, and when he turned to the complex, he found he had a clear view of Eva dancing away under the golden lights of her apartment. She had the screen door opened, not big enough for Pluto to squeeze through, but enough so he could hear the muffled music from his room. He knew he had pretty open access to Eva; he just didn't realize that he could see right into her space.

Which meant she could probably see into his room, too...

It was mesmerizing to watch her, spinning, jumping, her hair pirouetting around the sharp edges of her perfect jaw, all the while smiling and pretending to sing along. It was the most endearing thing Remington had seen in a long time, watching the real Eva come to life. She was uninhibited by people and impressions, dressed down in a pair of little cotton shorts and her hoodie, she was absolutely crazy and perfect.

Mischief soon got the better of Remington and he reached for his phone, eagerly selecting her number and typing. Across the way, Eva stopped dancing when the music dipped, indicating that she received a text on her phone. Brushing her winded hair out of her face, she grabbed her phone off the desk, her face going beet red when she was Remington's text:

Nice dance moves, Frances Houseman

She glanced up through the glass sliding door, mortified when she realized Remington could see her this whole time. Illuminated by the glow of the street lamp, his boyish smile seemed to shine brighter, clearly amused with this late-night entertainment. She took a deep breath and turned down the volume of the music, trying to collect herself.

How much of that did you see?

He responded not even ten seconds later:

Enough to know your hips clearly don't lie.

Shut up

And if I may ask, why are you looking through my window?

I can't help it. I'm vain enough that I get distracted by my own damn voice

Or you're just a fucking creeper

The fact that you haven't closed the curtain tells me you don't seem to mind an audience ;)

A familiar warmth spread through the pit of her stomach and Eva began to giggle uncontrollably; like a child that had been caught stealing a cookie from the jar and was so on edge she couldn't help but laugh. Stupid her for not closing the curtain.

Well I'm sorry, but the show is over now

She then went to the window to close the curtain, flipping off the smirking blonde as she shut out the rest of the world. Remington only laughed to himself, quickly texting back:

But the memories will live on in my brain

Fuck you, Leith!!

I think you should buy me a drink first, Kuznetsov

Eva just shook her head as she read his last message, downing the rest of her wine with a rose-tinted cheeks. Even with the music off, she still had Remington's soft raspy voice ringing in her head as she decided it was time to turn in. She couldn't help but start singing to herself.

"But I'm dying in a hot tub, I'm dying in a hot tub with my cat!" she lunged down and pointed both hands at Pluto. Pluto was unfazed, just staring at her with an unemotive expression. Eva's smile turned into a scowl.

"Well, fuck you too, then,"

✧✧✧

May brought the promise of vibrant flowers, bikini bodies and so many reasons for people to go out and mingle with their friends at the beaches and clubs.

Well... that was the case a year ago...

In Remington's mind, he and his friends had no need to go down to the beach and risk contracting Covid when he had a perfectly safe and clean pool and patio in his backyard. And within the last two and some weeks, he had succeeded in bringing Eva around more and more.

She got along great with everybody, which had Remington confused as to why she said she had it rough with friends. But everybody seemed to like her, and soon enough she had assimilated into their little pod. She started just with sitting outside with everyone, and when she was comfortable enough she came and hung out inside the house. Afternoons were either spent by the pool or watching TV shows and eating snacks. And the more she stayed over, the more Remington became fascinated with her.

Even Emerson and Sebastian couldn't deny that there was something about Eva that was unique; she was sparkplug of quick witticisms and lame jokes that people would laugh at just because she was so cute. She was mature way beyond her years, and yet she still had fun like a teenager trying to find themselves in high school. More than anything, the boys were curious to how close Eva and Remington were slowly becoming.

Remington liked hanging out in Eva's apartment. The environment held a different kind of vibe; like an aesthetic post you'd tag on Pinterest under a renovations gallery. But Remington was inside Eva's world, seeing the random art pieces she had hung on the walls and getting to hang with Pluto on the couch. He helped her bake when they couldn't think of anything else to do, and she always insisted he'd bring some home even when he assured her that he didn't need it. She was kind, homely, a woman with a clean soul and dirty mind who could make him laugh and didn't care when he openly belched after a soda.

Despite the pandemic, Remington was excited for his birthday. Any other time, he was at a bar or a house party with his friends, drinking until he couldn't feel his legs or ending up face-deep in a grimy toilet bowl. Even though the party wouldn't be as fun as it usually would be, Remington was looking forward to at least spend his birthday with his closest family and friends, only.

Eva wished she could have had the same optimism Remington did, but the Saturday before his birthday, she was none too pleased to find that the drain to her kitchen sink was leaking water. And apparently, it wasn't her landlord's job to come up and fix it for her.

"You want me to come take a crack at it?" Remington asked when Eva explained the situation.

Eva's phone was on speaker as she tried to navigate the utility box in the closet to turn off her water.

"Do you have experience in sink maintenance?" she asked.

"I don't," Remington admitted, "But that's what Youtube is for, right?"

Eva simpered, "As entertaining as it would be watch you destroy my sink, I respectfully decline,"

"You think too low of me, Eva," he whined.

"I just know you better than you think, Remington," she replied smartly, "I got a plumber coming by, anyway. And he can't get here 'til six for some reason so I'll be down a shower day,"

Remington's eyebrows furrowed down, "He's coming at six at night?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eva replied, seemingly clueless to the skepticism in his voice.

"What plumber makes house calls after five o'clock?" he said.

Eva stopped short, "Well, he's an independant freelancer. Makes his own hours, I guess,"

"You hired a fucking freelancer to come fix your sink?" he said incredulously.

"He's what I can afford," she replied.

"So he didn't come from an agency?"

"Nope!" Eva huffed, satisfied when she finally figured out how to turn off the water dial, "He came from Letgo,"

It was then Remington had a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn't blame Eva that she didn't want to splurge her money on a plumber, but the thought of her alone with a strange man -- who mostly carried a multitude of heavy tools -- made his hair stand on end.

"Maybe I'll come by and wait with you while he does the job," he said.

"Why?" Eva asked.

"Because you're a small girl letting a strange man into your apartment after hours," he replied.

Eva turned to her window, still having a firm view of Remington's empty, but messy bedroom, "You were a strange guy I let into my apartment," she countered.

"And now you have concrete proof that I'm not a creep, I'm just a little weirdo," he replied, "I'd just feel better being there with you, is all,"

Eva shrugged, understanding where he was coming from yet assuring herself that he was overthinking it, "I mean, if you wanna'... sure,"

"Great!" Remington grinned, "I'll be by before six,"

The early afternoon soon delved into the night, and just as he promised, Remington was at Eva's apartment ten minutes before six.

And the plumber was late.

Eva attributed it to traffic when the clock hit ten after, but then she was annoyed by twenty after. What was he possibly doing that he was twenty minutes late for a pay grab? Remington didn't say anything, though the knot in his stomach got tighter as the minutes ticked by. And when Eva assured him that he didn't need to stay, he simply shook his head and declined.

"The only way you're getting me out of this apartment is with a fucking pitchfork," he told her, smirking with pride. Eva only rolled her eyes.

It was finally quarter to seven when a battered, unlabelled black pickup truck pulled up in front of the complex. And just as Remington feared, a rather large man came falling out of the truck and started trudging his way inside. He carried no tools with him.

Both Remington and Eva had their masks on and the windows open as the plumber came inside. He was portly, older, and he wore the mask just under his nose; a particular pet peeve of Eva's. He was polite as he greeted the kids, narrowing his eyes at Remington. The whole time he was there, Remington made sure to keep Eva close to him.

"So, what seems to be the trouble?" the plumber asked, coming over to the sink but looking around slowly at the knick knacks and furniture within the apartment.

"Well, I'm not sure. It just started leaking all of the sudden," Eva shrugged.

The plumber glanced at the faucet, then took a look under the counter to the pipes. Eva began to understand why Remington was so eager to come over, now. He stayed well on his knees for longer than needed, not pulling out a flashlight to see in the dark shadows. Even Pluto seemed to sense something was off about this character, he leapt onto the top of the couch where he had a full vantage point of the typical case of plumber's crack.

The plumber finally sat back from his inspection, turning to the two kids, "I see what the problem is. I gotta' get my other tools from my truck, though," he said.

Eva and Remington glanced at each other with uncertainty, "... Okay," she drawled, "We'll, um -- we'll be here, I guess,"

"Okay," he forced himself back on his feet and exited out the door.

Not two seconds later, Remington heard the faint carry of voices in the hallways; a couple by the sounds of it. He took a look into the hall, indeed finding a pair of Eva's neighbours unlocking their door as the door to the stairwell slammed closed.

A few minutes passed, but Eva was confused when she heard the revving of an engine outside. She went to go look out her window, and sure enough, the black pickup truck was speeding away. Needless to say, she was shocked.

"What the fuck!?" she exclaimed, "He left!"

Remington came to look as well, not surprised but his fears quelled as he watched the truck disappear around the corner.

"Good," he said, "Truth be told, I'm pretty sure he wasn't here to fix the sink,"

Eva pulled her face mask off, "What, you think he wanted to rob me?" she asked.

"Or something a little more vile," Remington nodded, simultaneously pulling off his own mask, "He clearly didn't like the fact that I was here,"

Eva's face paled for a moment, now grateful she had let Remington in when he asked. How did he know, though?

"How did you know he wasn't legit?" she asked.

Remington scrunched his nose, "Well, first of all he's coming by at six -- well, seven o'clock on a weekend. Second of all, you found him on Letgo,"

Eva shrugged, "I don't trust Craigslist,"

"Because Letgo is any more reliable?" he raised his eyebrows with a petty grin, "This is the part where you say 'thank you for looking out for me, Remington',"

Eva narrowed her eyes at him, "Thanks for coming by, ya' smug shit," she glanced out the window again, "You think he's going to come back?"

"Not now that he thinks I'm here, too," Remington replied, "Like I'd leave my girlfriend alone with a strange guy at seven at night. In a fucking pandemic, too," he scoffed.

Eva looked at him quizzically, "... I'm not your girlfriend," she drawled.

"But he doesn't have to know that," he grinned back.

Eva had to admit, she was impressed. And moreover, quite grateful for Remington's persistence -- though she wouldn't tell him that.

"Aw, I have such a smart boyfriend!" she gushed sarcastically, clasping her hands together before going to fetch her Lysol spray.

Remington simply sat back down on the couch, feeling pretty damn good about himself now, "Anything for my baby!" he exclaimed happily.

"Shut up,"

[blackevermore]

x Wonka angst

[ Idk where was going by the middle. I had an idea but it kept dying plus I was trying to make this more family focus than I have it in my main story. I failed but it’s still a nice (ish) insight to the brothers ]

--- 

The thickness of Wonka's famous taffy could be measured by a spoon with his unique secret ingredients. With the right amount of sugar, you could make taffy enjoyable, fun for everyone young and old. But if you use the wrong amount of sugar, you could make the taffy hard and the worse thing in the world. No one would want to eat it; no one would dare to take a bit and would move on to the next sweet treat. Wonka knew better than to use the wrong amount of sugar. He has been crafting the chart of perfection for most of his life. He could mix the candy blindly, and it would come out as it should if not better than what it was. Wonka had control over the sugar, it couldn't bend against him nor defile him, he didn't need to substitute it for anything else because it was powerless. At this moment, Wonka was the sugar. The culprits who caused the mess sat crossed him stoically and peacefully. They had no idea that inside Wonka's well manner composure he was losing grains of sugar like an hourglass. Surely in enough time as they sat in silence, Wonka would spread across the table in a flowing mess of grain. Wonka's eye twitched, and his palms felt itchy, numb as the pit of anxiety made home in his brain and travelled to his heart. His heart thrashed against his chest in an attempt to escape, but no one could see it as he kept his eyes low and his face blank. A throat cleared but Wonka didn't turn his attention towards it. He forced himself away into his mind, wholly spaced out from the others and wishing their visit would hopefully be over with when he came back to his body.

"William," Wilfred called out in his deep and heavy brotherly voice. The same voice that would call to Wonka in a higher pitcher when they were children. Wilfred refused to use that silly nickname that was placed on his younger brother. What grown and established man would want to be called Willy? Wilfred leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms and sighing heavily. "William, we have to talk about this." The eldest brother tried to talk to his brother again, but yet it was no avail. 

The youngest of the trio, Wesley, sat to Wonka's right side across from Wilfred twirling his thumbs. He wanted to say something, anything, everything, but he knew his words would fall to the abuse of his stutter. He could hold his breath and try to speed through what he wanted to say, but it would be meaningless if the words didn't have time to marinate. Wesley looked over to Wilfred, the eldest was fed up but kept it under wraps, he then turned to look at his middle brother, Wonka was still hiding inside his mind. Wesley wanted this trip to be different than the last time they saw each other. He wanted them all to come back together and mourn over the loss of their mother but celebrate a union. Wesley knew he was nothing but a fool to think Wonka would be happy to see them. He blamed them for everything even though it wasn't their faults. Had Wilfred knew what would happen to his family once he was thrown in a boarding school, he would have ran away to save his brothers. Save their mother. Save what was left of their family. Wesley would have begged their aunt to travel back to England to find his mother. Even as a child, Wesley would have found his strength in his little hands and became a hero to a tragic story. But the past couldn't be rewritten, their mother, as beautiful as she once was, wasn't coming back to comfort her broken children.

"I....I-I'm s-s-s-sor-sorry." Wesley strutter out. Wilfred's eyes turned towards him in confusion. What was there to apologize for? Wesley didn't know where his words were going, but he knew Wonka deserved to hear them. Wesley caught Wilfred's stare and knocked on the table to gather everyone's attention. Even if Wonka wouldn't look at him, he wanted to make sure Wonka was semi-aware of his intentions. Wilfred shifted a bit in his seat and looked on to Wesley's hands as the youngest began to sign. First, he asked Wilfred to read out aloud what he was saying. Then he began to speak.

"I'm sorry we couldn't have been there." Wilfred had to clear his throat as it became dry as he spoke for Wesley. Wesley took a moment to think about what to say next before signing rapidly. "Maybe if we had all stuck together, none of the things that happen to you would've happened."

"Ha!" Wonka finally spoke. His brothers quickly turned towards him and waited for him to continue. Wonka blinked a couple of times and rose his head slowly. His firey purple eyes dulled in the light, and his lips trembled into a snarl. Wesley knocked on the table again to get Wilfred's attention to continue.

"We don't know what happened and we never will, but we're here now. And now is better than never and I hope we could be a -"

"Don't you dare finish that, I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear none of it." Wonka snapped at Wesley while he signed, causing the youngest to flinch. Wilfred wanted to enforce good behaviour, but Wesley held up his hand to stop him from speaking, and Wilfred held his tongue. Let him speak, Wesley sighed. Wonka slammed his gloved hands down on the table.

"Let me speak? I'm not a child, don't treat me like a child, I'm older than you!" Wonka barked then flinched as he caught his tongue and pulled back from exploding. This wasn't helping his case, but he couldn't help the anger that started to boil. "You-you have n-no idea what happened to me. You have no idea what happened after you all left." Wonka's fist repeatedly clenched as he struggled to find the words to string together. His mind wasn't blank anymore, it was running, flashing every repressed memory of years of his own personal hell. So many forgotten years that were covered with toxic remedies and self-damaging mantras. For the middle child, it was always better to forget what was wrong and invent something that had no faults. 

"All of you left me."

"Willam-"

"Be quite!" Wonka yelled.

Wonka didn't like raising his voice, he hated it even, it reminded him of all the times his father rose his voice. He could hear his father's voice in his head, repeatedly calling after him and scolding him. The image of his father face flashed across his head, and Wonka quickly shut his eyes to get rid of it. How long has it been since he ran away? How long has it been since he walked home from the train station and saw the house was gone? Wonka could still recall the bitter winter that rolled in the day he chose to run away and become the man he is now. He could remember how cold the tears felt rolling down his encaged face as he fell to his knees in defeat. But it wasn't the sadness of being abandon that shadowed over Wonka's shoulder. It was the years afterwards that made the time with his father and his brother's seem like everything happened to the unfavourable child. Wilfred got away because he fought back, Wesley was sent away upon request to Switzerland with their aunt. But their mother kept Wonka home, she held on tight to him with a promise of escaping together and reuniting with his brothers. She forced him to live with her and her pains and the abuse of his father. Long and sleepless nights of Wonka's mother holding him close and crying, telling him over and over again 'soon'. But soon never came and Wonka was watching his father cry as they lowered his troubled mother down into the ground.

Wonka knew pointing figures at the others wouldn't fix the years of wearing his headset. But it felt good knowing that as he fell apart to mountains of sugar, his brothers would suffer as well.

Wonka sat back in his chair at the head of the table and fixed himself with a blank face and a calmer air. Wesley wanted to ask what had happened in those years they were apart. He wanted to pull his brother into a hug and tell him that it was okay to be upset.

"You have no idea what they did they did to me." Wilfred became hyper-attentive when he heard the world 'they'. Who were they? Wonka held up a hand to cover his mouth as he chuckled. He then lowered it slightly and pointed to Wilfred. "You got to live in another place without father ever checking in. Some will say that neglect, but in our case, that's a blessing." Wonka then turned his eyes to Wesley and his chuckling stopped. "But you got to have it better than the rest. You got the golden ticket and a once way trip to your happiest place on earth. You truly are a winner dearest Wesley. Simply a winner." 

