#i have more books in storage...someday i will have room for all of them in one place

[teaboot]

I used to dream of finding Home.

Somewhere between my tweens and my teens, the house my family lived in stopped feeling like a comfortable pocket where I belonged and started feeling more like a roomshare with strangers.

I'd read a lot of books. A lot of stories about outsiders and misfits who fell into grand adventures that led them into perfect little keyhole they were destined to slide into. I thought that someday, in a much less exciting or eventful way, the same would happen to me. If I worked very hard to be good and kind and forgiving then I'd stumble into Home.

It never happened.

I moved from town to city to country, and didn't find it. Every building felt the same, no matter how long I stayed. None of them felt natural, or easy, or safe.

I was living in a dilapidated loft above a busted-out mortuary when I figured it out.

No running water. No heat. No AC. No furniture or mattress or internet, and a dusty bathroom with a broken toilet and a sink inexplicably pre-filled with cigarette butts, and it finally clicked.

I ripped out the old carpet. Swept the floors. Taped the sun out of the windows with foil and foam and big black garbage bags. Cleaned off an old shelf, stole a cot, piled all my blankets on top of it, painted pictures and taped them to the walls and spray-painted a mural and leaned a tarnished old mirror up against the wall.

I found a room divider in an old office room and took a lamp left out with the trash and set up an empty coffee pot with cheap silk flowers. Hung a shower curtain in the morgue and turned a storage bin into a bath and hooked my towel on a loose nail stuck into the wall.

And when I left, and left everything behind, I found another little empty hole in the world and did it all over again.

That's something I don't think I could have learned from all my stories. It's not something very interesting to read about, some lonely stranger puttering about by themselves in a hot, dark room. But it's important to share it, I think, so I've done my best.

I think that a Place is a beast, and to make it a Home, you have to dig in your claws and fight for it, tooth and nail.

Then, once you've tired it out, string up lights below it's ribcage and pet it nice between the ears until it purrs.

[syneilesis]

Unfinished Synfic #2

Metafurically

Obey Me! | Satan x Reader; rom-com AU

In a curious turn of events, you’ve become the caretaker of six cute kittens, and have caught the eye of an equally cute, green-eyed blond.

Notes: Yes, that's actually the title; no, I don't regret it. It's been a while since I played Obey Me. I found that I couldn't juggle more than three mobile games lol the daily log in already exhausts me haha. I still have it installed so someday I'll probably play it again.

So like, in this AU, the brothers sans Satan go to the human world for some reason and they turned into kittens because they broke the law or something. You found them all sad and pathetic and so you brought them into your home to take care of them. They got attached to you like barnacles. Satan goes up to find his brothers but gets distracted by a curious little bookshop.

You're a part-time employee at Simeon's bookstore and a full-time grad student. At first you just find this blond green-eyed customer cute; he likes mystery genres too much. But then one day, he buys Howl's Moving Castle and all of a sudden you're in love.

I still have other notes for this one, like your names for the kittens (you're unimaginative sadly), but I'm too lazy to look for my notebook lol

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single bookstore worker in possession of a great inventory of books must be in want of an extra room.

“I’m not selling them,” you said, “I just need a place to store them.”

At the mystery/thriller aisle, Simeon ticked his checklist and smiled without glancing your way.

“Where do you even get your money for all your books? As far as I know, this is your only part-time job. And you’re still a grad student.”

You flinched a bit from his question, thinking about your life choices when it came to spending your savings. “Would you believe me if I said I keep an eye on sales and discounts? There are always monthly promos on this site that I frequent …”

Simeon frowned, before moving on to the romance section. “You’re buying books online?”

Oh, no. “I, ah. I mean.” What to say, what to say. “I could buy books here …”

From the bookshelves to your left, Simeon emerged, notepad under his arm, disappointment radiating from every pore of his body. You had no problems with offending people, unwittingly or otherwise, but there was something about Simeon that compelled you to avoid making him all sad and disappointed. The first time you had met him, in your interview for the part-time job, he reminded you of your grandma, all kind smile and cotton-soft voice. But that was before you discovered that he could give an impressive dressing down worthy of a ten-minute standing ovation—which you actually did, much to his chagrin.