Wesley could have told him that months after he got to Switzerland, he cried in his aunt's arms begging for him mother and asking when his brothers were coming back. The years afterwards, when he was bullied for loving animals and being the quiet wired kid. He could have told his brother he tried to drown himself in the forest behind his university.   Wilfred could have said to him that those years in boarding school became hell when word got out who he was the son of. Expectations of a stellar student became an underground fight club of dominance. He also could have told Wonka he was proud of him when his father told him he had ran away. But the brother said nothing and hung their heads. It wasn't them that felt like the world was always against them. They felt like they had overcome a lot of things. But they weren't as successful as Wonka and would never be. They didn't know about Miss Swizzlepot who took him in as if he was her own son then used him, they didn't know what Kelvin who taught him the way of business but wanted so much more. They had no idea about Eva, Elanora and her godforsaken brother Eager, the list of business Wonka had bought out to have a secret monopoly. The endless chains of murders that occurred in the factory walls, or what it was like to have the one thing you loved the most stolen away from you.

Wonka rolled his eyes and pushed back on his heels to get of out his chair. He rose to his feet and straighten his back to seem taller than he was. Reached to his side and grabbed his cane then stepped out to head to the door. 

"I want you out of my factory and once again out of my life. I liked it better when I believed I was the only child." Wonka said. When the sound of it slamming echoed across the room, Wesley and Wilfred knew it was best to end the conversation for now. Wilfred craved a heavy drink with enough kick to put him to sleep. And Wesley wanted to curl into a ball with his anacondas and pour his heart out in sadness. The door opened again, but either of them wanted to know if it was their brother coming back. 

"Pardon me?" A female voice called out, making the brother perk up and turn around. It was Taylor looking a bit uneasily and Scarlet right behind her ready to run over to Wilfred. "Will you both be staying for dinner?" The girl asked. Wesley looked towards Wilfred silently asking him what they should do. Wilfred threw a blank for a moment then nodded despite being unsure himself. 

"We would love to." Wesley signed with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

[amandabe11man]

a VERY LONG post about Hell on Wheels

YEAH i forgot about this post in my drafts... it’s been like a year since i finished the show now and i feel i’ve barfed everything out into this post (that i can think of), so here it goes (you’ll have to shield your eyes after the spoiler warning if you don’t wanna be spoiled btw. i can’t seem to be able to add a read more-link...) :

SO... i finished watching “hell on wheels” at last, pm half a year since i started. it’s funny because i was under the impression that i’d sOMEHOW be able to binge all five seasons within just one month (reason: i wanted to watch it before my free trial on HBO’s website went out). honestly, that wouldn’t have been possible because it was a LOT more emotionally draining than you’d think at first glance... after being gutpunched three times in a row in season 4, any reasonable human would need a little break.

anyway, it feels-- weird. i’ve never been big on following tv-shows so i haven’t been able to relate to that feeling ppl describe once they’ve finished a show they’ve become so attached to, except NOW i can relate. the show’s not groundbreaking, it’s not perfect, but i’ve had a lot of fun. what a ride it’s been...

looking back, i’d say HOW’s biggest weakness is its tendency to forget or ignore certain plot points. i guess that’s not too weird, with such an arsenal of characters, but still, i find that’s what bugged me the most, if anything bugged me at all. for example--

[SPOILERS for those who might wanna watch it after seeing me go on abt it, idk]:

first off, what REALLY grinds my gears is how ezra dutson’s plotline was handled. it was set up perfectly in the beginning; having him escape from the swede (who promised him that, and i quote: “i’ll find you, ezra! i always do”), the original plan was obviously for ezra and the swede to “reunite” some time in the future so that ezra could tell everyone that the swede killed his parents, thus tying up loose ends and giving some closure to that whole arc. some might say this would’ve been too predictable, but i would rather have that predictable storyline than having it just end unceremoniously like it did, with ezra dying ACCIDENTALLY and off-screen by sidney snow’s hand, simply as a way to further bohannon’s pain and set the stage for ruth’s final arc. this might’ve been fine, if the writers had made it so that ezra actually, y’know, TOLD SOMEONE WHY HE’S AN ORPHAN TO BEGIN WITH. but they didn’t even give the viewer that form of closure, instead just deciding to use him as a plot device for the other characters’ increased angst... bohannon and the others were never even made aware of ezra’s last name, and this is all what bugs the everliving SHIT outta me: the only ones who know, or will EVER know, ezra’s full story is the swede and the viewer, tho after season 4′s end, ezra is never mentioned or acknowledged again-- not by bohannon, and not even by the swede. ezra went from convenient character with a PURPOSE to “nameless” orphan forgotten by history. thanks, writers...

then there’s the whole deal with campbell coming to town to reinforce The Law™, which wasn’t a bad arc, mind you-- campbell and his goons were the most infuriating little shits for a while there-- but the thing is; didn’t campbell LIE to his men about the president giving him the position as governor? i might’ve misunderstood it, but i’m PRETTY sure the president didn’t give him THAT much of an upstanding role, but that campbell just went ahead and took that position anyway? if that was indeed the case, then that’s another plot hole, cause nobody finds out about campbell’s possible trickery to become the governor. nobody rats him out, despite literally no one in “his” town liking him all that much, so they’d have no reason to protect his “secret”. (correct me if i’m wrong on this one though. i might be misremembering things)

then there’s the other pretty infuriating issue of bad guys never getting called out for doing bad shit (unless it’s the swede, who gets all the blame, all the time), for example:

major dick bongbendix(???idk he had a silly name like that) is presented VERY MUCH as a bad guy in the beginning. y’know, just casually beheading natives on all his missions and collecting those heads and taking them to the bar like a fucking nutcase-- those little details. he also seemed to believe in racial biology, so yeah, definitely not a good guy. but by the end, he’s been watered down into some quirky guy who’s ALMOST on friendly terms with the main characters. yeah, uh-- seems everyone (writers included) collectively forgot the whole public display of cut-off heads he had going on...

aaron hatch: started off as a guy too proud for his- or his family’s own good when he shot the police officer, BLAMED IT ON HIS FUCKING SON and then just kinda let bohannon hang the kid even though it was pretty obvious hatch was just shifting the blame away from himself. THEN he reappears with some other mormons and causes a full-on shootout in the town (probably getting some people killed, i don’t remember), TAKES EZRA (also a mormon) HOSTAGE SO THAT BOHANNON WILL COME WITH THEM WILLINGLY and passive aggressively forces bohannon to marry his daughter who bohannon knocked up. somewhere along the line, hatch’s bad side is just thrown to the wind, and bohannon at one point describes him as “a good man”. yeah, ABOUT THAT--

sean and mickey mcginnes: unlike the ones mentioned above, these two started out as seemingly decent dudes, but ended up pm as secondary villains in the end. however, like the ones mentioned above, they hardly face any consequences for whatever crap it was they did in boston, OR the fact that they killed and fucking mutilated/dismembered a man in cold blood (a man who WAS gonna kill them, yes, but HE did it because he thought they had killed his friend, which wasn’t a farfetched idea since mickey DID brag about killing the dude even though he didn’t actually do it). sure, they face their OWN demons as time goes on, they get ostracized, and they start losing faith in each other as well, which ends up with mickey killing sean before the latter can confess(?) his/their crimes. so, while sean was spineless and a creep, at least he thought about finally owning up to what he’d done in the end, whereas mickey lives on to keep doing shady shit, killing people, and getting increasingly more corrupt. he does end up pursuing new goals in the end, but it’s obvious he’s not happy about it anymore. that’s-- really all the comeuppance he ever gets, and the only one who knows about his shady businesses are pm just bohannon, durant and eva (also, personal gripe here-- they seemed to not settle for “just” tarring and feathering the swede and publicly humiliating him, but i’m pretty sure i recall mickey telling bohannon they were thinking about having the swede killed too. keep in mind, this was BEFORE the swede truly lost it and started killing people left and right. apparently, being kind of a douche about taxes is bad enough to warrant being tortured and cast out by the entire community... i’m obviously biased here, but still-- the mcginnes bros’ double standards are amazing to behold)

now that i’ve aired some of that out-- here are some highlights, according to me:

unexpected friendships, like that between eva and durant. i’d say the swede finding that stray dog and fawning all over him qualifies into this category too

durant and campbell fighting in the mud before finally coming to an agreement -- just- durant and his competitors being petty as fuck, honestly. it’s hilarious

bohannon trying to get through to elam by reminiscing about their friendship, especially since bohannon isn’t one to show his feelings often OR get sappy -- in fact, EVERY time bohannon loses his stoic facade is a good moment. when he was gonna bury elam and he just broke down completely for the first time since we were introduced to him... that shit had me in tears as well, but man was it a great scene

jimmy two-squaws

every time the swede opens his mouth (yes, even when he’s spouting some lies and bullshit like that)

ruth’s character development. i admit i didn’t like her at all in the beginning, idk something just felt off about her, but man did she ever grow on me. just-- how everyone kinda relied on her eventually, even though she’s only like in her 20′s or something... she still became a pillar of the community. bless ya, ruth :’ı -- also, her essentially adopting ezra was Pure as heck. I Lov it

the fact that this was the 1800′s and the only backlash the (openly) LGBT characters faced for it was pm just “yeah they’re a bit confused maybe but they’re not hurting anyone”. maybe that’s not very realistic but WHO GIVES A SHIT AMIRITE

mr tao just being a sweet old man

chang’s sunglasses, straight out of Django Unchained

mr toole’s complete heel-turn from racist POS to someone who sticks by his word to turn himself around. that shit was impressive coming from him, tbh

bohannon just calmly running into a buffalo by the train tracks

mei posing as a grown man instead of a boy (which is what she looks and sounds like, oml)

another thing i realized is that bohannon is a classic gary stu. there’s just no getting around that fact after seeing him being revered by most everyone he meets, how he’s somehow the only person able to build the railroad(s) fast and efficiently, and even wooing the literal PRESIDENT and becoming close friends with him-- all this despite his Bold and Brash personality. of course, there’s more to bohannon than these gary stu-symptoms, but i felt someone should bring it up, for the lulz

[greenlightfic]

Tell me something that I can explain

 Monday 12:11 – March 23, 2020 – this could be rough

 Edoardo’s leaving his last class of the morning, backpack carelessly hanging from one of his shoulders. He isn’t thinking about anything in particular, feeling mostly tired and when one of his classmates approaches him with questions he should be asking their teacher, Edoardo gives him his attention, still walking, finding himself involved into a full-on conversation about this guy disagreement with the subject itself.

Edo’s good with people, he has always been, and he knows this guy only needs to be heard, so he does it. He stays in silence and tries to nod in the right moments but his attention is drawn to a pair of electric green eyes at the end of the corridor. She’s just standing there in front of her classroom but somehow, she’s calling everyone’s attention. Edoardo notices how people glance at her while passing by and he also notices the guy she’s talking to. Tall, not as tall as him but taller than Eleonora, dark skin and enormously big muscles. So that’s douche with steroids, Edo thinks and he feels cold in his back when Eleonora smiles brightly at whatever he is saying. Silvia’s words appear in the back of his mind, and he shakes his head to push them away. When he looks again, Eleonora’s looking at him. She waves at him -which makes douche with steroids turns around and observe him- Edoardo barely has the time to wave back before she focuses on her partner again and they both walk into the classroom.

Edoardo only stands there, watching the spot where she was just seconds ago and his stomach hurt, the kind of pain he hasn’t experimented in a very long time and it worries him.

 Wednesday 13:30 – March 25, 2020 – worn to the bones

 The villa boys were having lunch in the Caffè close to Rocco’s university. The five of them sitting on a circular table, Federico next to Edoardo, what makes easier for him to look at his best friend’s phone when the screen illuminates with a message from Eleonora, whose Edo has been deliberately ignoring since Monday. He quickly blocks the screen but Fede’s already staring at him with a question on his eyes and he might’ve asked it if they wouldn’t have been interrupted by a pretty blonde girl, Rocco’s classmate, Alice? Edoardo thinks. Federico attention switches to her and Edoardo grabs his phone from the table to read the message. Eleonora’s asking him to study together. He gives her a lame excuse and doesn’t reply to the sad face she sends.

When he looks up again, he sees Alice slapping her own forehead.

“Are you sure?” She’s squatting, looking up at Rocco. The brunette nods. “Of course. He said we would use it. There’s no way we can resolve the exercises without a calculator”. He explains and Edoardo watches Alice’s face fill with anxiety.

“You think I can convince him to let me use my phone?” She asks.

“I don’t think so. You know how much he hates… everything” Rocco rolls his eyes.

“I’m screwed” The girl stands up, a hand behind Rocco’s chair and Edoardo looks at her, he really looks at her. She’s beautiful; he remembers dancing with her at a party in his first semester, and he can’t understand why he didn’t do more than that. She’s gorgeous.

“I have one”. Edoardo speaks looking at her but everyone in the table turns to him.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a calculator I’m not gonna use. At least no today” He shrugs. “You can take it” he smiles, politely.

“Really?” She asks with hope.

“Of course!” He grabs his backpack and finds it in the first pocket. “Thank you so much” she stars talking when she spots the object. “You saved me!” Edoardo hands her the calculator. “I’ll give it to him once I finish” she adds pointing at Rocco.

“Or you could give it to me” Edoardo rapidly replies. “We’ll have to meet up for that, but I’m totally okay with it” he smirks and raises a brow. Nathan and Rocco chuckle, Chicco lets out an ‘oh’ and moves his hands. Fede, in the other hand, is looking at him with narrow eyes, like trying to read Edoardo’s thoughts.

Hearing Edoardo’s proposal pauses Alice for a second but she recovers fast and with elegance she copies his smirk. “We’ll see” she replies holding his glance. Edoardo nods with a smile.

“I’m gonna go find a good seat” she says to Rocco. “I’ll save one to you, too” she smiles and looks at Edo again. “Bye, guys”. Everyone farewells her when she stars walking away, except Edoardo whom remains silence but doesn’t break eye contact, not until Nathan’s squeezing his shoulder and Chicco starts clapping.

“Very smooth” Chicco makes emphasis in the first word, wiggling his brows.

Rocco stands up and takes his backpack from the floor. “She’ll probably try to give it to me after class”. He’s waiting for Edoardo to tell him what to do. “Take it” he smiles, “I’ll have a reason to talk to her on Saturday” Chicco claps again, Nathan joins him this time. Rocco bump fist with his four friends and Edo watches him follow Alice steps but he still can feel a pair of eyes frantically trying to make eye contact with him. A pair of eyes trying to talk to him without words. He ignores it. If he can ignore Ele, he can ignore Federico, too.

 Saturday 22:42 – March 28, 2020 – we can’t cut it from out these veins

 Edoardo holds his beer tighter when a short girl stumbles against his side and walks away without even glancing at him. He can’t blame her; the club is full but still Edoardo manages to find his friends through the crow. Federico’s leaning against the bar, talking with Giovanni and Niccolò. Edoardo allows himself to stare only for three seconds, he doesn’t want Federico to notices him. Surprisingly, ignoring his roommate was easier than he thought, they only met alone two times since Wednesday and luckily Fede didn’t ask anything. Edo knows he’s waiting for him to talk, but he doesn’t want to. He just flirted with a pretty girl; there’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, isn’t that what Federico wanted him to do? It’s stupid from him to sit and wait for Edoardo to talk when there’s literally nothing out of place.

With Eleonora’s different. Unlike his best friend, the girl has been trying to see him since Tuesday, but he has managed to decline every invitation to study. He has seen her for the first time today when they all met at Marti’s and Nico’s apartment before going to the club, but Edo got himself involved into a long conversation with a very enthusiastic Luca, providing him of an excuse to ignore her the whole time. He’s enough of a dick to ignore both his friends but he isn’t enough of a dick to cancel the night out they all have been looking forward for a month. It’s not usual for all of them to be available to hang out at the same time, so Edoardo didn’t have the heart to cancel. He’s succeeding with his plan by far. He’s alone with a cold beer on his right hand and walking by the club, listening to good music, and more importantly, away from Federico and Eleonora.

The tall guy smiles brightly when he sees a known face walking in his direction. She hasn’t seen him yet, but Edoardo puts his cold hand on her waist, turning her body to his. Alice’s eyes soften when they meet his.

“Hey” Edoardo greets her with a smirk.

“Hi!” she smiles. “Did you get your calculator back?” half screams moving her head, making sure Edoardo hears her.

“I did” he leans in. “Although part of me was disappointed when Rocco gave it back. I was expecting a prettier face.” He moves away, looking at her face and sees her wrinkles her nose in that particular way that reminds Edo of certain brunettes with eyes greener than Alice.

He spots her with his peripheral vision; she is standing next to a wall not so far away from him and she’s not alone. The same guy he saw her with on Monday is leaning in front of her, covering her with his huge back but when Edoardo’s forcing himself to look back at Alice, the guys shifts and he can catch a glance of Eleonora’s face and it’s like time stops for him when he recognizes the look on her face, the same look she had three weeks ago in his house when the power went off. Eleonora is scared.

“Excuse me” Edoardo speaks not looking at Alice and stars walking fast, elbowing people left and right. When he’s close, he sees the guy’s hand holding Eleonora wrist with pressure and he’s ready to push him away from her when Ele meets his eyes and her face instantly relaxes. Her eyes have the same effect on Edo, who inhales deeply and talks over the guy’s shoulder. “There you are!” He tries to smile. “I thought you got lost or something.” Edoardo’s looking to Eleonora’s face, trying to speak to her with his eyes.

The guy turns around to face him but Edo ignores him. “Come on, help me find Eva” he moves closer and extends his hand to Ele but before she can take it the guy stands in the middle of them, looking up at Edoardo. “We’re talking” he says with a cold smile. “Ele?” He ignores him again, and he can feel the dude getting mad.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Edoardo” he stands straight. “I’m Eleonora’s friend and-” the guy cuts him off “Okay, Edoardo, your friend and I are in the middle of something. Why don’t you go?” He gets closer.