Regardless of whether he’s kind or snarky, you just didn’t want to let him down.

Simeon sighed, already used to your impulses. “Have you even read them all?”

“Yes!” A beat. “Well, no.” Another beat. “I mean, I’m more than halfway through—”

“You should refrain from buying books for a while.”

“But think about the discounts.”

Simeon’s brows dipped and his mouth opened—most likely to give a sermon about the virtues of saving money—but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sudden tinkling of the door chime, signalling a customer.

“I need to sort the newly arrived books; you handle this.” And with a last cursory look at the romance aisle, Simeon headed off to the storage room.

You return to your spot by the cash register, your eyes homing in on the person who entered. Tall, blond, and had a weird way of wearing his jacket. He looked at home surrounded by books, sifting through fantasy, sci-fi, romance, then lingering on the mystery section. At this point you would have asked if he needed assistance, but your preoccupation with your new batch of ordered books held you at bay. If he wanted to inquire about something, he would approach you anyway.

Minutes later, in the middle of mentally listing your storeroom options, Sherlock Holmes materialized in your line of vision.

You looked up, and all the cells in your body halted for one dazzling second.

Huh.

You would’ve tilted your head and stared some more, but work came first.

“Is this all?” you asked, your finger tapping the book.

Across the counter, the customer offered a friendly smile, nodding, his striking green eyes reminding you of summer foliage. “Yeah.”

For some reason you couldn’t reciprocate the smile. “Right.”

When Simeon came back to check up on you, he found you staring at the window in a daze.

“Did something happen?”

“Not really,” you answered, voice slightly dreamy. Then you turned to Simeon, and your lips stretched into a grin. “I’m feeling productive today. I think I can solve my storage problem and my dissertation problem.”

Needless to say, you were right on the money.

+

One week ago, you had been dealt with a conundrum.

“What.”

In front of you, blocking your way to the entrance to your apartment building, were six kittens IT STOPS HERE LOL

[eybefioro]

Hi!! I hope it's not too late but i wanna know about the To be a guardian wip :))))

It isn't too late!! I'm always happy to talk about my wips 😂

This one is something that spiraled out of control from this writing prompt, and now has over 30k words (it was supposed to be a simple one shot lol)

It's an AU, where Aziraphale isn't the angel of the eastern gate. Crowley is a slightly different character, he has been alone on earth since the beginning, so he's more lonely, but he has a lot more power and freedom since the arrangement is with Beelzebub. He ends up adopting Warlock more or less how the prompt suggests. Warlock is an orphan, and Crowley ends up relating to him and being properly good, even if he wouldn't admit it. The whole thing is about loving and letting yourself be loved and taking care of other people. I'm still developing Aziraphale’s part, but here he is Adam's uncle and a literature teacher. Because of some circumstances (the satanic nuns are his family in this one, and they're sort of an angel obsessed cult lol) he will need to take care of Adam and you can guess how A/C will meet.

A (long) snippet:

Time passes.  Crowley keeps meeting with Warlock sporadically, until the encounters aren't sporadic at all – he starts to accompany the kid everyday from school to home, to make sure he's alright. Somedays, he ends up helping him with the homework and laughing about the dinosaur bit (he will never tell Warlock the truth though, the kid likes the dinos). In others, he scolds Warlock for not getting enough sleep, going to bed later to read his beloved comics, or for not eating enough vegetables, of all things (those times he felt especially undemonic and out of place. Those times, everyone around Mayfar suffered a little bit more with his annoyance, just to even things out). On most days though, they enjoyed each other's company and Crowley incentivizes Warlock to be a little piece of work to the teachers who refuse to understand him.  With time, Crowley's flat gets warmer. The lights, always so white and bright, start getting cosier. The throne room now has a wall full of Warlock's drawings – some of them he stole, most of them gifted, only a few that Crowley helped draw. The couch in the sitting room gets comfier, and a fluffy white rug appears under it. Slowly, the walls, before so dark-grey and stone-like, acquire a more light, inviting and less oppressive tone. The kitchen now has food in its  storage besides coffee and alcohol. Actually, he had a proper pantry now, not that he dared to think too much about it; he supposed he was in need of a new hobby to occupy himself, and cooking was as good as anything else, really. The cupboard, having before only one sleek black mug, now also hides a fun colourful one, that he refuse to notice it was super hero themed. Somehow, comic books find their way between Crowley's soul collection, and who could blame him? He watched so many cartoons and talked so much about it with the kid that he learned to enjoy it quite a bit (his favourite were the ones with some Endless beings, that he found while browsing for more comics for Warlock. Crowley thought it was pretty malign to give the kid more books to distract him from responsibilities. No other reason at all for it, obviously). By the door, hangs appear to hold coats, right above a shoe rack, things that Crowley never needed since it was easier to snap his clothes on or off. The passenger seat of the Bentley grows a safety belt. All the big floor to ceiling windows and the balcony gets secured with a safety net. Small changes keep happening all around him without his knowledge and at a slow pace, Crowley not being able to recognize the gradual changes, but, with time, his house feels less and less lonely.

One day, a couple months before the first time he met Warlock completes one year, Crowley is walking towards his bedroom, and notices that the hall is longer. He halts, side eyeing a weird new door by his side. It is a sleek built-in one, the same type from the throne room, but smaller and not pivoting in the middle. It wasn't there before; it never existed before, and Crowley doesn't know since when it has been there, doors like these are supposed to be mostly unnoticeable. A shivering fear crawls behind his back; Hell shouldn't be able to mess with his flat. It's supposed to be a neutral ground, his house being the only place that Hell or Heaven couldn't interfere, an old agreement. He opens it, dreading whatever will be behind the door. He's welcomed by a sight that makes his mind stop in shock. It's a comfortable sized room, not too big to make you feel bad, and definitely not small – just the right amount of space to be cosy and still have plenty of room. The walls are a light greyish blue, still having the stone like texture, although softened by the change of colour. The window is big, having a beautiful landscape of the city framed by soft red curtains. A comfy kids bed with the same shade of covers occupies a side of the wall. There’s a white desk and chair in the middle of the opposite wall, surrounded by also white built-in shelves, ready to be filled with clutter. A soft rug sprawls in the middle of the room, with comfy beanbags, all following the colour scheme of the rest of the room. Crowley slides with his back to the wall, sinking into the floor. The sight of that perfect room burns behind his eyes. He knows who this is all for. He hugs his knees and lets himself cry soundlessly. It aches. He can't run away from it anymore. Nor pretend to run away from it anymore. He likes the kid. Even his house likes the kid (okay, maybe that has to do with his subconscious moulding his surroundings, but anyways). Even if it will hurt in the end, even if it doesn't make sense, he wants to protect Warlock, help him grow up, see him enjoy life and be able to provide comfort and… and care. He won't say love. Demons don't love.

Look, To be a guardian is my roman empire. I'm even making a 3D model of Crowley's flat.

There's so much I wanna talk about lol I could go on for hours.

If everything goes alright, I plan of making this a 3 part series. The first one, is focused on Crowley and Warlock relationship, the second is where there might be a slow burn between Crowley and Aziraphale, and the last one is where there is sorta of a... hm... impending doom. Yep. But just the first part is solid, the rest still need lots of plotting, and the draft is *rough*.

Wip ask game

[fandomdaydreamer]

Of a Sun and Flower

Pt. 1 Yesteryear

~

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC, alternating perspectives

Another Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to Pedro Pascal and I hope I'm not offending anybody. Believe me, I grow very uncomfortable from time to time but this fanfiction is supposed to be a real book someday and giving Pedro "the role" keeps me motivated haha, it's really just that (a fictional character) Yes, I'm very selfish and painfully self-aware.

Summary: It is a normal day back in New York. Pedro just tries to be a good boyfriend to a depressed trash gremlin but a fight in trying times makes them doubt they're not toxic for each other after all.

Warnings: some fluff, periods, grief over a pet (No more pets will die in this story, Edgar lives forever), mentions of over-medication, serotonin syndrome, mentions of plastic surgery, domestic fights (resolved in the next chapter) Well, ain’t that a doozy?