“Because I’m smart enough to notice she doesn’t want to talk to you. So, get the hell out of here” Edo spits his last words with his hands turning fits into his jean’s pockets. After a second of silently staring, the curly boy feels a familiar warm next to him. “Edo?” Elia speaks, low and he doesn’t need to glance at his friend, he knows the look on his face. Elia is ready to fight the moment Edoardo gives him a sign.

The guy lifts his chin a look at both of them, studying them, thinking if maybe he can take them both but Edoardo see the thought leaving his eyes. The guy looks at him from head to toes one last time and walk past them, shoving Elia’s shoulder on the way.

When they both have lost him in the crow and turn around, Edo’s the first one to notice the girl’s absence.

“Fuck!” he youths.

“Ele”. Elia notices too.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck” Edoardo’s turning all sides, trying to find her.

“You go out. I’ll check the bathroom” Elia tells him, serenely and gently pushes his shoulders to force him to move.

Edoardo turns on his heels and heads to the door, taking his phone out on the way to call her. No responses. He’s trying not to panic but it’s taking him way too long to get out of the club and he hasn’t seen any sign of her yet or the guy.

When Edoardo finally makes his way out of the building, he lets out a loud sigh as he spots a red blouse at the end of the road.

Eleonora’s sitting on the street, hugging herself with her head buried in her knees. He approaches her and puts his hand on her back, “Ele” he whispers and she jumps, moving her body away from his touch.

“Ele” he kneels next to her, concern covering his face, “are you okay? Did he do something to you?” he’s looking at her eyes with affection. He wants her to know he won’t hurt her.

“I’m fine” her voice is shaking and tears are burning her eyes.

“Eleonora” he extends his hand to her again and places it on her elbow when she doesn’t move. “Ele, say something. Please”. He’s definitely panicking now; he has never seen her so fragile.

“Edo, I’m fine” she looks at him. “I just needed air.” She exhales. “Nothing happened. I swear” she looks at the floor again and holds herself tighter.

“Ele!” Edo recognizes the voice screaming behind him. Silvia runs to them and kneels in front of Eleonora, throwing her arms around her. Edoardo turns around and finds Elia standing not far away, watching the scene. Eleonora’s now hugging Silvia back. The girls are moving back and forth and Silvia’s murmuring words on Ele’s ear. “I love you” she says, breaking the hug and holding Ele’s face on her hands. “I love you” the blonde girl repeats.

“I love you, too” Eleonora closes her eyes and Edoardo notices her bottom lip trembling.

“Come, on. Let’s go home.” Silvia stands taking Eleonora along with her.

“No.” the brunette steps back. “I don’t want you to leave because of me. You were having fun. It isn’t fair.” She adds holding her friend’s hands.

“Who cares?” Silvia speaks giving her a friend a ‘really?’ look.

“I can go by myself. I’m not a child.” Eleonora tries to smile.

“No.” Elia speaks from behind Edoardo, and Eleonora notices him. They look at each other for a long second and Elia nods. Edoardo has no idea what does that nod means but it seems like Ele does so he doesn’t question it.

“You guys go back inside,” she waves her hand “I’m gonna take a taxi” Eleonora offers them a smile.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Edoardo steps closer.

“Edo…”

“Ele, come on! I didn’t even finish my beer. Let me drive you home”. He pleads using his hands.

“I’m not a kid!” the change in her tone surprises Edoardo. “I can go on my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not babysitting you” he raises his voice pointing at his chest with a finger. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to go alone. Why is it so hard for you to accept help?” he lets his shoulders fall, sign of surrender.

“Edoardo.” Silvia whispers his name severely.

“Ele, you want me to go with you? Or Eva, maybe?” Elia tries after a moment of silence. Eleonora shakes her head and turns to face Edo. “Let’s go.” The boy nods and watches Elia pushing her into a side hug with his arm. “Don’t say anything to the others, okay? I don’t want to ruin their night.” Ele requires once he lets her go. Elia nods and the girl waits for Silvia to do the same before walking to Edoardo, who guides her to his car in silence.

 Saturday 23:20 – March 28, 2020 – let’s hurt tonight

 Edoardo stands awkwardly on Eleonora’s living room, watching her throw her purse and keys into the table next to them.

“You want tea?” she asks quietly. Edoardo nods and she makes her way into the kitchen.

It isn’t his first time at Ele’s home. It isn’t either his first time alone at Ele’s home but he can’t help feeling out of place. Maybe it is because they didn’t talk after he apologized for raising his voice, or maybe it is the fact that Eleonora’s hands were still shaking when she closed the door.

Edoardo forces his feet to move, just to get something to do. He walks around Ele’s small living room and observes the photos hanging on the white wall behind the sofa. There are a lot of photos, Eva with her parents, grandparents, Giovanni. Eva through the years, le matte in diverse scenarios, looking not older than sixteen in most of them. There are also photos of Ele but not as much as her roommate. There are some photos with Filippo when she was probably twelve or so. There’s one photo bigger than all of them, on the middle of the wall. Edoardo knows that photo, he remembers the day it was taken. It was the first Friday after winter break, all fifteen of them had dinner at Marti’s and Nico’s apartment and Silvia kept complaining that they didn’t had a photo as a group so, after several attempts they found the right place to settle the phone and get everyone into the frame. In the photo Eleonora has her head on his shoulder, and his own head’s tilted, too, brushing her forehead with some curls. She’s smiling beautifully.

“That’s a good one.” Eleonora says behind him, forcing Edoardo’s mind to return to the present. When he turns to face her, she’s extending her arm to him, offering a mug full of hot tea. Edoardo takes it, and they walk to the couch. Eleonora settles on it with her legs under her ass and Edoardo sits down on the table in front of her.

“What happened?” The boy asks after tasting his tea.

“Nothing.” Eleonora speaks looking down. “He wanted me to leave with him. I said ‘no’. He wanted to kiss me; I didn’t let him and he pressed me against the wall and, well, you showed up.” She looks up for a moment, before focusing her attention on the mug between her hands.”

“What else?” Edoardo ducks his head in an intent to catch her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Ele, your hands are still shaking.” Eleonora grabs her mug firmer.

“He didn’t hurt me or touched me” she nods to emphasize her story. Edoardo’s looking at her with his elbows pressing each knee. He wants to holds her until her sad expression disappears but he knows he can’t. The last thing she needs right now is someone invading her space.

“It just…” she takes a deep breath. “I think it brought back bad memories” she shrugs and takes a sip of tea, waiting for her friend to react.

There are a thousand questions forming on Edoardo’s mind. Did someone hurt her? How? When? Who? Anger fills every corner of his body at the thought of someone, anyone putting a hand on her.

“I had a boyfriend.” She speaks absently. “He… wasn’t very nice to me” she clears her throat to stabilize her tone. “I had those memories buried deep down and what happened tonight brought them back, I guess. I just feel overwhelmed” she smiles with sadness and Edoardo can think straight. Next thing he knows, he’s on his knees in front of Eleonora, hugging her firmly, trying to take those memories away with his embrace. She’s relaxing into his arms and they stay like that for a while. Edoardo doesn’t really know how long but he doesn’t care either.

Moving one of his hands to cover her head he speaks slow. “You can cry if you want.” Eleonora snorts against his chest and holds him tighter.

[cuteandtwisted]

prompt: "unrequited". hurt me ❤️

(I don’t know about hurting you bb. But here you go. Unrequited. ft blind & confused Even and bold and confident Isak) 

“Truth or dare.”

Even is on the floor, his long legs folded in front of him and hurting a bit around the knees. A bottle is pointing at him and a drunk girl is laughing to his right. It’s Friday night.

Even hasn’t done Friday nights in a while, but Elias insisted it would do him some good. So he ends up on the floor playing truth or dare with a bunch of drunk kids he barely knows.

“Dare,” Even mouthes, much to everyone’s delight.

“Kiss Sara!” Some girl orders him. “With tongue!”

Even has no idea who Sara is. He looks to the only familiar face around the circle they’ve been forming for over fifteen minutes now. Isak.

He’s Sana’s friend from school and Even first met him at the Bakkoush house a few months ago. He’s easy to talk to, funny, smart, confident, great at FIFA, too great actually. Even enjoys his company despite barely enjoying anyone’s lately.

Isak subtly gestures to the girl to Even’s left with his eyes, the presumed Sara that he has to kiss. Even gets on his knees and pecks her forehead.

He gets booed. He laughs it off. They forgive him because they claim to know that he just went through a “bad break-up“. It’s not even true. He’s on good terms with Sonja. But he’ll take it, glad they’re not making him kiss the random girl on the mouth.

He sits back down and gives Isak a grateful look. Isak nods and it’s like they have their very own secret language. Elias jokingly commented on it before, and Even has been careful not to use it since to avoid specifically this.

This. The subtle flush currently spreading on Isak’s cheeks. The flush that always spreads on his cheeks and down the back of his neck when they have a moment. Even looks away.

This is bad.

Even knows Isak is gay and that he’s not ashamed of it. And he admires him for being so comfortable in his skin. He really does. But Elias said that he thinks Isak has a crush on him. And Even doesn’t wish to lead him on. He doesn’t wish to get tangled up in any sort of drama this year.

But then again, it’s probably all in his head. Isak probably doesn’t care about him. It’s probably the alcohol making his cheeks pink and his stare tender and-

“Isak, truth or dare?”  

Even didn’t even notice that someone spinned the bottle again.

“Truth,” Isak replies, chuckling.

“Boring!” Someone shouts.

“Whatever.”

“True or False: you like someone around this circle?”

Even stills, tightness in his chest. He’s the only other guy in the circle. Isak is gay. He’s the only option. This is it.

Isak laughs it off like it’s nothing, brings his beer to his mouth, then chugs it.

Loud shrieks, cheers, and laughter erupt around the room. And it’s almost as loud as in Even’s brain. This is everything he was hoping to avoid.

“Oh my god! I knew it! You like Even, don’t you?! Don’t you, huh?!” Some girl named Eva nearly jumps on Isak’s lap.

.

“It’s true. I like you.” Isak tells him very matter-of-factly on their way home. They usually walk home together given that their apartments are close.

Even is nearly sucking on a cigarette, his cheeks hollowing while Isak stares at his side profile, his hands in his pockets.

Even doesn’t reply.

“Does it bother you?” Isak asks.

“That you like me?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

They walk and the air feels brutally cold on Even’s skin.

“But you don’t feel the same way,” Isak says next. It’s not a question but it sounds like one.

“I don’t swing that way. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Isak gasps. “I thought-. Hm.” A pause. “Never mind.”

“You heard things.” Even concludes.

“I did,” says Isak. “Is it not true?”

“If you’re asking if it happened, the answer is yes,” Even shrugs. He’s had this conversation before. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore.  

“That’s the definition of swinging that way, Even.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. So no, it isn’t.”

Isak snorts. He actually does. “It just slipped into your mouth?”  

“I’m bipolar.”

“I know that. What’s the correlation?”

“Sometimes when you’re bipolar, you do things you don’t mean. Like hurt people you care about and break things and steal money and-”

“And suck dick?” Isak interrupts him.

Well.

“Yeah I guess.”

“Are you saying that gayness is a symptom of your bipolar?”

“It was an isolated incident. So like. Whatever.”

It should be awkward and tense. But it isn’t. Even doesn’t feel much. He feels numb all the time. It’s almost suffocating.

“So I take it that you didn’t enjoy it?” Isak asks eventually.

“What? Sucking dick?”

“Yeah.”

“No, not really.”

“Okay.”

They walk a bit further, and Even is surprised upon realizing that he doesn’t mind Isak’s company after his confession. Not even one bit.

“Are we still playing FIFA tomorrow?” Isak asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” Even echoes.

Isak turns around, starts walking backward and pulls his hoodie over his soft curly hair.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Aren’t straight guys supposed to freak out when a gay guy says he likes them?” Isak teases.

“Well, let’s say I don’t blame you for liking me,” Even teases right back.

“Don’t get cocky,” Isak shoves him, laughing. If he can laugh about it, then his feelings weren’t that deep. This is good.

“Isn’t that what you like about me?”

“Your fake confidence? No.”

“Oh yeah? What is it then?” Even jokes. It’s not very nice, but Isak seems to be enjoying the banter.

“Your blowjob lips,” Isak says with a smile. “Quite a waste now that we’re talking about it.”

It’s Even’s turn to shove him now. “You’ve got a filthy mouth. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Hmm. Yes,” Isak teases again, feigning a moan. “Make me shut my filthy mouth, daddy.”

“You’re a fucking riot, huh.” Even laughs.

Isak laughs too, stretches his arms, sways his hips a little bit, his steps uneven. He looks so free, so carefree. He’s lovely under the moonlight like this.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” says Isak.

“What makes you think I need cheering?”

“Dunno. Just a hunch. You look like shit. No offense.”

“One would think I’m the one who just got rejected.”

“Too soon, asshole.”

They laugh. Even doesn’t think much when he wraps his arm around his shoulders as they walk. Because if Isak is hurting, he will tell him.

His feelings probably weren’t that deep.

.

They play FIFA and hang out at Sana’s house and even see each other at Uni for lunch. It’s no big deal. Isak does most of the talking, ranting about his classes or raving about the latest true crime documentary he watched on Netflix or synthesizing some conspiracy theory he read on Reddit. Isak talks and Even watches, nods, laughs. Isak is funny and smart. He’s his friend. It’s no big deal.

Isak invites him to parties thrown by his department and Even goes because it’s no big deal. And they might always end the night laughing over joints instead of finding someone to take home, but it’s fine. Even doesn’t like to do hook-ups and he’s not looking to jump into a relationship with some girl anyway.

“What about that guy over there? Should I go for it?” Isak asks him, always asks him before hitting on someone like he needs Even’s permission.

“You can do whatever you want, Isak.”

“Yes, but do you think he’s hot? I need a straight guy’s opinion.”

He’s so full of shit. But it still makes Even laugh. “He’s not as hot as you,” he tells him because that’s what he wants to hear. Isak looks smug.

“I won’t hook up with him then,” he says.

“If you’re looking for someone hotter than you, you’re probably gonna end up celibate for the rest of your life.”

“You realize that this isn’t very heterosexual of you? Right?” Isak teases, leans in a bit closer than he normally would.

“I’m just stating facts.”

“No. You’re flirting with me. It’s embarrassing.”

“Me? Flirting with you? Where? Show me where.”

“You’re a literal child.” Isak rolls his eyes but he’s smiling.

“Show me where I flirted. Show me!”

Even doesn’t know when he put his hands on him, tickling him, but Isak’s body feels sturdy yet tender under his fingers. He’s all muscles and soft skin. Even wants to keep touching. Even is confused.

Isak puts his hands on his, brings him closer until they’re chest to chest, pressed against the wall.  

“You want me to show you where? Hm?” Isak whispers into his ear and it’s filthy. He slides his right hand between them and cups him between his legs. “Here. Right here.”

Even gasps.

“Is this for me, baby?” Isak tilts his head and smiles before shoving him gently.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Even chuckles nervously then awkwardly runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you always half hard or only when I’m around?”

“Stop that right now.”

“You should probably get yourself checked. Your symptoms are showing, Bech Næsheim.”

Then he walks away, all smug and proud while Even erupts behind him. Fuck.

“I won’t let you get away with it,” Even follows him outside.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do? Suck me off?”

“Shut up!” Even pulls jumps on his back and brings both of them down.

They wrestle on the grass like idiots, end up with weeds in their mouths, and laughter in their chests. And Isak lets him wrap his arms around his shoulder on their way home.

“True or false: you had a good time with me tonight,” Isak asks.

“True.”

It’s no big deal.

.

“Is it true you’re hooking up with Isak?” Elias asks him one day.

“Huh?! No, we’re friends. Why?”

“Didn’t he confess his feelings to you back at that party?”

“Yeah and I told him I wasn’t interested. No big deal.”

“Yet you’re always together, touching and shit.”

“What’s your point?” Even asks, annoyed and irritated now.

“Are you sure you’re just friends? I mean to him. Did you make it clear to him? Sana won’t forgive me if you hurt him.”

“Hurt him?” Even snorts. “Isak doesn’t give a single shit. I don’t think anyone can hurt him.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Elias warns him. “You only see what he allows you to see. You should know better.”

Right. Ouch. Even used to be a better human being, once upon a time. Before all the walls and all the smoke.

“I’m not doing anything. And he doesn’t like me anymore. He’s over it. We’re just bros.”

.

It turns out that he’s wrong. Even mentions it jokingly to tease Isak about his tendency to change his mind like the wind. And Isak immediately rectifies his claim.

“I still like you. I may change my mind about plans for the evening every two seconds, but I still like you. I’d still drop on my knees right now if you asked me.”

Even is floored. It’s the most genuine reaction anyone has gotten out of him in a while. He doesn’t know what to say.

“We’re gonna need some rules, then.”

.

His rules are simple but cruel and dumb. Isak can’t say that he likes him anymore. They can’t joke about dicks or dropping on their knees. They can’t touch. They can’t be each other’s dates to parties. They can’t hang out alone.

It’s the dumbest list Even has ever come up with. But Isak doesn’t mind.

.

Even breaks all of the rules first.

He breaks them because he misses wrapping his arms around him. He misses cuddling him at the back of empty buses. He misses having a hand in his hair. And he’s not being very nice or considerate, but Isak isn’t particularly opposed to it. When Even opens his arms, Isak walks into them. It’s simple. They’re simple.

Isak is overflowing with affection to give and Even is suffocating from his blinding need for it. It’s simple. It’s a win-win arrangement.

Isak cuddles him when Even looks weary. He welcomes him between his legs when Even is feeling down and Isak is sitting on top of a short wall while they wait for their tram, running his hands up and down his back the way Even likes it. He plays with his hair when Even is trying to fall asleep in the library but can’t.