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist -here-

Length: 11.6k

~

Yesteryear

Pedro had always found the rain above the bustle of a metropolis to contain the essence of something irrevocably beautiful and mellow.

After living in LA for a year, he discovered he had missed his rainy, melancholy New York; the beauty of grey streets and the disturbance of the puddles beneath your feet as a reflection of one's own sense of solitude. The sight of these strangers' umbrellas and raincoats outside the window was evidence of the stubborn continuation of their necessary errands. Blessed were those currently in the comfort of their home with their loved ones and plenty of time for leisure and tranquillity.

The chair lightly creaked when Pedro swung it in and out the light of an oriental lampshade that shone softly against the impending darkness. He was sitting at the desk in Nini’s office that hoarded many of his unpacked moving boxes for a lack of time and better storage options. His feet were kicked up on a stool while he focused on figuring out the priority deadlines for his upcoming production. Finally, it had arrived, the fulfilment of his dream, his vision of the film he would direct this year and had spend the last in preparation for. The sheer focus was evident by the frown between his brows as he sighed and busied himself with answering an email and brooded over a level of Spanish business tone he wasn't used to and doubted his language skills over. How did he manage to solve the financing on such short notice?

Pedro's mind began to drift again as the distraction of his eyes centred on the thick droplets racing against the colourfully stained glass. He watched them drip, drip down the leaves of a front yard that had been ready for spring. Holding this view to the undesirable outside, he romanticised the moody grey skies above an equally grey city in a cinematic image he yearned to capture with a lazy camera frame. It was quiet, so peaceful.

If it weren't for this darkened presence he could sense in the living room, he might have said it was all perfect. He tried to reach out but attempting to fix this dreary silence would be too harsh on her, too strict. Slowly, like pulling at a loose thread, he held onto the tiniest opportunity to unravel what should be left in peace. Her mood had changed again. Yesterday seemed a whole year ago.

He had become tuned in to his girlfriend's subtle mood swings these days, detected it in the faint creaks of the floorboards where he listened to her weight shift from one side to the other. It was a telepathic link that thickened the air and made him feel powerless.

But what else was there but to look for your constant source of love when you felt like an anxious wreck and on top of that, like you'll never find a friend again such as the one you've lost? He leaned to the side to peek past the paper slide doors and saw her standing there, looking lost and hugging her slim frame. She flashed him a sad smile before going back to staring at the painting on the wall, seeming to simply listen to the silence and the rain tapping onto the giant window panes. Pedro felt overpowered by his inability to contribute any help, yet he was so hungry for her love. Moving back into Nini's house reawakened memories she had tried to initially escape. Fuelled by a surge of compassion, a deep yearning to hold her overflowed him when he saw her clutch an abandoned cat toy in her hand.

Poor thing. The death of her soulmate cat left a void inside her heart. Now the ashes of the cat that used to like making biscuits in his lap rested on the cupboard. A photograph had captured the pitch-black ragdoll in her prime days with its soulful yellow eyes in the arms of a girl who smiled cheekily into the camera. Nothing compared to the love a girl held in her heart for her first cat. After seventeen years of companionship, no treatment could have cured Poentje. Holding onto her former strength that would never return was then, unkind.

The strings of his heart pulled tight at the memory of this darkest of days; when he had stood by her, listening to Nini sing her cat her favourite song when the vet put the animal out of misery and finally, to eternal sleep.

Eventually, life continued, they had moved into his house in LA and for a while everything had been right again. The couple had been in love and happy, Nini had started improving her mental health and both their creativity had bloomed like never before. While he started directing the pre-production of his very first movie, based on the screenplay he had written, Nini’s magnificent music was praised around the entire world and contributed greatly to her sense of self-worth and artistic fulfilment. Entire stadiums had sung her songs, he had witnessed it himself. Pedro would try to see every future concert as well and cry when she closed her shows with his song, ‘The Lighthouse And The Ocean‘ and sang it only for him.