Isak is always up for it. Always giving him what he needs without asking for anything in return. Even wonders if Isak feels anything at all.

“True or false: if I were a girl, you’d be in love with me right now.” Isak asks him one night after a party. They’re sharing a bed. They’re drunk. It’s late. Even has no idea whose room or apartment this is.

“True.”

Isak pecks him on the mouth and Even opens up for him like he’s been waiting for this. Even breathes him in, slips his tongue between his lips, moans down his throat, puts his hands all over him. Then when it gets too much, he pushes him away.

“I don’t want to lead you on,” he pants.

“You put your tongue in my mouth,” Isak says with hurt in his voice. He’s never sounded hurt before.

“I wanted to know what it would feel like when I’m not manic. Don’t knock it until you try it, right?”

“And how did it feel?”

“Like nothing.”

.

Isak starts seeing some guy, Jakob or something. He stops touching Even. He stops cuddling him and giving him the physical comfort he needs and craves.

None of this is fair but watching Isak with the new object of his affections makes him crumble on the inside.

“True or false: you miss me.” Isak asks when he approaches him at the bar. Even has been staring at him all night like some possessive loser. They haven’t talked since that night a month ago.

“As a friend. I do.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I’m sorry for what I did.”

“It’s fine. I get it. You can’t feel what you don’t feel. I’m over it,” says Isak.

And I can’t unfeel what I feel.

“You’re over me? Really? So soon?” Even teases.

“Oh yeah. Have you seen Jakob’s mouth? He’s very talented, if you know what I mean.”

It doesn’t make Even laugh, but he lets it go. He lets him go.

.

Even is in a funk. He feels emptier than usual, a bit more numb, like his mind is shutting off on itself.

He starts missing class, then sinks a bit deeper. He goes to his psychiatrist, asks about adjusting his dosage maybe. He feels down but it’s a different kind of down. He’s not sure.

“Heart troubles maybe?” His mother teases when he tells her that he has no idea what’s wrong with him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Even chuckles.

.

Even doesn’t except him to show up, especially after one ‘I feel weird’ text. But he’s not surprised when he hears Isak greet his mother at the door.

He doesn’t move, keeps his back facing the door, and waits for Isak to join him, maybe.

But Jakob.

Isak cuddles him, spoons him, presses his nose to the back of his neck and breathes until Even feels steady again.

“What’s wrong?” Isak whispers.

“Your dick is pressing against my back.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. And Even loves feeling Isak laugh against his back while he holds him this close.

“Jakob won’t be too thrilled.”

“I don’t care about Jakob,” Isak breathes against his nape, tightening his hold around his stomach.

“What about his talented mouth?”

“I thought you were feeling down but you’re actually just fine,” Isak groans behind him, untwining his arms and beginning to move away. “I’m leaving.”

Even wraps his hand around his forearm and keeps him there.

“Stay. Please.”

Isak lies back down.

“What’s up? What’s going on?”

Even thinks. His mind is reeling and he’s struggling to understand how he’s feeling, struggling to make sense out of everything.

“Remember the stuff I said about my mania making me do gay things?”

Isak stills behind him. “I do.”

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore.”

“Your mania makes you do heterosexual things now?”

Even shoves him with his elbow. “Will you listen to me?!”

“Fine. Fine. Speak.”

“Hm. What if I really want to kiss guys? What if that’s actually what I want? What if it’s not just a symptom or whatever? What if it isn’t my brain playing tricks on me?”

Isak is quiet behind him, quiet but sturdy.

“Sonja always said that I only start having thoughts like that when I’m about to slip. And I always stopped myself, except for that time I literally went down on that guy who told everyone. But like. What if it’s unrelated? What if I’ve just been repressing myself? What if I’m full of shit? I’m so fucking lost.”

There’s a pause. Even catches his breath while Isak thinks.

“True of false: you’re just talking out of your ass because you no longer have my undivided attention.”

“Isak, I’m serious.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Even.”

“What you think, maybe?”

“What I think? I think that saying homosexuality is a symptom of mental illness is fucked up, and that it’s been hurting me all along, but I brushed it off because I thought you only said it to get rid of me and keep me at arm’s length.”

“What?” Even tries to turn in his arms, alarmed. “Isak-“

“But you’ve been thinking it and believing it all along because people put shit in your head when you were at your lowest. So I can’t even be mad at you for being so fucking repressed and blind.”

“Isak, what are you- let me-“  Even tries to turn around and take him in, but fails again, Isak holding him closer than before, so much closer.

“You kissed me the other night and my whole chest caught fire. I felt like I was gonna explode, but it meant nothing to you. You literally used the word nothing. That hurt so much.”

“Isak- I didn’t-“

“And now you summon me to talk about your feelings when you’ve been stomping all over mine for months now. You ask me to help you figure out your sexuality crisis when I’m still trying to get over that awful night. It’s a bit selfish of you, don’t you think?”

Isak leaves and Even feels like the ceiling has just crumbled on top of him. He’s been hurting Isak all along. He’s hurt him all along.

.

“Truth or dare, Isak?”

Even is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a number of people he doesn’t know and the one person he does know.

“Dare.”

“Kiss Even.”

Isak chugs his entire beer, never sparing Even a glance, like he’d rather die from intoxication than kiss Even again. He needs to fix this. He has to.

“Truth or dare, Even?”

“Dare.”

“Kiss Isak.”

Isak rolls his eyes and goes on an angry rant. “What’s with this dumb and lame dare? Why can’t you suggest something original and cool like a prank or setting some shit on fire. Why is it always fucking kissing? Like who cares?! why-”

Isak stops because Even is in front of him, barely breathing too.

“May I?” Even asks and he sounds so nervous and stupid. He just wants to do this right. Isak nods despite the frown on his face.

And Even dives right in, cups his face in both hands and kisses him like he means it, kisses it like it’s something, like it’s not ‘nothing’, like it’s everything. And Isak resists at first but he parts his lips two close-mouthed kisses in, and he’s panting by the fourth, and his hands are in Even’s hair by the fifth. And they’re laughing like idiots by the time everyone around them starts complaining and asking them to stop. But there’s no stopping. How can they stop?

Isak stands up first because Even’s knees feel weak under him, and he drags him by the hand down the stairs, and Even’s heart is beating fast so fast.

“True or false: it wasn’t ‘nothing’. It didn’t feel like nothing when you kissed me.” Isak asks, his eyes twinkling but insecurity still roaming them. Even knows. He knows him.

Even kisses him again, this time with tongue. He kisses him deep and slow, like he’s trying to get him to melt into the wall, and he feels Isak’s knees buckle and a throaty sound escape his mouth. goddamn.

“I lied to you that night,” Even breathes hard, and saying the words out loud feel weird. He was lying to himself as well. “It felt like everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Everything.”

“Romantic. Your mouth is showing lots of talent already,” Isak jokes, and he’s so lovely.

So lovely, Even can’t help but lean in with a smile and kiss him again, and again, and again until Isak’s snapback is on the floor and his hair is a mess, and Even’s mouth is red and buzzing under Isak’s thumb.

“True or false: you forgive me?” Even asks.

“Depends how this night ends,” Isak teases, throwing both arms around Even’s neck and bringing him closer. “My turn.”

“Your turn?”

“True or false: you like me too?” Isak asks, and there’s that vulnerability in his voice again. Like he’s not sure what this means to Even, like Even could kiss him for days and Isak still wouldn’t know until he tells him with words. This ridiculous boy.

“False: I love you.”

The end.

[dezembergirl]

Tolv Poeng

The Eurovision AU literally no one asked for (Google Eurovision if you don’t know what it is!)

William vs. Noora, the UK vs. Norway;

Who will win, who will kiss, who will lose?

Skam - Noorhelm (and background Evak and Eva/Chris)

read on AO3

*feedback if you like it or think it’s trash would be greatly appreciated (already have all 9 chapters plotted btw)*

“This is an excerpt from something I wrote a while back. It’s not quite finished but it’s my thank you to you for being an incredible audience tonight,” Noora tucked the mic from its stand and for the last time that evening a hush fell over the crowd of onlookers.

“You shut me down, you like the control,”

Her fingers brushed the strings of her guitar as she settled into the rhythm.

“You speak to me like I’m a child,

try to hold it down, I know the answer,”

A whistle to her left broke through the crowd and she smiled before continuing.

“No, I can’t shake it off and you feel threatened by me,

I tried to play it nice but,

Oh-oh-oh, ooh, ooh

Don’t kill my vibe,”

Several people clapped and she blushed as she shifted her eyes from the floor to eye level with the audience. The first row was close enough for her to shake hands with the people currently listening with content smiles. The claps spurred her own and the smile on her lips grew with every beat.

“Oh-oh-oh, ooh, ooh

Don’t break my stride

You think you’re so important to me, don’t you?”

She let her gaze wander over the crowd, squeezed into the small space between the bar and improvised stage she sat perched upon a bar stool. Most of them were students who took advantage of happy hour beer prices. Getting a feel for an audience was a crucial puzzle piece when it came to the success of a small gig like this, and Noora found there was a certain fascination with reading the people in front of her; maybe that was her parent’s psychological upbringing shining through.

She took a second to swallow and then spurred her guitar into the final verses.

“But I wanted you to know that you don’t belong here

You think you’re so important to me, don’t you?

Don’t kill my vibe”

With her eyes nailed to the ground she pursed her lips and after the usual moment of silence, the crowd echoed with cheers and more whistles. Careful to put her guitar down, she hopped off the stool and took in the applause. This would never get old, all the hard work and exhaustion after throwing out song after song was washed away in moments like this.

The bartender gave her a nod and flicked the overhead lights back on. Movement got into the audience as they pushed back into the seating area and towards the bar. A few lingered and one guy sporting a bald cut and neon orange sweater approached her.

“I saw your event on facebook and thought I’d check it out. Loved the last piece. You have a unique voice,” Noora mustered his face and then shook his outstretched hand. “My name is Eskild.”

“Hi, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

This was the awkward part. She handled the cheers and applause just fine, but taking a personal compliment form strangers still tucked at her insecurities. The guy seemed chill and made a genuine impression but she had learned to be wary when it came to the unspoken expectations behind flattering words.

“I’m serious, you’ve got great potential!” the guy fiddled with his wallet and Noora felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I work for NRK and you know what Eurovision is right?”

“Uhmm, yeah,” was all she managed and her confusion must have shown on her face because he let out a brief laugh.

“I’m scouting for the Melodie Grand Prix and I think you’d have a decent chance,” he said and pulled a paper card from his wallet.

Noora stared at him for a little longer than had been called for and quickly rectified the situation by pushing her hair behind her ears. Sure, every European knew Eurovision but she had never imagined herself ever participating. Neither had she watched Melodie Grand Prix - the Norwegian preselection - and she wasn’t sure it would be a wise path for her; cheap pop and cheesy acts, her parents had dubbed it years ago.

“I’m not sure the whole Eurovision thing is for me,” she avoided looking him directly in the eye and fiddled with a strand of hair instead.

“You don’t like Eurovision?” his brows shot up towards his non existing hairline and he pulled his lips into a pout. “I do take that personally.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at his face and he shot her a grin back.

“No, I mean I’m just indifferent. It’s okay I guess,” Noora said, a little flustered.

Apparently that had been the wrong choice of words because he was now tilting his head closer and narrowed his eyes. “This needs to be rectified! I suggest you go and look up a few videos on Youtube and if you still need some more convincing, you call me!”

He handed her his business card, “You don’t need to decide anything right away but if you make the right choice I’ll talk you through the next steps. Melodie Grand Prix would be happy to have you,” before she could protest he padded her shoulder and disappeared in the sea of people.

Left to her own devices, she stared at the wrinkled piece of cardboard. It read ‘Eskild Tryggvarson, Publicist and Social Media Consultant for NRK’. It looked authentic and before she could second guess herself she put it into the front pocket of her jeans; after all this was too big a chance for her to toss it to the trash.

But there was no time to mull over his proposal as Eva appeared at her side to help her pack away her stuff. Her beaten guitar case and the mic in tow, they pushed and shoved their way to a table the owner had reserved for her. Sana was already settled down with a pitcher of water and the bowl of complimentary pretzels.

“Awesome set tonight! And they seemed to love your new thing,” Eva said and slid into the seat between Noora and Sana, who looked up from her phone to give Noora a brisk smile.

“Yeah, it was a good crowd,” she took the water glass Sana had poured for her.

“Good might win you the understatement of the year. They went absolutely mad at the last chorus,” Eva smirked at her and than turned her face to nod at a passing waiter, apparently already familiar with the saving staff.

Feeling the same heat from a few minutes ago flare up again she puller the business card out and turned it between her fingers.

“Is that from the bald guy?” Sana squinted to read the name in the dimmed light. “What did he want?”

“He’s NRK and just offered me a spot to compete in the Melodie Grand Prix this year.”

“And you agreed right?” Eva studied her.

“Uhm no, I’m not sure it’s a good choice,” Noora reached for a pretzel and busied herself with picking the salt pieces off.

“Why the fuck not? It’s an amazing opportunity!” barring a scarily close resemblance to Eskild, Eva gawked at her. Sana said nothing but frowned.

“Just it’s a bit much with uni. It’s already November and I’d need to write and record a whole song before January. I don’t think I have the time right now,” the pretzel cracked in her hand and she popped it in her mouth with a defeated exhale.

“Bullshit,” this time it was Sana raising her voice, “You already have a half finished master piece and honestly forget uni. You’re twenty, you have enough time to get a degree afterwards.”

“Yeah, fuck uni,” Eva echoed, took her beer from the waiter and glared at her.

Noora huffed. She wasn’t stupid, she realized that Eskild might have just handed her an amazing opportunity on a silver platter. She probably had a slim chance at winning the preselection but the buzz even taking part would give her, might be that push she had been looking for. But like it or not, her weekend gigs could not cover the bills and she knew her parents’ opinion on her singing ambitions only too well. Participating in an Eurovision preselection would not go over well.

It made her feel like a child, being depended on her parents’ money and good graces. They had pushed her to get a business degree and even though Noora didn’t hate it as much as she had anticipated, it definitely wasn’t what she wanted to spend the rest of her life pursuing.

“My parents would freak.”

“Fuck them too,” Eva was gearing up for a fight, “It’s like two or three months and Sana’s right, you have your whole life to get that freaking degree after. Just tell them that!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that will sway them,” Noora gave them a lackluster smile. If only it were that easy, she would have already done it.

“Just you know, keep it to yourself. If you don’t win they might never have to know, and if you do I’m sure they’s be too proud to be mad,” Sana gave her a triumphant smirk and poured them each another round of water.

“My parents are not the kind to be swayed by winning a musical contest,” she traced the edges of the business card. “I just don’t want to break their trust.”

“I know my mom would’t mind you missing the rent for a few months, I honestly don’t think she’d even notice. So even if they cut you off or whatever, at least you’ll have a roof over your head.”

“The deli Elias is working at always let’s him take home the extras, so you definitely won’t starve either,” Sana added.

Noora smiled and pursed her lips, mulling it over in her head. Finally, she took a deep breath, “Just so you now, I’m blaming the two of you if I end up homeless on the street,” Noora pulled her phone out and dialed the number on the card.

——

“For fuck’s sake William, its past 12.”

The sound of a pillow colliding with something soft was followed by a muffled groan when Chris pulled up the bedroom blinds. The Oslo midday sun flooded the apartment and revealed the mess of limbs and uncombed hair splayed on the king sized bed. Chris moved through the mess of beer cans and plastic cups that formed a trail from the kitchen to the bed and forced a glass of water plus aspirin into William’s limp hand.

“Remind me again, why giving you a key was a smart idea?” he pulled his head from between the pillows and waited for his eyes to focus on his best friend slash publisher towering above his bed.

“Because you’re a man child and the label pays good bucks to keep you on schedule;” Chris dumped a duffle beg beside William and paced through the penthouse loft. It wasn’t huge but considering the real estate prices in Oslo it was probably worth more than his dying career at this point. The furnishing had been kept to a minimum to allow for maximal open space and light from the floor to sealing windows behind the couch. Today, the sky was clear and the deep blue waves were littered with boats and the ferries passing Aker Brygge like clockwork.

Tearing the aspirin open and pouring it into the glass in his current state required more concentration than he would have liked to admit and the thumping pain of his hangover made him lean back against the pillows. The party had seemed a good idea last night and the buzz of music mixed with alcohol and the usual Oslo gossip always got the better of him. Considering the amount of empty bottles and beer cans he was lucky Chris hadn’t found him in bed with some random chick.

Chris didn’t share that sentiment tough. “You honestly don’t deserve this apartment. Like this,” he gestured to the can and stains on the carpet, will take a day to clean.”

William glared and pulled one of the shirts from the duffle bag over his bare torso. The sent of fresh cotton and detergent clashed with his own; the stench of beer clung to his breath and his hair raked of smoke and weed. Wrinkling his nose, Chris pushed him into the kitchen and flicked the switch for the coffee machine.

“Look, you smell like a dumpster and you look worse”

“Thanks,” he huffed, but Chris continued, “But I’m here on a time sensitive matter. You remember the BBC proposal, yeah?”

William frowned for a seconded but followed up with a nod.

“They want an answer by five and the label is pushing for an agreement.”

Chris’ other bag produced a heap of pages he pulled onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m not doing it,” he picked at the top sheet of paper and regarded the title.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why they sent me instead of your darling brother.”

Right, his brother had called seven time when he had last checked his phone yesterday. William had made a point of ignoring Nikolai since the incident last Monday. They had fought, that in itself was nothing unusual, but the whole disagreement had climaxed in his brother threatening to quit his contract with William’s record label - a successful London based one, famous in the pop scene. If it hadn’t been for the cops showing up to inquire about a neighbor’s noise complaint - the whole thing had taken place after 1 am - William might have actually punched him.