He wished they could have thrived in a constant state of bliss forever but then Nini had become too overwhelmed between gigs, interviews and recordings and the superficial glam of the city of angels. One wrong prescription and dubious therapy method was all it took to destroy all her progress in learning to live with a past life of trauma. He wasn't sure if uprooting Nini while she was in a bad place had been beneficial to her wellbeing but he never regretted his decision. Going home had certainly been necessary and right on time before something worse could happen than a song titled 'A Lethal Dose of Ketamine'.

For a while, she had hated him for taking her away from her studio and her band. In the hight of her withdrawal symptoms, she had accused him of wanting to undermine her with mismanagement. Once back in New York he had rented a new studio for her, flew in her band and made everything right again when she was reunited with her former agent. Olivia had finally relieved Nini of the burden of managing herself, Pedro could give over the reigns he had taken with so much brashness and sigh in relief that their relationship had survived yet another crisis. After all, they loved each other more than life itself and one would have to put him under ground before he'd ever stop prioritising the love of his life. Maybe he had enough real-life inspiration to write another screenplay after this eventful year.

Perhaps it was the faint clacking of fingers typing away at his laptop that brought her back to the present. Pedro couldn't immediately tear his eyes away from his work to acknowledge her when she came creeping into the room on silent polka dot socks but he was hyper-aware of the wave of sadness bustling over the threshold. Their distance never made a difference to him but her absence when she was just an arm's reach away pained him.

Unfortunately but not unexpected, the feeling of relief at the return to the quietness of her house in Pierrepont Street met a black pit of serotonin drop depression. Less potent medication just didn't do the same for a patient with addictive tendencies. Not one single attempt later in finding a new therapist, the only thing Pedro could do was keep a watchful eye on her while simultaneously making the biggest leap of his career.

Looking up to find her standing lost in the doorway, his frown deepened. "You okay?" He finally inquired, his lips forming a hesitant smile.

"Yeah." Nini lied and he waited patiently until she admitted her true condition with a shrug of her shoulders. Truth was she couldn't get used to her late pet not being around anymore but running away from her home and grief had not been a long-term solution.

"Come here." He opened his arm and let her walk into his sitting frame, leaning into her when her hands roamed into his hair and her cheek dropped onto the crown of his head. Her fingers twirled his unruly hair into neater waves, reminding Pedro he hadn't gotten a haircut in months. A multiplied amount of grey streaks adorned the mess of brown curls and a beard he hadn't trimmed in weeks. With his glasses a bit askew and his too long hair perhaps in critical need of a wash, he looked every part like the writer who had locked himself away for a creative period. "Did you take your meds?" He always tried to take care of her first.

She seemed nearly too tired to answer. "I did." "Magnesium and your vitamins too?" "You worry so much." She smiled as she bumped her temple into his.

"You're my girl. It's my job to worry." He stated as a matter of fact, like it was the only thing that made sense to him. He received a pleased hum in return.

"I 'am' your girl." Nini pouted then, grimacing when she lowered herself into his lap. "Ow." She held her tummy before his hand could join and enveloped hers completely. Pedro had great sympathy with her during this time of the month while she still thought of it second. "And you? How's your head?" She asked.

He chuckled and groaned. At least the lampshade was dim enough to soothe his eyes. "Better,“ he answered. “Lux just parties too hard for her old-old brother and hangovers only get worse with age, let me tell you." She pitied him over his miserable tone but he received a satisfactory amount of attention from her for now. Suffering together made the pain half as bad.

She stole a caramel candy from their desk. "Did you know saliva contains opiorphin, a self-produced painkiller?" Nini mentioned, struggling through the chewy sugar. "It's also linked to having an anti-depressing effect associated with comfort eating."

Pedro couldn't keep his tongue in check, pinching her love handles that were coming in nicely. "If you want me to spit into your mouth, just say so..." She let out a loud scoff but she had served him the joke on a silver platter. "Do you want me to get you something?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you, angel." "A heat pad, some tea?" He tried further, resting his broad palm against her lower belly and applying soothing, gentle pressure.

She let him pity the nature of a woman's body for a minute. "I feel a little lost. Can you tell me what to do?" She whined, leaning the entire weight of her body and mind on his shoulders.