Having his brother as his manager had worked out well for one year and two number one hit singles. But with the decline in revenues, Nikolai had become more and more inpatient watching his younger brother blow all the money on parties and drugs. Every confrontation had ended in a fight and half a year later the record label had made the wise choice of sending Chris, his assigned publicist, instead of Nikolai.

“Whatever they’re offering, I’m not that desperate. It’s a singing competition for grandmas and gays,” he drowned the espresso in one go and winced when his throat burned from the hot liquid.

“You might change your mind after I tell you this,” Chris forced him down on one of the bar stools after brushing off a beer can. “They’re threatening to terminate your contract if you don’t agree. You don’t really have a choice.”

“On what grounds?”

“Do you really need to ask? You’ve been arrested four times for driving under the influence in three separate countries. You don’t keep deadlines. You punch people in public. You’re rude as fuck to your fans. Do you really want me to keep going?”

William narrowed his eyes but said nothing, instead he grabbed for the contract. “So this is my redemption story?”

“If you like, call it that, yeah. You need the publicity this will bring. You don’t even have to win or place top five, but we need your name out there and associated with something the fanbase can rally around.”

“And the label doesn’t think it’s weird for a Norwegian to represent the UK?”

“Honestly, they couldn’t care less. They have a long running relationship with the BBC and they think they you will draw on the Scandinavian voting pools,” Chris looked through the poorly stocked fridge and then placed a strawberry yogurt in front of William. “Anyway, you’re a dual citizen spending most of your time in London as it is, so I don’t think that should be your biggest issue right now.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet”

“Well, until you do. They have sent over song proposals,” he handed him the iPad. “Just pick the one you hate the least and we’ll make it work. They’ve had a whole team of songwriters work on them for the last month, so you know, don’t fuck it up.”

William pressed his knuckled to his temples with an exasperated groan.

-

Three months later Noora hit the finishing note and the strings of her guitar buzzed under her fingers. The crowd goes wild and the grin that has spread over her face broke the weight she had been carrying since November from her shoulders. The breaths broke from her lungs in a ragged rhythm, short and closer to hick ups than proper exhales and she gives the crowd one last wave “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“This was number 5, Noora with ‘Don’t kill my Vibe’,” the announcer boomed through a sold out Oslo Spektrum and one of the assistant helped her off stage. Her head spun with the blue tinted stage lights and the cheers and claps echoing off the walls. The girl carrying her guitar fired commands over her had set and showed Noora back to her dressing room with a curt smile, “The winner will be announced in two hours, be ready.”

Her nerves were slow to adjust as she dropped into the couch and pulled her fingers through her hair. The tingling sensation pulsed in her body and it took half the bottle of lukewarm coke to compensate for the adrenalin raving havoc in her system. It had gone well, better than she had dared to hope and the realization that this might have been it, her final performance on such a huge stage, brought her mind to a halt.

The last minutes before her performance had been the worse. Stage fright was nothing new, a sensation that had followed her to every bar gig and in front of audiences smaller than the average school class room. The sensations came back to her, her finger tips had been numb and her mouth dry, making every swallow a fight against her throat. Eva had kept prodding at her hair and clothes.

Noora had insisted on choosing the outfit herself. The blush coloured blouse had been tucked into her go to pair of high waisted jeans with black booties borrowed from Eva. Compared to the glimpses of her fellow competitors she had caught at rehearsals, she was direly underdressed. The others sported dresses covered in sequins or body con suits shimmering in rainbows colours. Eva had argued that a simple dress to show off her legs would be an appropriate compromise but after trying on two dozen and Noora grimacing at every single garment she had been forced to agree to Noora’s original choice. She had turned down Sana’s offer in assisting her with make up as well and had gone for a bare face save for her red lip - Eva claimed it was her trade mark and Noora was inclined to agree.

“Honestly, the average teen girl in the audience looks more stage ready than you but I’ll let it slide if you kill the vocals,” Eskild had said to her before whisking Eva and Sana away and pushing Noora onto the stage. “Good luck, honey. You’re rocking this!”

“Killed the vocals, indeed you did,” present moment Eskild burst through the door and pulled her out of her thoughts. Eva and Sana were half a pace behind, red faced and panting. She had spotted them in the audience over at the seated section during her song. They must have rounded the whole stage - a rectangle shaped platform that spearheaded into the dancing crowd with its front corner - and sprinted up two sets of stairs to reach her dressing room only minutes after her.

“If you win, you’re handing the fashion decisions over to an actual stylist though,” Eva slumped down next to her and took a healthy sip of her beer. Noora giggled and gave her friend a friendly nudge to the abdomen.

Sana took the floor and tapped away on her phone. “Twitter loved you, and you’re rising with the bookmakers too,” she pulled up a betting page and showed it Noora. “I wouldn’t make any betts about winning with Eva if I were you. It’s not actually that unlikely.”

Noora pursed her lips and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. Of course she had played with the though before, how cool it would be to actually go to Sweden as Norway’s representative but those daydreams were like playing with wildfire. The rush the audience had given her still lingered in her veins and the pride of making a hall filled with thousands of people scream and cheer was addictive in the way she imagined drug users to ache after the next high.

She didn’t dare getting her hopes up now only to have to have it all ripped away later. She was a bad liar and even worse actress, so hiding her disappointment in front of a live television audience when someone else won would only end in tears.

She decided on giving Eskild and her friends the room to make bets and spin ideas about the aftermath of a possible win and plugged her earphones in. The music calmed her nerves and with her eyes closed she could pretend to be in the privacy of her own room stretched out on her bed with a peaceful evening to look forward to.

-

Two hours later Oslo Spektrum thumped with nervous energy and Noora seriously considered throwing up. But as Sana had put it, this was it and there was no backing out now, not that she could have. She found herself wedged in the line up of contestants between a trio of boys, all easily a head taller than herself, and a girl in the most pompous back dress, complete with feathers and sequins.

The hosts, a ginger haired women and a man clad in a smart cut suit, were making chit chat with the audience. They had gone for the last advertisement break of the evening and with every passing minute her chest tightened, as if she had been laced into an invisible corset. Several of the other contestants picked at their dresses or shifted on their feet. The minutes dragged out endlessly and there was an unanimous exhale when the lights dimmed and the music shifted into a fast paced beat.

“So, this is it. We’ve heard all ten songs. We’ve added up all the votes and we’re ready to announce a winner,” the audience cheered and Noora felt her palms wetten.

“We will announce the three acts with the most votes and ask them to step forward,” the music slowed and transitioned into a low hum that made the hairs on her neck stand. “Please take a step forward,” the ginger one smiled and paused for suspense before winking at a side camera. “Emma”

Further down the line a girl with pillowy long hair and the kind of short black dress Eva would have loved for Noora to wear was getting her close up. The others gave her friendly smiles and she was ushered forward.

It took more chit chat with Emma and another suspenseful pause before the man took over the microphone and the camera panned along the line of contestants.

“Noora” his voice boomed and she felt her heart explode. The cheer pulsed in her head and she let the hosts pull her forward next to Emma who gave her a hug.

“How do you feel Noora?” the female host held out her microphone and Noora found the familiar sensation of stage fright creep into her dazed brain.

“Uhm, nervous,” in a clearer mental state she would have smacked herself over the head for that answer. But a few people laughed and one guy whistled. She was hardly paying attention when the third finalists, the group of boys, were called out and took their places to her right.

“Three outstanding acts, three deserving winner. Let’s hear a round of applause for Emma, Noora and the gentleman of ‘Bergen3’,” the audience clapped.

“But now, we will reveal the winner of Norge’s Melodie Grand Prix 2018, the act that will represent Norway on the Eurovision stage in May.”

“Who will be packing their bags for Stockholm?” the male host echoed. Noora would have gladly strangled the person in charge of the music. The humming background noise had ebbed away and been replaced by an beat that was modeled to sound like a human heart struggling with a tachycardic rhythm.

“The winner is,” the audience filled the following silence with suggestions of their own.

“Noora, with ‘Don’t kill my Vibe’.” a confetti erupted around the stage and feeling her fingers go numb for the second time this night Noora was hard pressed to keep inhaling and exhaling air from her lungs. Her legs felt as steady as jelly and the impulse to sink to her knees overwhelmed her. Before she had the chance to collapse into an ungraceful puddle on the confetti covered floor, the ginger haired women steadied her with both arms.

“Congratulations!” someone pulled her into a hug and she weakly reciprocated the motions. Her eyes blurred with confetti, buzzing lights and a wet seam of tears.

People moved in and out of her field of vision and after a disorienting few minutes she found herself in Eva’s arms. “Can’t believe,” she hiccuped, “that you actually won!” Noora’s watering eyes paled in comparison to the wet mess of make up and tears sliding down her friend’s face.

Sana and an ecstatic Eskild joined their group hug and screamed into her right ear.

“You’re going to Eurovision. We’re going to Eurovision, I’m going to Eurovision.”

The rest of the night muddled into a blur of faces and congratulatory voices. The only things that stuck with her were the same assistant from before instructing her on the tight interview and meeting schedule for tomorrow and a text from her parents.

“What are they saying?” Sana beamed at her when she unlocked her phone to over 50 new messages.

The smile slid from Noora’s face when she read her mom’s text out loud.

“Call us now!”

[terrencellovesyou]

It’s time for one of my wonderful rants

I was bored ~still am by the way~ and I decided to go through both the anti-Dair and anti-Chair tags on Tumblr. Well, it has been a while since I’ve decided that I wanted to write my opinion on all of this, but with university and my internship, time wasn’t really something I had. Anyway, if you are bored as well and want to read what I’m about to say, I would be thrilled, especially if any of you have any opinion on it, regardless of who you ship.

So, Gossip Girl first episode came out almost 10 years ago, yeah I know, and I still watch it periodically. I first started watching the show when I was 11 years old and I instantly became obsessed. As the years went by I matured, when through all kinds of life experiences (especially in the last couple years) that made me view some aspects of the show differently. Since my Tumblr name is waldorfbasss you can infer that I ship Chair.

As I said, I was bored and went through both tags to read people`s opinions on both relationships, analyzing what Chair shippers thought of Dair and Chair, and vice-versa. It was clear that both sides are completely biased and I could say that Dan and Blair shippers are a little more delusional (I promise I’m not being partial, or at least I’m trying not to be). Why do I say that? Because if you go on the anti-Chair tag, one of the first posts you’ll see is a gifset comparing the terrible things Chuck has said to Blair to the good ones Dan said. I think it’s valid, honestly, but let’s not forget to do the comparison for both sides. I thought I had seen a gifset doing exactly that, but I did not find it, but anyway. You can point out things in a way that is more beneficial to prove your point, and that works for basically anything in life. Chuck did his share of dreadful things to Blair, I’m not even gonna try to deny that, but so did Dan, and worse, he was supposed to be older and presumably, more mature and he always pretended to be better.

There are two key points when it comes to Chair critics: Chuck was abusive and a horrible person, who manipulated Blair and made her be less than she was. First things first, I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this but BLAIR WALDORF WAS NEVER A FUCKING SAINT. It amazes me how people in general forget who was the most manipulative and bitchy character in Gossip Girl and try to put on Chuck all the blame of being a “horrible person”. I’m not defending Chuck at all, especially when it comes to the Empire/Blair trade and the “you are mine” + accidently hurting her with glass. Both attitudes were despicable and way worse than anything Dan has done, but (yeah there’s a but), those were clear mistakes that he later on apologized for (and was forgiven), and most importantly, did not commit again, or anything remotely close to that. In spite of these two “episodes” Chuck and Blair’s relationship was not abusive. Yes, you read it write. If you don’t believe me just google “abusive relationship”. I’m not saying, though, that it was one hundred percent healthy or that those two very specific moments were not abusive. You can say Chuck was manipulative, but so was Blair. This was actually a trait that they liked about each other, together with their games and schemes. Since we mentioned the two horrible things Chuck did to Blair, I should also point out when Blair was blatantly abusive to Chuck. Do you guys remember when Chuck was dating Eva and minding his own business, when Blair did everything she could to put Eva down and destroy their relationship, just because Chuck was happy with someone who was not her? Or when Blair made him wait for her while she dated Dan? They were both abusive assholes to one another in specific scenarios and extremely manipulative on a regular basis (as said before, they weren’t in a healthy relationship for some of the time), but they both were and at first they didn’t mind, but later decided to grow out of it.

Argument number two: Chuck was a horrible person. There are a lot of things to say about this, inside and outside of the tv show context. It’s obvious that he abused two girls (Serena and Jenny) trying to rape them both on the pilot, but that was a fucking pilot, he even had a mother and rode the bus, so. I’m not trying to excuse him on this one, but when saying thigs like that, the whole context should be taken into consideration. He was still a pig on season one and on other occasions, but, fortunately, he matured and changed (I know, right? Unbelievable that people can actually change wow). Chuck was a horrible person, but he started to change and mature during season four and five, and it’s clear by the end of this extremely bad written tv show, that he had become a better person (by the way, best character development on the show). People change, grow up and mature (eventually), even if it is for worse, which was Dan’s case.

It’s ridiculous hearing people say Blair was weak around Chuck and that her goals revolved around him solely. Blair was strong and independent since day one, she never bowed herself for men (except when she dated Dan, an OOC moment). Season six was a mess, but don’t get me started on how much Chuck encouraged Blair on everything and I quote “Don't let anyone tell you you're not powerful. You're the most powerful woman I know.”. What a horrible selfish prick.

I wanna start off by talking about myself and my personal experience to justify what I’m about to say. As I mentioned before, I was 11 when I started watching Gossip Girl and I never kissed anyone until I was 18 and that guy ended up being my boyfriend for two and a half years. So, before the end of 2014 I didn’t even know what kissing was, let alone the dynamic of a relationship. Being broken up now for four months after two and a half years with someone, I can base a lot on my personal experience. As soon as I broke up I started rewatching GG for the 17th time and when Dair started happening I actually didn’t think they were as bad as I thought before [being in an actual relationship]. Not once, though, I liked it or thought it was cute, but I understood Blair a little better. If I had a friend like Dan was to Blair, I would probably give him a chance after my relationship ended, because I was fragile and missing having someone there.

The things I’m about to say, therefore, are based on what I saw of Dan and Blair’s relationship and on my personal experience. There are many things about Dair that are delusional and unrealistic (that I will gladly accept responses on) and with Dan himself. Again, first things first. Blair was in a really bad emotional place when she started dating Dan and that was so wrong and unfair to him, because, as you can see later, he fell for her and loved her, but she didn’t, she just needed someone to help her bounce back on her feet and he was there. The relationship started wrong right dair (got it?). Many of the Dair shippers defend that they were equals and that they liked the same stuff and, therefore, were perfect for each other. Well, trust me when I say that having things in common is not enough, especially when you are completely different people. Someone once said that Blair went from being an Audrey Hepburn fan to being a cult movie and art aficionado and I agree. This “common interest” was molded and created so that they would have something to bond over when they became friends, but even if we let the horrible writing aside, I’ll repeat, having things in common is not enough to neither make a relationship work or maintain a “good” relationship, let alone make it perfect. When you have different life perspectives, dreams and values it’s pretty damn hard to put those aside to consider only the points you think are good, and that happened a lot with Dair. Blair didn’t want to go to Rome for multiple reasons, but imagining that she did want to go, don’t you think that she would like to stay on the best hotel, eat at the most exclusive places and shop whenever she had the chance? And it’s clear to me that Dan would not be a fan of those things. As to the being equals part I don’t have to say much, I’ll just take Blair’s words from season six “tasks are for minions and Dan Humphrey”. They were not equals and definitely didn’t see each other as such.

What gets me the most about this relationship is that Dan never truly loved Blair Waldorf. As I mentioned before, Dan said his amount of shitty things to/about Blair, and he thought he was right. Dan built in his mind what he wanted Blair to be, cutting of all of the things he didn’t like and pretending they didn’t exist. He fell in love with Claire, his character from Insider. It was nothing other than an idealistic Blair that he manufactured to be what he wanted, but who in the real world had a lot of the flaws he despised.

Another aspect that is really interesting to me is how can people say that Chuck was horrible and put Dan on a “great guy” pedestal? Did you forget that he manipulated everyone around him? He was Gossip Girl for fucks sake. It was sociopathic the way he maneuvered the scenarios and planted the gossip that was good for him, such as posting that video on Blair’s wedding and posing as the victim, so she would think Chuck had done it and go running back to him for support. I’m not talking exclusively about Blair in here. Dan was creepy and in the end the most disturbing thing about GG’s finale was how easy everyone accepted the fact that he was manipulating information, plotting and using people to get what he wanted. Regardless of Dair, Dan was the worst character in the show, since season one, only getting worse with time.

I could go on and on about both relationships, but I just wanted, on this post, point out the mainly points I saw on those two tags. I am pretty aware of all the flaws Chuck and Blair’s relationship had, but one thing people don’t seem to get is that they were both disturbed and dark, but they matured and changed. They are extremely alike in more ways than one. I hate that people forget how bad Blair is and blame it all on Chuck. As for Dan and Blair, they just didn’t match and the only thing they had in common was their love for movies. The same way all relationships have flaws, theirs did as well, and quite a lot, mostly because of the fact that Dan loved Claire and Blair loved Chuck. She was fragile and lost after losing Chuck and the baby, and then Louis; she needed someone and Dan was there, she used him (unconsciously of course). Dan on the other hand wanted to be Blair’s savior, like he wanted to be for Serena.