"Be kind to yourself, you're hurting." He advised her, hoping that once she realised her body was her own abuser, the feeling of being down got better because... hormones. Normally, once she reflected upon the misfortune that she was just menstruating, her whole perspective changed and the view out of the window seemed to change for the better.

"Remember last year when we were so carefree and only love existed? This feels more like it. I'm glad to be back." The loss of her cat was still an open wound in need of healing and life back in New York was still difficult to adjust to but Pedro hoped day after day that Nini‘s condition would eventually improve and time would leave fewer struggles. Baby steps.

Pedro frowned, remembering realising too late what was happening due to his busy schedule. He hated himself for not reacting sooner. "Yeah, thank you for your cooperation."

“What cooperation?“ She let out a snort but then started to worry again. "Do you think I'm toxic? For you? You're one of the most beloved individuals in the country and I still get hate from two years ago."

He clicked his tongue in objection. "You're not toxic." "-Think I've got you on a short leash." She watched him take a sip of his cold and forgotten tea.

"I wish." Pedro injected dryly and for a moment he thought she didn't get the innuendo.

"Maybe they- oh my g-" Nini chortled, just catching up to where his thoughts had plummeted into the gutter. Her shoulders shook while he maintained a pleasantly oblivious expression.

Their moment of lightheartedness was interrupted by a cramp taking hold of her body. While she whimpered in anger, he tried to soothe her, cradle her and massage the pain away. He only sought to replace the tension with warmth. "I know it sucks, poor baby." He muttered with a kiss to her forehead as she leaned onto his shoulder, saddened at nature and content in finding solace in the comfort in his arm winding around her frame.

"Sometimes Poentje would come and sit on my belly when it hurt." She whined and cuddled further into him.

He searched her eyes. "Maybe you'll find a lost kitten someday and give it a loving home, hm? We'll check every shelter, alley or dumpster in the city."

"No-" Nini sighed. "I never want a cat ever again. She was the only one for me and besides, you're highly allergic, remember?" She stroked his greasy hair against the side of his head.

Pedro grumbled, thinking he'd do anything for her, including suppressing his allergies for another fifteen to twenty years. "I'm sure Poentje wouldn't have wanted you to never take in another pet to love like she received it, a gentle human like you who treats her pet with good care, gives them a lap to sleep in, cuddles and warmth. There are plenty of strays who deserve a home like that. Poentje's bowl, her bed." Tears threatened to spill over the waterline of her eyes at his words but Pedro continued speaking, stroking her cheek to catch a drop before it could stain her freckled skin. "Don't close off your love for someone who doesn't need it any longer. Give it to someone else." He suggested gently, looking down at the scruffy little dog that was currently sleeping on a pillow by his side. "Or give it to Edgar."

The pooch's ears moved at the sound of his name and they smiled down at him. "Yes, he's a sweet thing." She sighed. "I get it. You're a writer, my darling, you're optimistic to a fault." She drew her knees together.

He scoffed out a noise of amusement. "Why would you think that?" Pedro asked with a glance at his laptop, perching his glasses further up his nose with reawakened confusion written on his face.

She tipped her chin at his original script with countless changes scribbled onto the margins, proud of seeing him in the final stages of putting it on screen. She read one of the lines back to the writer himself when she had turned the pages to her favourite scene. "Art will always draw inspiration from life and every aspect of it. It's like all the negative shit becomes manageable simply by translating hurt into a magnitude of kindness. Something we should all strive for." A character she claimed reminded her of himself said in a moment of vulnerability. "Such beautiful words, such eloquent writing, my love."

Pedro clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "How do you know I'm not one of these hopelessly drunk writers who resent reality?"

"Because you're you." Nini gave back in a romantic tone as she gently caught his chin and stirred his face in her direction. Nearly recognising her old self again, he felt himself choke up a bit. She gave him an affectionate little eye-roll at the sappy face he must have been making at her. "I love this story about... the art of noticing. I can't wait to see it on screen. It will be vulnerable, poetic and it will speak so much of your soft side." "I am very proud of my soft side." He claimed with raised eyebrows and a firm grip around her ankle.

Nini chirped out a laugh at him. "Soft eyes." She placed a kiss on his eyelid, which he hummed at. "Soft hands." She kissed the palm of his hand above the green sea glass bracelet and Pedro's gaze melted. "Soft lips." They finally kissed, foreheads still touching as they were serenaded by the rain still pouring outside. Her cheek was soft against the touch of his hand and she tasted of caramel.

His eyes were still closed as he basked in her tender whispers against his lips. "I'm proud of you. And you have a great thing here, I know it." She placed another small kiss there.

"You're sweet." He hummed, still feeling insecure about what the world would think of his movie but never doubting he could disappoint her.

"You know I'll gladly help-" She told him again, but he interrupted with soft tutting and a finger pressed to her cupid bow lips.

"Baby, we talked about this." He dismissed it but she aggressively squished his cheeks between her palms and chose not to listen.

"And I keep saying you can shut up and take my money," Nini replied sternly.

He was overwhelmed at her offer, her faith and generosity striking him yet again. Gently, he took her hands back into his. "I couldn't possibly, querida. We have producers-" She gave him a sceptical look because she knew of their indecisiveness. "I'm willing to bet that Paramount is one stamp away from expanding our budget significantly and most of all, that's 'your' hard-earned money we're talking about." She would practically be giving up what was left of her earnings from her tour. Her generosity knew no limits, no wonder some of her previous boyfriends were able to take advantage of her. He could never, Pedro wasn't planning on using her as a resource. He cringed inwardly at the realisation that he wasn't even paying rent here.

At least they had already agreed to split the costs fifty-fifty once they had bought the new house.

"It's an investment in a promising talent." Nini tried again and now it was his turn to roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little. "I believe in you, we're a team, we're building a future together and I support your career too, you know. This isn't a one-way street." They giggled together but he was shaking his head. "Please just think of it as a joker or a last resort." She begged him again and he bit his lip in hesitation.

He stared at her, long and hard, willing his expression to remain stone while she made cute faces at him. God, he couldn't stand to hold her pleading eyes for even five seconds. "Okay." He drew out, able to deal with this unlikely compromise and her face lit up. "But only as a last option. I'd rather give my right arm than not make it worth your investment, you know that?" She nodded quietly at that, the corner of her mouth twitching in an effort to control her triumph.

He sighed. "What if nobody likes the movie and it's a flop?" "So you'll make another one. But I'm sure this will be phenomenal. I trust your vision and I'm gonna be so proud of you no matter what you do." She smiled softly and booped his nose. Pedro could have started crying. She believed so much in him and he was sure they both thought the other was the cutest person in the entire world. He would always be adjusting to this sense of worthiness she gave him.

Pedro grinned widely and pressed a kiss onto her cheek and neck, rubbing her thigh before she relaxed back into his chest. "What did I do to deserve you?" She squirmed when his rough beard tickled her skin at his whisper.

"You exist, that's enough," Nini replied kindly.

Hearing her say and mean it must have provoked the biggest sense of relief and peace felt by any human being. He was enough. "Well then, let me make it up to you by bringing you that heat pad and ice cream now. No argument." He prompted strictly when he was met with a timid look on her face.

She sniffled, a little overwhelmed and priorities in the wrong place when she directed her feet behind the kitchen counter instead. "Aren't you hungry?" She asked, looking around in a whirlwind on the hunt for condiments that would fit together somehow.

He stirred her into the direction of the couch with a gentle pat on the butt. "No, ma'am, get out of here. I'm calling delivery. C'mon, you can get even away with Chicago pie without my complaints today."

She threw an insulted look back at him. "Would it hurt to call it pizza?" While she settled into the couch with a confused grumble and a content Edgar, he was putting the kettle on but when he saw that she was still in pain, he tried to cheer her up by being goofy and it almost worked. She chuckled at the sight of him dancing in the kitchen to no music, banging random pots with wooden spoons in a wholesome replacement to a set of drumsticks. He pretended he had to quickly go 'downstairs' behind the counter, into the imaginary cellar to get some ice cream. Her giggles came muffled into the couch pillow. "Help." He could make out her words. "No more. Have mercy."