One thing I like to make pretty clear: Chair should not be relationship goals. Serena once said, “two wrongs make a twisted right”. Twisted right describes them perfectly, they are dark twisted and troubled, but somehow, they are right for each other. Chuck evolved and matured and so did Blair, but neither are examples of great people. Nor is their relationship an example of healthy. Their evolution, though, is something to take into consideration. The way they wanted to be equals and have their minds set and focused on the relationship is awesome. Their relationship, especially in the end, has great lessons, both good and bad.

We are adults and should be able to spot the differences between fiction and reality, to be able to see what’s wrong on tv and try not to mimic in real life. This serves for all the relationships, not only the ones involving Blair or Gossip Girl.

[summerfitzy]

my girl

Fandom: Skam Ship: Chris x Eva Summary: In which Chris and Eva end up together. ao3

For the anon who requested Chriseva <3 (And because writing this was a form of therapy after last night’s plot twist.) Thank you so, so much for the incredibly kind message, hope you like this!

At this point, Eva still hadn't thrown her arms around his neck, murmured, Of course I’m your girlfriend, Chris into his ear, and kissed him into the nearest wall. Which seemed like an oversight on her part.

That had been, approximately speaking, the greeting Chris had been expecting when he’d picked her up for this party. The one he’d really, really wanted when he saw her in her light purple dress. It had looked soft. Like his his hands should be all over it, all over her. (It still looked like that.) 

Back when he’d first met Eva—a million years ago, or a little over a year and a half, maybe, depending on your clock—her insanely long hair had reminded him a bit of one of the Disney princesses his younger sister used to love. He hadn’t known until seeing Eva for the first time that ‘Disney princess hot’ was a thing he was into. That ‘Disney princess hot’ even existed.

Eva's hair didn't fall as far down her back anymore, but there was something about her in this dress that gave him that same Disney princess vibe, bringing up all sorts of fucked up fantasies that would probably prevent him from ever watching a Disney movie with Kari again.

Whatever. Worth it. Not the point. The point was that, when Chris had said, “Boyfriend reporting for duty” after she’d opened her door, Eva had rolled her eyes and chimed, “Still not my boyfriend, Chris,” even as she slid her lips against his.

He knew William had said to be patient, but this was getting ridiculous.

William won Noora over in the end though, after an ungodly number of months, so Chris figured there must be something to the whole ‘patience’ strategy. Even if it was new to him. He was used to jumping from girl to girl, aborting as soon as it got hard. There was always another, and he never missed the last one overly much.

Eva, he would miss.

It might not be the ‘moment’ William had gotten with Noora, where he suddenly knew he loved her, but it was more than Chris had ever felt for a girl before. And that made whatever he had with Eva real.

So did the fact that he was standing here discussing tomatoes with her, and somehow happy about it. Or that he thought the spot of sauce she’d gotten on her cheek was cute. Or that, when she asked him if he wanted to get more food, he shook his head and meant it, even though whatever she had on her plate tasted awesome. “Nah,” he said instead. “On duty boyfriend, remember? You’re not getting rid of me tonight.”

Eva tilted her head at him, her light strawberry hair falling over her shoulder. Holding his plate in one hand, Chris fingered one of her waves with the other. “Chris…” she started, shook her head, started again. “You’re not letting this go.”

It was less of a question than an observation, but Chris answered anyway. “Nope.”

Blatant skepticism creased her brow and parted her lips. “Why?” He might have been more offended by her disbelief if he hadn’t spent the majority of their hook-ups telling her what a shit boyfriend he was, how much better he was with no strings, how much better their understanding was than any of his relationships had been.

Chris licked his lips for an answer. At the time, he hadn’t realized he was digging himself into a hole. “You know how I look through old selfies when I’m bored?”

Eva nodded, stirring her fork back and forth across her plate without looking down at it.

“Well,” Chris set his own plate on the ground, so he could free a hand for his phone. “One night in the army, I’m out of my mind tired after a day of training, right. Wishing I was home partying. So I’m scrolling through pictures from nights when I was at home partying, and then the guy in the bed next to mine comes by, and sees one of me with this girl. And Frank says, ‘Who’s the pretty girl?”

He slanted his phone into her view. A photo of them glinted from the screen, a selfie they’d taken together on a night out last fall. Laughing together, drunk together, her head leaning against his, her hair blending into his.

Eva blinked at it, then at him, her mouth still too straight to read.

Chris tucked his phone back into his pocket. “And I was about to say, ‘Oh, that’s Eva’ except then I remembered that wouldn’t mean anything to him. And then I almost said ‘a friend,’ but I didn’t want to say that. So I went with, ‘That’s my girl.”

She squinted. “So you want to be my boyfriend because you told some guy from the army you were?”

Chris released her hair to rub a hand across his mouth. “No, I want to be your boyfriend, because I liked calling you that. Fuck, because I wanted it to be true.”

Even though Chris didn’t do embarrassment, he let his eyes drift from hers now. Easier to lean in to kiss the sauce from her cheek than to gauge her reaction. He licked his lips when he pulled away a second later, murmuring, “You had a bit of sauce.”

When he looked up, Eva was still staring at him. Before he could register what she was doing, she swiped a finger through the sauce still soaking her plate and dabbed it across his face. Then she kissed him there. “You had some sauce too." Her stained lips were definitely curved.

Chris’s stomach unknotted, any embarrassment dripped away, and the world started spinning the right way again. “Very girlfriend-ly of you to take care of that for me.”

Eva raised an eyebrow at him, but still relaxed when he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s try a real date first, okay?”

Chris grinned into her hair.

Later, Eva did manage to convince Chris to get another plate of food for himself, after someone stepped on the one he'd left on the ground. She watched as he walked over to the buffet table, her head tilted and her lips slanted.

His girl.

It wasn't that she didn’t believe Chris, but it was hard to trust him. Guys cheated on girls all the time—Jonas had cheated on Ingrid with her, then on Emma with her, Chris had cheated on Iben with every other girl he could pull, and plenty of other guys did the exact same thing all the time.

Some guys didn’t cheat, though. And some people did change. She had.

But Chris was… Chris. Known for hitting on anything with breasts and a pulse.

When she looked back over to the food table, however, she saw him very clearly not hitting on someone with exactly those attributes. Very clearly not hitting on a very pretty girl. Not hitting on Emma, while she smiled at him and laughed and tried to rest her hand on his arm.

Chris barely looked at her as he took a step away to walk back to Eva, a new plate of food in his hands, but no new phone number scrawled on his arm that she could see.

He grinned at Eva when he returned. “Meatball?” he offered, holding it up by the fork.

She stared at him, then at Emma’s retreating figure, then back at him. “You know that Emma was just hitting on you, right?”

He took a bite of the meatball himself, chewed, swallowed, and then echoed, “Emma?”

“Are you kidding me? The girl everyone thinks looks like Natalie Portman?”

Chris shrugged, then looked over his shoulder, then winked at her. “I have a girlfriend,” he said. “I don’t care about Natalie Portman.”

Eva stole a meatball from his plate rather than correct him this time.

 “You looked hot today,” Chris said in the Uber back to her place later, after a few drinks at nearby bar. “Really fucking pretty. Like a Disney princess.”

Leaning against him, Eva looked up to raise both eyebrows. “A Disney princess.”

Chris nodded into her temple. “Blame my sister for that. Kari used to watch them while I babysat."

"Which Disney princess do I look like?”

Chris’s face wrinkled in concentration, before smoothing into something like triumph. “There’s one with a blue dress, right? Birds do her hair? You look like that one.”

“Chris, that’s Cinderella. I look nothing like her.”

He disagreed, all the way back to her house and through her window, only stopping to ask, "We're together now, right?"

Eva waited until he'd climbed down into her bedroom to wrap her arms around his neck and tease, "Yes, of course," into his lips.

[seenashwrite]

A Delicate Desiccation

Status: Complete Word Count: 4.7K  Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Melancholia; Friendship; Mystery; On-the-case Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas, Reader/Female O.C. Pairing(s): inferred Warnings: None Author’s Note: 

*~* ADVISE YOU DO NOT LOOK AT THE COMMENTS PRIOR TO READING - someone accidentally spoiled the ending! Oops! *~* 

Overall Summary: The Winchesters must deal with a creature unlike one they’ve tackled before & accept some things can only be preserved in memories.

I inhaled deeply, letting my eyes close and my head rest atop my folded arms. I'm not sure how long I was like that, thinking too hard, trying to recall the scent. Never even heard the approaching footsteps.

"Stop that."

"Why?"

"Because it's creepy as hell."

"It reminds me of something. Not a perfume or a shampoo. Well, maybe shampoo, but---"

"Stop."

I did, but only briefly. "Maybe a cake recipe? Except it's not sweet..." I raised my head again, but didn't open my eyes, just tilted over the side of the bathtub, drawing in an even deeper breath. 

“Stop! Please."

The 'please' made me open my eyes and turn my head towards him but he'd already turned, too, walked off without waiting to see if I'd done as he'd asked.

I was so bad with him lately.

I gasped, snapped my fingers as it hit me. It was citrus and some cedar, sure, and I'd seen the cloves... no, cardamom. It had to have been cardamom that was tripping me up. 

I sprang to my feet and as I bounced through the bathroom doorway, stepping into the frigid motel room, grinning happily, excited to tell him, I heard the Impala's engine gun. The front left tire still needed air; it screamed as it ground into the asphalt. The setting sun was cutting through the window at just the right angle to hit my eyes, but I didn't need to blink.

That part, I remembered.  And the eating and the sleeping parts. Could not for the life of me remember the part about breathing.

Anyway. He'd return. They'd return. One of them. Someone. At some point.

So for now, I went back to sit with my body.

STEPS ONE THROUGH FOUR: 

BE ON RECEIVING END OF SIX-TO-TEN FATAL STAB WOUNDS; 

LURCH NO MORE BUT NO LESS THAN EIGHT STUMBLING STEPS TO THE LEFT, THEN THREE SMALL WOBBLES OR ONE LARGE LURCH BEHIND; 

ALLOW FORM TO FALL ATOP ALTAR, MOMENTUM BRINGING BOTH SELF AND VARIOUS ITEMS TO REST ACROSS ANCIENT ENGRAVINGS IN STONE FLOOR; 

EXSANGUINATE 40-60% TOTAL BLOOD VOLUME AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE

Those were not the first steps as detailed in the scrolls - but they were the first steps for me.

In the time it took to get back to the bunker, Sam had come through like he always did, determining what had been awakened and what had to be done. Even so, it was Castiel who would be attending to the details. But first the angel had to attend to Dean.

I'd watched as Dean argued with the both of them for hours, about why I couldn't be brought back, then why I shouldn't be pyred and fired immediately. I’d watched for another few hours as they talked the whiskey, then the gun, out of his hand.  

They'd cried. I'd cried, though they couldn't tell, and I couldn't tell that anything was hitting my cheeks. Dean tossed and turned so fiercely, his bed linens were damp with perspiration. It smelled of hundred proof.

So I'd laid by Sam that night. I was fascinated at how my presence made the breath coming from his lips look like thick clouds. I'd held my hand over his face, mesmerized at the little crystals forming in the lines of the salty tracks from his eyes, on the tips of his lashes.

I'd stopped when his breathing went shallow, jerking myself away from him so fast I shot myself clean through the wall of his bedroom. I had no concept of how long I had been there in the hallway, statue-still. I heard someone approach.

"They can't hear or see you," Castiel told me quietly, coming to stand by my side.

I looked down at my dress, my cardigan, the brown leather boots that came to my knees. The boots and the cardigan were old; the dress was brand new. I'd bought it for a special purpose, though I couldn't call up why right then. Not a crease, not a blemish, like I'd just taken it off the hanger.

I turned to my friend. "Will they, though? Because I'd like to tell them thank you. For being good friends. Make sure they know I don't blame them."

"Perhaps. If they choose to. But I can tell them."

"That's not the same."

"I'll tell them it came directly from you."

"Don't do that, Cas."

"What?"

"Play dumb about this stuff. About what guilt does to us carbon-basers."

A fraction of a tilt to the corner of his mouth and I wiggled my eyebrows, forcing the tilt into a small grin. 

"I think I may miss you," he admitted.

I sighed, turned away, brought my eyes over to stare at the wall I'd come through.

"You don't need to do that," he informed me. "Breathing, that is."

I nodded. I was distracted. But I acknowledged him.

"Oh."

STEPS FIVE THROUGH TEN:

ALL VISCERA EXCEPTING HEART AND LUNGS SHOULD BE REMOVED, SOAKED IN HOLY OIL PRIOR TO BURNING, ALLOWING FIRE TO BURN OUT FOR COMPLETE DISPOSAL;

RINSE BRAIN, SKULL, AND BODY CAVITY WITH PREPARED MIXTURE, COATING LIBERALLY, LEAVING SKULL FILLED;

INFUSE VESSELS WITH SAME, FOLLOWED BY NATRON SOLUTION UNTIL RUNNING CLEAR, LEAVING HEART CHAMBERS FILLED, CLAMPING ENTRY AND EXIT POINTS;

PACK CAVITY WITH LINEN-WRAPPED POULTICES OF NOTED FLOWERS, HERBS, SPICES AND SALTS, BLESSED AND HEXED APPROPRIATELY;

CONTINUE TO PACK ANY REMAINING SPACES AND SURROUND EXTERNALLY WITH SALTED ICE;

REPEAT EVERY 36 HOURS FOR NO MORE BUT NO LESS THAN 70 DAYS

Each time the second hand hit twelve or the calendar flipped, signalling the arrival of the next stage, I'd tag along to one of the bunker's more clinical interrogation rooms, stick around to observe Cas' doings initially, but then I'd always have to go walk, get distance, get away.

Dean never joined me, but Sam did, wouldn't hesitate to follow after, though with my irritable, dissipating nature I'd tend to sail through trees and gates, adopting a hellish pace. He'd jog along for awhile. He'd give up long before the corn.

I kept making a beeline for it, I just loved it - rows and rows of thick, swaying curtains. I would wander, swaying with it, breaking into sprints for who knew how long, daydreaming. Maybe I'd turn north, run so far as to come upon Iowan ballplayers and field a few grounders. Maybe even stumble into a cult of misfit children, give them a stern talking-to on my way back to my friends.

I got lost a few times... maybe more than a few. They would call me back to them, and it burned the same way it had when I'd gotten stabbed. Before I woke up feeling hollow. At least the burn let me not be cold for a moment or two, and that felt nice until I saw them.

They would look at me so sadly, be so frustrated, try to bind me to something else. I didn't fight it, that I know for sure. I've always been happy to do anything for them, happy to help where I could, and that was a part of myself I would never let change.

Even so - my exploring days soon met their expiration date.

I had begun to associate the sound of the nighttime talk show hosts' voices with feeling itchy and heavy and blurry and nauseous... even angry. Then I'd feel something like sleepiness, but not - more like drugged, I supposed, but I'd never been drugged so I couldn't say. Never taken them, never had cause to need painkillers, never put under for surgery. I'd always been perfectly healthy.

Some sort of spirit sun-downing, the way Castiel talked. He would explain it to me, and while he was kind and patient, I got the impression this was not even close to the first instance he'd had to repeat himself. As time was passing, more and more often it seemed that I needed to stay in the motel. Whichever motel it was; they moved my body constantly, keeping it off some sort of otherworldly radar.

I shouldn't come to the bunker anymore, I'd be reminded. I would ask why, then Castiel would show me pictures on his phone, of the damage. Once I think he showed me pictures of bruises and cuts. I can't be certain. I don't know when exactly it was that they'd started locking me into the room when they left, with their drawn lines and invisible walls that sometimes worked, sometimes not-so-much.

All I know is that when I got the idea, Castiel had looked at me skeptically just for a few moments before nodding his head. He spoke for awhile, processing the pros and the cons aloud, eventually settling on reasons that amounted to practicing so I would be convincing, if need be, to... to the... But that wasn't my reasoning.

Mine was simpler: the nightly pull might not be preventable, but I wouldn't be able to reach the bunker and cause any upset if I were back in my body.

STEPS ELEVEN THROUGH FOURTEEN:

ETCH RIBS AS OUTLINED;

INTERNAL SUMMONING GLYPHS SHOULD BE PLACED VERTICALLY ON STERNUM ONLY;

EVERY EXPOSED SURFACE SHOULD BE WRAPPED IN PRE-SOAKED LINEN STRIPS AND SECURED WITH LIGHT RESIN;

CONTINUE MANUAL MANIPULATIONS AT MINIMUM EVERY TWELVE HOURS TO ENSURE PLIANCY AND REDUCE STIFFNESS

"Why not the eyes?"

Castiel glanced from the covered jar filled with a thick, opaque, honey-like fluid sitting on the bathroom counter and over to where I stood by the bathtub.

"Why not burn them, too?"

"It will be more convincing if they can see once the body---" He cut himself off immediately.

"It's okay, Cas."

"Once they inhabit the body."

"Makes sense," I responded, though none of it did.  

I'd been hoping for something more along the Eva Perón spectrum versus Boris and Lon, but my friends’ guardian - my guardian - had truly done beautiful work. More than he'd had to, according to the scrolls. It was odd to look at myself from this perspective, odder still as the months went by and I looked less and less like me.

I finally had the cheekbones I'd wished for as a teen, those of a supermodel, high and sharp. My eye color had darkened. My skin was slowly changing, shrinking, tightening, though honestly not as much as I'd imagined it would've. I took it all in slowly, the first time I'd been able to make use of a mirror in months.

I edged out of the bathroom, stepping carefully around the large body bag left beside the door. Various apologies hit the air, someone scurried over to move it away, but I wasn't paying much mind. I was moving my neck back and forth gently, gingerly stretching my bandaged arms as I walked, concentrating on getting to the edge of the bed and sitting.

"Stiff?" asked Sam.

I opened my mouth to reply, but just a croak came out.

Castiel quickly brought one of the motel's plastic cups to my lips but it only contained a teaspoon or so of water. "Don't drink - just gargle a little, swish and spit."

I nodded, did as instructed, tried to commit the rule to my mental list:

NO DRINKING DON'T WANDER BREATHING NOT REQUIRED YOU ARE ALREADY GONE

The last one was mine. But it was the one, to me, that was most important, the one I could not forget. The one that tried to slip through the ever-widening gaps in my mind each time I saw my friends.

Even when they looked at me how they were just then - disgust, maybe awe. Hard to say. Functional eyes, yes, though still not working as well as they used to.

But I did see them. Through the window, when I would dare to peek out at my old world, once the sun had gone down. They were taking turns as my bodyguard, seeing as how I'd taken to having one again during the night.

Sam would stay awake the entire time, six-to-six, back against the passenger door, feet crossed and propped over the open-windowed driver's door, a tablet in his hands. Sometimes his knees would be pulled up and I knew a book must've been leaning against them, judging by the flashlight he'd have wedged in between tilted head and shoulder. He flipped pages quickly - that seemed familiar, him being a lightning-fast reader.

I think he may've seen me watching him once or twice. The shadows across his face, created by the small amount of light beneath it, definitely didn't do my waning vision any favors. If he did know, if it did bother him, he didn't let on. Being studied by a monster would've unnerved most anyone else.

Then there was Dean.

I suspected he was the one choosing the motels towards the end because once bodyguard duty became routine, I noticed there was always a bar nearby. He would have his fill of camping in the Impala, the restlessness coming on around eleven. By twelve I'd see him stalk off, striding out of the parking lot. 

Brought a girl back with him once, but their groping and grinding across the trunk never made it to the backseat. Not once he spotted me in the window. He shoved her away abruptly, mouth moving, gesturing apologetically, making some excuse.

I was still standing there, running an ice cube across my parched lips, watching as she made her way back across the street to the bar, when he burst through the door so suddenly that the handle punched into the wall.

"What is wrong with you?!"

He yanked hard on worn paisley curtains, enough to where I heard a seam or two pop, hurrying to cover the windows.

I slipped the dwindling ice cube into my mouth, splintering it into little shards as I shifted to face him.

I normally would've shrugged but the upper body wrappings from that morning had apparently been applied with extra grit, and I normally would've sighed out of unbroken habit but rigid lungs made that list item close to null during bodily hours.  

So I just looked at him blankly with my new dark eyes, and the dark circles I knew were under them, and the unmovable brows I knew were above them, blinking only as he shut the door quietly when he left, despite the lack of tears.

He was drunk enough not to care when he found me lying in the backseat upon his return from the bar on another night. He never locked that car. Never had, long as I'd known him, though I had no clue how long that had been. 

I’d forgotten not to wander on my futile hunts for memories.

My legs wouldn't fit onto the seat as I couldn't bend them at the knees well, so they were dangling crookedly to the side, my feet mostly on the floorboard. I was surprised when he calmly climbed in, lifting my legs and placing them in his lap. A glimpse of familiarity there, then it disappeared. 

I'd been fussing with the bandaging on my hands. The tiny bindings on my fingers were now loose and pooled around my knuckles. He noticed.

"Cas is gonna be pissed.”

I forced a few mouthfuls of air down; he watched and waited.

“Things feel strange."

"I bet."

"I mean literally." I reached to my side, ran a few fingers across the leather of the front seat.

"Tell me."

My chest pulled and ached inside with every inhalation of air. But I wanted to talk with him. I wanted to tell. So I took in as much as I could hold. "Like there's a piece of plastic wrap between my skin and... and... things. Even water. Even me."

I brought the fingers to the tip of my nose. That, and the areas around my eyes and mouth, were all that stayed uncovered. Then I brought my fingers to the ends of my hair, just below my shoulder. 

It had grown long enough to keep it in a braid, which I could manage alone, even with my bandaged, barely-bendable fingers. It was silky, due to the oily potion Castiel had to apply to my scalp. It still felt fake to me, like the synthetic hair of a doll.

An audible gulp, followed shortly by a sniffle, hit my ears and I looked up to find tear-filled, bloodshot eyes looking into mine.

"You and Sam are brothers?" I asked.

He nodded.

"I think I had a crush on one of you."

He nodded again, and a hint of a smile appeared.

"But you were mad at each other the day I died."

It vanished.

"Why?"

He hesitated for a moment before he answered. "Because one of us finally got up the guts to ask you out. We were, ah..." Dean paused, chuckled lightly, ran a hand across his face. "We were both crushing on you, too. Never told each other."

"I don't... is that why I bought a new dress?"

Another nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess."

"Oh." 

I was suddenly uncomfortable, began shifting around, and Dean started to reach out, then stopped. 

"I won't come apart."

He helped me sit up, my back now against the seat, both of us staring out the front window. It started to sprinkle. But neither of us moved.

"I'm sorry."

I turned my head to find those eyes were glassier than ever. “I remember. You've said. Both of you,” I pointed out.

He touched my lips with his, don’t know how hard or soft, and he closed his eyes but I didn't close mine. I couldn't feel a thing. I hadn't felt anything before, either, when...  

"Sam did that, too," I told him once he'd pulled away. "Last... no, not last night..." My mind drifted. "When he dropped off more salt for..."

"Must've been last week."

Dean's voice was cracking. That did trigger a memory. That it was unusual.

I touched a finger to the tip of his nose, ran it down, over his lips, then down again, over and across his chin. "You both feel like wax," I whispered.

"No, we don't," he whispered back.

STEPS FIFTEEN THROUGH TWENTY:

SOAK LINENS IN BLESSED HOLY OIL MIXTURE FOR NO LESS THAN ONE WEEK PRIOR TO PLANNED CEREMONY;

FINAL WRAPPINGS MUST BE TIGHT AROUND ALL EXTREMITIES AND CORE, USING COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF RESIN ON ALL EDGES AND ATOP EXTERNALLY WRITTEN SCRIPT;

INTERNAL CAVITIES AND VESSELS MUST BE FILLED TO CAPACITY WITH MIXTURE;

ANY EXPOSED PART OF BODY UNABLE TO BE WRAPPED MUST BE COATED THOROUGHLY WITH MIXTURE;

CLEANSING FIRE SHOULD ONLY BE CAST DURING LAST QUARTER OF SUMMONING RITUAL;

CAST FIRE WITH CAUTION TO IMMEDIATE SURROUNDINGS

"So then we'll... like a Viking funeral..."

"No, that's mostly... but there was... ship captain..."

My hearing was all but gone, though I found the two voices drifting over from some place nearby to be soothing. My vision was nothing to speak of, either - a milky film coated my eyes. But I could make out the bright blue ones looming above me.

I liked the voice of this man, too. And he was gently adjusting various parts of me, arranging things around me. He placed something small - a wildflower bouquet, he said - on my belly and folded my hands around it. He spoke the entire time, softly, but firmly.

He kept repeating his speech over and over again, so that what was left of my brain function would concentrate on three simple things:

PLAY DEAD HOLD TIGHT LET GO

I still had pieces of what he’d told me on our way to the lake floating in my mind. The parts he said I didn’t need to bother remembering now. How the show we'd been running, the ruse I'd survived and had been convalescing somewhere, was over. 

The preservation had been taken to its limits. What could be done had been done, and now all that was left was to hope these ancient entities would fall for the trap my friends had laid. Surmise I'd finally succumbed to the damage their minions had inflicted upon my body that night over a year ago, and that a hunter's funeral awaited me.  

They would not be foolish enough to believe that between their stolen scrolls and an angel of the lord, at least some semblance of an effort to thwart them wouldn't have been undertaken by the resilient, stubborn hunters. They would recognize this funeral of mine to be an odd take on the typical tradition. They would assume measures had been taken to trap them in the fire.

They would have to be fast. And they would have to take the risk. They had no choice but to try.

All because it was my blood that flooded their carvings, my body that had lain across their altar, and my mummified shell was the only one that would do, that could serve as their earthly temple.

I'd kept trying to resurrect the memories of that night, the night I was on a first date with a friend who may've become more. This was the only thing the sky-eyed caretaker never had to repeat or remind me of - I had managed to hold on to that one memory above all. I was with the ones who had cared for me, who had fought for me, who fought for me still, even in death.

And now I was to fight with every piece of spirit I had left to keep what would soon possess my body inside when they would most certainly attempt to flee, once... once...

“Once you feel them, hold tight, just for a second,” the deepest voice ordered gruffly, as the three of them guided the small boat into the lake.

"Then you'll feel warm," said the voice coming from the largest shadow. "You can leave then - they won't come with you."

"I'll meet you after," said the caretaker as he leaned over me, one last promise before he closed my eyelids.

A few grunts along with the heaving, then a final shove and out into the water I sailed. I enjoyed the swaying. It was peaceful. As stuffed and bound as I was, there was comfort.

It didn't hurt. I wish I could've called out to them and let them know, though my filled-to-the-brim, sealed-lipped state wouldn't have allowed it. Even if I'd had the energy to spare. 

Whoever these old troublemakers were, well, maybe they were running low on energy, too. Or maybe I just had more than they'd ever had to begin with. But it didn't matter either way.

When the hunters on the shore let loose their arrows, we were all toast.

I inhaled deeply, letting my eyes close as I thought. I'm not sure how long I was like that, thinking too hard, trying to recall the last time I'd smelled that mix of hops and peanuts and cigarettes. Never even heard the approaching footsteps.

"Stop that."

"Why?"

"Because it ain't right, a face like yours not having a smile on it."

I opened my eyes, took in the cocky grin, then took the small plastic card from the outstretched hand. A glance at what was written there, then I looked up, raised an eyebrow. "This reminds me of something."

"What's that?"

"I'm gonna keep on loving you."

"Well, wow, that's a little forward."

"Is it, Kevin? Oh, sorry, Mr. Cronin."

The cocky grin faded into a sheepish one.

"Yeah, I get that a lot, see---"  

"Stop."

He did, but only briefly. "We're cousins, and my parents were set on the name, and how were they supposed to know he'd end up---"

"You know, I can tell that you are old enough to ride this ride, so I don't get why the fake I.D., but your puppy here I'm not so sure about, and I really hope he's not about to try and screw me over, too."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flirty one's taller, shaggy-haired companion immediately re-fold his wallet, casually return it to his back pocket.  

"Maybe a just a couple beers, huh? We tip real good, and then we'll be outta your---"

I frowned, feeling oddly out-of-place, my head and then my eyes drifting down, past the taps, past the edge of bar, watched as the plastic card slipped from my fingers and hit the sticky floor. My hands reflexively balled into fists and I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop! Please."

The immediate pin-drop quiet and the echo of my 'please' made my eyes go wide. But an unfamiliar sound, something flapping, rustling, is what made my head snap up and over to my right.

Everyone and everything was frozen, ricocheting pool balls to mid-air darts, all except one trench-coated patron at the far end who was seated on a stool, calmly sipping a pilsner I hadn't poured. I walked over, felt the smile stretching across my face as I came to a stop in front of him.

"I meant to meet you sooner, my apologies for the delay," he said, nothing but sincerity in those bright baby blues.

"I couldn't tell," I answered honestly. "It's good to see you. It's good to see..."

My thoughts drifted as I glanced to my left, to where they stood. And just like that, I remembered everything, all in the time it took to turn my head back to him - but he'd already turned, too, walked off without waiting to see if I was going to say anything else. I was so bad with that - moving too slowly, not reacting quickly enough - and the thought chilled me to my core.

"Cas, are they-- are they really here?" I called after him.

Castiel paused, not but a few steps from the door, and I took the opportunity to dash out from behind the bar and rush to his side, standing in front of the door as if I could block his exit.

"Did I mess it up?"

A slight frown came across his face and he tilted his head a bit as he took in what I knew was absolute fear radiating off of me.

"I don't mean that night, I know I messed up then, not getting out of the way when those people, when those things were---"

"Stop."

I did. He brought his hands to my shoulders, gave them a reassuring squeeze. He waited til he knew he had my complete attention before he spoke.

"This place is whatever you want it to be. Whatever you choose to do. Anyone you'd like to have with you."

I nodded slowly, processing his words. Then I looked around. Some paradise I'd created - an afterlife in the bartending job from my early twenties that I'd hated with a passion. I gasped, snapped my fingers as it hit me. What it was, that scene I'd stepped away from. It was a re-enactment of the first time I'd laid eyes on the Winchester brothers. The seconds that had snowballed into years.

There'd been adventures and arguments - and laughter, to be sure - and I'd certainly seen the heartaches firsthand... all that sadness. It had to have been the sadness that was tripping me up. Why that part had to come along for the ride. And maybe Castiel had read my thoughts because he leaned in close, gave me one final reminder:

"You don't have to remember everything."

Suddenly I was bounding towards the bar again, crunching fallen peanut shells under my boots as the sounds of conversation, then the music from the jukebox, resumed. I was grinning happily, excited to tell Dean and Sam their drinks were coming right up, but with one condition. They'd owe me a story about those fake I.D.s and what had brought them to the middle-of-nowhere joint that night.

This I wanted to remember, those stories over beers, the phony ones that gradually turned into truth. The eating road food and the sleeping in motels, the hunts and the saved lives, all those parts that were pushing back in, filling up my mind. I knew how to hold on and I wasn’t letting a bit of it spill out.

Well. Mostly. Could not for the life of me hold on to the parts about dying.

Still. I knew it was only real for me, just like I knew that would eventually change. Because they'd turn up again. One of them. Both of them. At some point.

So for now, the angel went back to be with my friends.

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

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Anticipated Releases: April 2017

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Who’s That Girl by Mhairi McFarlane (Apr 7) // When Edie is caught in a compromising position at her colleagues’ wedding, all the blame falls on her – turns out that personal popularity in the office is not that different from your schooldays, and if the groom is the head boy, Edie is closer to the geek with NHS glasses and purple braces. Ostracised by her colleagues, her boss suggests an extended sabbatical and has the perfect project to fill it – ghostwriting an autobiography for hot new talent, Elliot Owen. All she has to do is keep her head down, get on with the star and not snog him. Easy, right?

The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli (Apr 11) // Seventeen-year-old Molly Peskin-Suso knows all about unrequited love. No matter how many times her twin sister, Cassie, tells her to woman up, Molly can’t stomach the idea of rejection. So she’s careful. Fat girls always have to be careful.Then a cute new girl enters Cassie’s orbit, and for the first time ever, Molly’s cynical twin is a lovesick mess. Meanwhile, Molly's totally not dying of loneliness—except for the part where she is. Luckily, Cassie's new girlfriend comes with a cute hipster-boy sidekick. If Molly can win him over, she'll get her first kiss and she'll get her twin back.

Given to the Sea by Mindy McGinnis (Apr 11) // Khosa is Given to the Sea, a girl born to be fed to the water, her flesh preventing a wave like the one that destroyed the Kingdom of Stille in days of old. But before she’s allowed to dance – an uncontrollable twitching of the limbs that will carry her to the shore in a frenzy – she must produce an heir. Yet the thought of human touch sends shudders down her spine that not even the sound of the tide can match.

Literally by Lucy Keating (Apr 11) // Annabelle’s life has always been Perfect with a capital P. Then bestselling young adult author Lucy Keating announces that she’s writing a new novel—and Annabelle is the heroine. It turns out, Annabelle is a character that Lucy Keating created. And Lucy has a plan for her. But Annabelle doesn’t want to live a life where everything she does is already plotted out. Will she find a way to write her own story—or will Lucy Keating have the last word?

The Takedown by Corrie Wang (Apr 11) // Kyla Cheng doesn't expect you to like her. For the record, she doesn't need you to. On track to be valedictorian, she's president of her community club, a debate team champ, plus the yummy Mackenzie Rodriguez has firmly attached himself to her hip. She and her three high-powered best friends don't just own their senior year at their exclusive Park Slope, Brooklyn high school, they practically define the hated species Popular. Kyla's even managed to make it through high school completely unscathed. Until someone takes issue with this arrangement.

Alex and Eliza: A Love Story by Melissa de la Cruz (Apr 11) // 1777. Albany, New York. As battle cries of the American Revolution echo in the distance, servants flutter about preparing for one of New York society’s biggest events: the Schuylers’ grand ball. And when Alex and Eliza meet that fateful night, so begins an epic love story that would forever change the course of American history.

Fireworks by Katie Cotugno (Apr 18) // It was always meant to be Olivia. She was the talented one, the one who had been training to be a star her whole life. Her best friend, Dana, was the level-headed one, always on the sidelines, cheering her best friend along. But everything changes when Dana tags along with Olivia to Orlando for the weekend, where superproducer Guy Monroe is holding auditions for a new singing group, and Dana is discovered too. Dana, who’s never sung more than Olivia’s backup. Dana, who wasn’t even looking for fame. Next thing she knows, she and Olivia are training to be pop stars, and Dana is falling for Alex, the earnest, endlessly talented boy who’s destined to be the next big thing.

Meg & Linus by Hanna Nowinski (Apr 18) // Meg and Linus are best friends bound by a shared love of school, a coffee obsession, and being queer. It’s not always easy to be the nerdy lesbian or gay kid in a suburban town. But they have each other. And a few Star Trek boxed sets. They're pretty happy. But then Sophia, Meg’s longtime girlfriend, breaks up with Meg. Linus starts tutoring the totally dreamy new kid, Danny—and Meg thinks setting them up is the perfect project to distract herself from her own heartbreak. But Linus isn’t so sure Danny even likes guys, and maybe Sophia isn't quite as out of the picture as Meg thought she was.

Begin, End, Begin: A #LoveOzYA Anthology by Danielle Binks (Apr 24) // With brilliantly entertaining short stories from beloved young adult authors Amie Kaufman, Melissa Keil, Will Kostakis, Ellie Marney, Jaclyn Moriarty, Michael Pryor, Alice Pung, Gabrielle Tozer, Lili Wilkinson and Danielle Binks, this all-new collection will show the world exactly how much there is to love about Aussie YA.

The Whole Thing Together by Ann Brashares (Apr 25) // Summer for Sasha and Ray means the sprawling old house on Long Island. Since they were children, they’ve shared almost everything—reading the same books, running down the same sandy footpaths to the beach, eating peaches from the same market, laughing around the same sun-soaked dining table. Even sleeping in the same bed, on the very same worn cotton sheets. But they’ve never met.

The Wonder of Us by Kim Culbertson (Apr 25) // Riya and Abby are: Best friends. Complete opposites. Living on different continents. Currently mad at each other. About to travel around Europe.

Legion by Julie Kagawa (Apr 25) // Dragon hatchling Ember Hill was never prepared to find love at all--dragons do not suffer human emotions--let alone the love of a human and a former dragonslayer, at that. With ex-soldier Garret dying at her feet after sacrificing his freedom and his life to expose the deepest of betrayals, Ember knows only that nothing she was taught by dragon organization Talon is true. About humans, about rogue dragons, about herself and what she's capable of doing and feeling.

North of Happy by Ali Alsaid (Apr 25) // Carlos Portillo has always led a privileged and sheltered life. A dual citizen of Mexico and the US, he lives in Mexico City with his wealthy family where he attends an elite international school. His friends and peers-fellow rich kids-have plans to attend college somewhere in the US or Europe and someday take over their parents' businesses. Always a rule follower and a parent pleaser, Carlos is more than happy to tread the well-worn path in front of him. When his older brother, Felix--who has dropped out of college to live a life of travel--is tragically killed, Carlos begins hearing his brother's voice, giving him advice and pushing him to rebel against his father's plan for him.

The Dead List by Jennifer L Armentrout (Apr 25) // When Ella is mysteriously attacked on her way home from a party, her entire life changes as she finds herself at the center of an attempted murder investigation. Ella tries to move on, but her attacker isn't done yet.

[kyuu-rereads-umineko]

Ep5, Chapter 14 (Part 2) & 15

It’s been four months, let’s get back to this. I think I can get through the rest of this okay.

...WHO AM I KIDDING NO I CAN’T AAAAAAAAA

“A plea bargain. If you acknowledge that Krauss is the culprit, Erika will suspend her pursuit with regards to Natsuhi.” bernkastel really is true neutral right

Beato hesitates, and Natsuhi rejects the offer entirely. Bern points out that if Beato loses here - if Natsuhi’s found guilty - then she’s as good as dead.

Ronove and Gaap argue that, since Bern and Lambda are really just bored and want to be entertained, it’d be in Beato’s best interests to concede and put the blame on Krauss, while Beato refuses to abandon this kakera’s Natsuhi. 

“I won’t abandon her! Even if everyone believes that Natsuhi is the culprit, I will still claim that I, the witch, am the culprit...!! If I can’t even make that claim, my existence isn’t worth anything...!!” Maybe I’m reading into this too much, seeing as this is coming from Natsuhi’s piece-Beato instead of Yasu-Beato, but... This is really sad and painful to read.

Beato boldly proclaims that Krauss isn’t the culprit, and Bern responds in red: “Ushiromiya Krauss is not the culprit. And he was killed long ago, shortly after you heard his voice over the phone, get it?” jeez lion is absolutely ruthless in ep5. I’m really curious as to what Land of the Golden Witch’s version of Lion/Yasu as the man from 19 years ago would’ve been like...

“[Natsuhi] had now lost her daughter and husband... and everything she had gained since marrying into the Ushiromiya family.”

While the circumstances are obviously different - Yasu didn’t marry into the family, and she didn’t have children - it occurs to me that in a lot of ways, Natsuhi is a “parallel” of Yasu herself. 

I mean, just off the top of my head... They both get “shabby form” or some such used against them at some point or another, they both have some sort of physical problem preventing them from having children (though it’s temporary and of a far lesser magnitude for Natsuhi), they’ve both “lost everything,” they’re both reliant on magic and mental gymnastics to keep themselves going day by day, they’ve both got issues (again, of differing severities) regarding Kinzo...

“Even wrapped up in so much sadness... Natsuhi would do all she could to protect [the family’s] honour... With this final bit of strength...” ...and while their goals are very different, I feel like there’s a parallel to draw between Natsuhi here and Yasu putting such a dedicated effort into her murder setups, despite how overwhelmed with grief they are.

And with that, everyone except Natsuhi has an alibi for the first twilight, leaving her as the only possible suspect...

Lambda proclaims that Natsuhi is responsible for the murders of the first twilight, and Bern says, “Let me add something. Due to circumstantial evidence, include the murder of Krauss.” TRUE NEUokay i’ll stop now

“From this point onward, the defendant will be treated as the true culprit.”

Lambda also denies Beato’s existence... oh noooo

“Even if her alibi is not proven... I will believe in Natsuhi’s innocence!! No matter how much you try to pin your fake truth on her!!” Thinking about it, this is indicative of how Beato and Battler are playing into each other’s character development, isn’t it? We just had Battler declare that he’d believe in Natsuhi no matter what, and now Beato’s saying the same thing. The two of them have more in common than either of them realize.

“The truth is known only by the master of the night on this island, Beatrice the Golden. I am Ushiromiya Natsuhi! Now that my husband has passed away, I am the head of the Ushiromiya family!!” natsuhi...

Natsuhi repeats her claim that Kinzo said she has the One-Winged Eagle engraved into her heart, and Bern says she’ll leave one last red truth as a parting gift. Beato immediately catches on and begs her not to...

“Natsuhi. When did Kinzo ever say it was okay for you to engrave the One-Winged Eagle into your heart? [...] You know, the real Kinzo... Not once in his entire life did he ever trust you from the bottom of his heart, and not once did he ever consider letting you bear the family crest!” Kinzo stands up and shouts at Natsuhi not to listen...

“The real Kinzo wouldn’t say that. Disappear. You, the illusion of Kinzo inside Natsuhi’s mind, beautified by her to suit her own purposes.” MAGIC 101

In hindsight, though, this is really painfully obvious. The scenes with Natsuhi & co. on the board in Ep5 are framed similarly (imo at least) to Ange & the Stakes in Ep4, which is also paralleled in piece!Beato ruthlessly erasing Gaap after returning to the study (when Battler fails his test). Bernkastel’s flat-out explained what magic is. She’s done it in a completely loveless manner, of course, but it’s still right there.

“Some last, faint element that had cheered her up until today, that had allowed her to endure as an Ushiromiya, as the wife to the head’s representative... and as the final family head... had been torn to bits.” Again, I’m reminded of what happens to Ange and Yasu when they’re cornered and their magic isn’t enough to get them by anymore. They break under the weight of everything, and it’s... really tragic and painful to watch.

The audience applauds, “and so... the ‘truth’ of this tale... was decided.”

And we see the introduction as it takes place, only chronologically this time. Eva starts attacking Natsuhi, and everyone just... stands back and lets it happen.

Everyone except Battler, who tries to intervene only to get brushed aside. I might have ragged on the guy a lot in the past, but Battler is really a good guy. 

Erika intervenes, asking Natsuhi to provide her motive. She screams that she’s innocent, but “because Lambdadelta had acknowledged that the culprit of the tale was Natsuhi and woven it that way, none of the pieces would pay and heed to Natsuhi’s... to ‘the culprit’s’ words...”

Beato faintly appears and screams that she’s the culprit, and Erika denies her existence, because of course she does.

“Goodbye, Beatrice. I made you a witch expecting that you would either become my friend or help distract me from my boredom. And you’ve answered to my expectations... The second one, that is.”

Oooh, I’d completely forgotten this exchange. Beato proclaims that she’s still a witch, “even if Lady Lambdadelta doesn’t acknowledge it,” and Lambda replies that Beato “wouldn’t even be capable of believing that” if it weren’t for her assistance in the first place. That’s right, Lambda acknowledged Yasu’s catbox and allowed her to ascend to the Meta-World as Beatrice, didn’t she?

Beato’s thrown to the crowd of goats so they can devour her, but Dlanor intervenes. 

“My apologies, but I have something to SAY. There is someone who has an objection to this RULING. His name is... Ushiromiya Battler.”

Battler’s at a loss, and Dlanor says, “There is nothing that is not healed with TIME. And there is no truth that cannot be reached if you spend enough time SEARCHING.” GO BATTLER

...Oh yeah, she immediately points out that the time limit for the trial is almost out. NO BATTLER

“...I have no plan. I don’t know the truth. However... If I don’t jump in now, I won’t get another chance to fight...”

“Begin, Battler!! Ready to let those goats turn you into a pile of meat along with your beloved Beatrice?!” something someth-

“Oh, and I’ll mix the leftovers from your precious sister into that pile.” BERN BEAT ME TO IT

Battler tries frantically to penetrate Erika’s seals somehow (lol duct tape), but since he doesn’t have an actual explanation, it doesn’t amount to anything.

“...Do you have any chance of winning...?” “...I left it at home. Mind if I go back and get it?” even in circumstances like this

“I promised that I’d kill you. So I won’t let anyone else do it. I’ll definitely keep that promise...!!” battler

Beato, of course, immediately calls BS, and Battler’s confused as to what she could be talking about. It’s easy to lose in the atmosphere and tension of the proceedings, but that’s definitely a big clue as to the nature of Battler’s sin, huh?

“Heh... After hearing you say that, hell might not be so bad. [...] Kill us! Bernkastel, Lambdadelta...!!” And Beato sobs and laughs hysterically. I really wonder - How much does this piece Beato actually know? Is the “truth” she doesn’t know just who the culprit of Ep5′s gameboard is? Is it the truth - the heart - of Umineko’s gameboard as a whole (i.e. Yasu)? I certainly thought it was the latter, but with lines like this... I’m not sure.

Battler frantically starts throwing out completely invalid blue truths, which Dlanor & co. effortlessly cut down since they violate either previous red truths or Knox’s Decalogue. Battler... 

“Erika didn’t personally examine the corpses, right?! It should be possible for people who aren’t the detective to make a mistake when examining the corpses!!” Cornelia replies, “Know that no examination of the corpses could have been mistaken!” 

This wordplay is one of the meanest parts of Ep5, in my opinion. While the red is carefully worded to avoid saying that the victims of the first twilight are already “corpses” when they’re found, it’s certainly implicit, especially this line here, from Beato earlier in the Ep: “At a glance, anyone could confirm that these corpses are dead, so it is absolutely impossible that they are just people playing dead.” It’s hard to see a way around that, unless you already know what the trick is!

Beato asks Battler to stop, and let the two of them die together. “I don’t... want to see Beato like this...”

“Her majesty as the ruler of the Golden Land... her enthusiasm as my rival... are completely gone. She’s just a pitiful woman who’s been trampled over and who has last all hope, with tears streaming down her face and a tragic smile that I can’t bear to look at...” Beato...

Battler resigns himself to oblivion by using his trump card, hoping that someone will eventually show up who’s able to break through Erika’s truth. “Well... it looks like I’ll have to break my promise to kill you after all.”

Beato begs Battler not to do it, and to let the two of them die together. I’d forgotten this...

The music kicks back into high gear, and... “Ushiromiya Natsuhi is not the culprit!!!”

Only to stop immediately. “Knox’s 2nd. It is forbidden for supernatural agencies to be employed as a detective technique.”

“See...? Real truth... is a very fragile thing. ...Does real truth exist...? And is it necessary...?”

Dlanor asks Battler to either prove his statement, or it’s over. “Then... goodbye. ...Sorry, Beato.”

“...Don’t say that. Thanks for sticking around with me. ...It was such a blood-stained tale... but it was fun...”

And so Battler gets skewered by the giant longsword, and Beato vanishes.

Back on the board, Erika’s about to lay out Natsuhi’s motive. i... am not ready for this.........

She explains that Natsuhi was basically forced to marry into the Ushiromiya family, and uses Natsuhi’s old diaries to support it. Natsuhi concedes that while she did resent the family as a result before, Krauss’s support eventually changed her mind. Erika argues that she didn’t accept Krauss’s feelings, since there’s a passage to that effect in one of the diaries.

“D... Does anyone need evidence to say they’re in love...?!”

Erika says. “Statements that aren’t red don’t count as evidence at all, and they can’t be trusted at all! All non-red letters are falsehoods that exist to deceive me!!” That’s pretty telling, isn’t it?

Similar to Eva’s diary in Ep8, it’s mentioned that Natsuhi’s diaries don’t exist for the purpose of describing her true feelings, but for catharsis - she wrote down what happened and how she felt at the time so she could let go of those emotions and move on. I dunno if that’s an intentional parallel, but it’s an interesting one.

Everyone accepts Erika’s reasoning, though Battler still hesitantly asks if Natsuhi’s really the culprit. Erika says there’s one other person it could be - Kinzo.

Erika says she’s got more than enough evidence to provide a motive for Kinzo. I’m curious as to what that motive would be, tbh... Assuming it’s not “ceremony to revive Beatrice.”

Natsuhi, of course, rejects Erika’s proposition entirely. “If they were going to call her the culprit... she would let them.”

“I think... Truth is a fleeting thing. Even if I am a good person until my death... If some heartless person after my death overwrites the records and says that I wasn’t a good person, and if that is shared with everyone else... Then even all the goodness in which I lived my life will be overwritten easily.”

Back in the cathedral, the witches and Natsuhi are the only ones left. Even though everyone there knows Kinzo’s dead already via red truth, Bern still wants to force Natsuhi to admit it herself. oh no...........

“Lambda. I’m going to make Kinzo’s location from 24:00 until the morning absolutely clear. From 24:00 until morning, Kinzo stayed in the same room.”

She also adds that Kinzo doesn’t exist outside the mansion, because lol detective’s authority (aka Erika couldn’t find any trace of him outside).

On the board, Erika lays out that they’ve searched everywhere in-depth except the second floor. Bern elevates that to red, saying “The only place Kinzo could possibly exist is the second floor.” 

Erika takes everyone to search the second floor in-depth, starting from one end and checking every single room, until only Natsuhi’s is left. oh no.........

”Kinzo does not exist anywhere outside Natsuhi’s room!” “In other words, from 24:00 until morning, Kinzo was always holed up in the same room. And that was Natsuhi’s room!”

Bern offers her one last chance to pin the blame on someone else. “Call the Ushiromiya family head a criminal and crush the head’s honour to protect yourself. If you show that you have the guts to do that, I’ll change the plot into one of a tragic heroine taking the blame to protect the family head.”

“During the night, between 24:00 and morning, there exists no place for a living Kinzo to exist except inside your bed. [...] And last night, Natsuhi also slept in that same bed.”

“Blue truth. Therefore, it is suspected that Ushiromiya Natsuhi and Ushiromiya Kinzo had sexual relations with each other. Why else would a man and a woman share the same bed all night long?”

Natsuhi, of course, vehemently denies it. This is really hard to read... Natsuhi...

“By my name as the Game Master, Lambdadelta! I acknowledge that Lady Bernkastel is the victor of this game. ...If anyone has any objections, state your name now!!”

Of course, there are none. Battler’s dead, and Beato & co. have been erased. Bern proceeds to weave a kakera containing the “truth” of the story.

I don’t have a lot to say about the crime outline here. The important additions are 1) that Natsuhi disguised herself as Beatrice to get close to Kinzo, and 2) that Kinzo hid the corpses of the first twilight.

In this kakera, of course, Bernkastel has Natsuhi confess to the crime. Natsuhi...

In the parlour, Natsuhi screams and cries. At this point, even Battler seems to be accepting Erika’s “truth.”

“This is... your revenge, isn’t it...? You, the man from 19 years ago...!!”

“Are you happy now? Has a bit of that pain and suffering you’ve endured for 19 years gone away...?! I finally understand... The reason you’ve cornered me so far... is because you wanted to make me acknowledge that, right...?”

"...I will confess to a murder that occurred 19 years ago.”

And so Natsuhi begins explaining what happened in 1967. Unlike her earlier recollection with Beato & co., the servant carrying baby Lion followed her around.

The two of them arrive at the cliff, and Natsuhi reflects, “If by taking that baby... and throwing it down onto the rocky beach far below me... I could undo it all...”

The servant stumbles, falling against the fence, and Natsuhi commits her sin - when the servant fell against the fence, she reached forward and pushed her away, off the edge of the cliff.

“I didn’t even hear the sound of them crashing to the rocky beach. No, I’m sure I heard it. But because I wanted to think that they’d disappeared... I must have erased that sound from my memory...”

“I must have been wishing that the child would fall from here so much that I just had a daydream...”

Even though Natsuhi reflects on having stolen two lives, she realizes that the baby must still be alive. Well, she’s not wrong - the moment the servant went over the cliff, “Lion” as a possibility was killed.

“Right here, right now, I’ll confess to my crime! I, Ushiromiya Natsuhi... did 19 years ago... push you off a cliff... and try to kill you... But... you didn’t die, did you...”

“For these 19 years... You knew that the one you should have called your mother pushed you off a cliff... and you must have lived a very hate-filled life...”

“How’s that...? Is this enough... for your revenge...? My husband and daughter have been killed!! I’ve been made to look like a murderer... like an adulteress, even... After seeing me living in disgrace like this... Are you satisfied...?!”

Natsuhi breaks down in tears, and Erika callously brushes it off, because of course she does.

“Can you hear me?! You, the cursed child from 19 years ago...!! Are you satisfied now?! You’ve stolen everything from me!! What else could you want?! ...Please, just... forgive me...”

The screen fades to black, and then...

“...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless. ...Yeah. ...It’s useless, isn’t it... It’s all useless...”

Natsuhi lets out a short scream, and the credits roll.