The dog barked at his antics. "Edgar, get him!" She ordered and the little white dog shot from the couch to join him in the kitchen and yip up at him. "Tranquilo." He reminded him and allowed Edgar a treat but failed when his age betrayed him and his back made him fail to come up smoothly. God, he would turn forty-nine this April and he didn't nearly take it as graceful as Nini having turned thirty. Which wasn't graceful to begin with.

He glanced under the lid of the pint in his hand. "We're out of ice cream." He didn't have it in him to ask her why she put only the spoon back into the freezer. Before making his way over to the couch with a tray, he replaced the desired dessert with a few biscuits.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Thank you so much anyway." He tutted at her nonsense and quickly returned with a hot water bottle for her belly to tuck her in properly. "Poor thing. Least I can do. Here you go, baby. Anything else?" She shook her head quietly. "You wanna watch The Mummy?" He tried again in a knowing voice and he smirked at his foresight when she gave him a tearful nod. "Part two," Nini admitted as she settled with a blanket. While she sighed at the warmth, he turned on the TV for her. "Are you gonna watch with me?" She pouted at him.

He would do anything for her but he had watched it twice this year already and it was only February. "Eh, it stopped raining, maybe we got a clear sky for a minute. I should take Edgar out for a walk, will you be okay?" The pooch's large ears shot into the air at the sound of the magic word. "You wanna go for a walk, boy?" He repeated more excitedly and Edgar was already up and barking as he ran to the door, back and forth.

"Of course, take your time, angel. Thank you for everything." "Call me if you need me, okay?" Pedro grabbed his jacket.

Edgar's impatient antics made him snap his fingers at his feet. "Sit." He muttered kind words of affirmation while slipping a warm little sweater on his dog.

"Angel?" He heard her shout from the living room, making him peak through the corridor. "Yeah?" "Can you please get me more ice cream?" "With these pretty big eyes, how could I not? Chocolate Fudge, right?" She nodded with a happy smile before it dropped back into a pout. "And can you buy more tampons?" She seemed apprehensive to ask when he reacted with a stunned set of blinks at her. "The organic ones. I'm almost out. Please?"

"Of course." He acted chill and competent despite the thrill this mission provoked in him. He got her.

"I can call an assistant if that's uncomfortable for you." She suggested, cringing but Pedro felt nothing but insulted at that.

His lips parted with a smack. "Are you kidding me? I'm a man. I'll get all the tampons my girlfriend needs." Nini swooned at him and stroked his ego. He flexed his triceps unnecessarily and while she giggled, he did a cocky pimp walk towards the door before he ran back to lean down as his goofy self again and smush a loud kiss into her hair. "Okay, see you in a bit."

With her hands folded between the sofa and her chin, she looked after him and blew him a kiss. He caught it and put it to his lips. "Love you." He called out before closing the door.

~~~

"Are you serious? Noooo. When did you hear that? I can't- with these companies." Pedro gritted his teeth as stood in front of the feminine hygiene section, phone pressed to his ear while he simultaneously tried to guess what flow he should get. He was in a hurry, for Edgar was waiting on a leash for him outside the shop. "They said they won't finance anything because the script is 'too woke'?"

Two girls, who had sneakily taken a picture giggled at him and he granted them a fleeting smile before focusing back on the selection of tampons, as well as the conversation at hand.

"We'll find a way to let you keep the final cut, Pedro. We have an offer from Studio Strigoi. They're willing to give you ten million with no involvement in the creative pro-"

"No. No, no, no." He interrupted. His gaze darkened at the sound of the movie production company being named, like its name alone could summon the evil. "Literally anyone else. Not Studio Strigoi." It did leave a weird taste in his mouth.

"We don't have anyone else. Yes, the CEO is an asshole but which one isn't? I get that you're loyal but-"

"Not them." He said decisively and Sarah sighed in understanding. Both knew he wouldn't accept a dime of the company whose producer had a horrible reputation, was quite literally the devil and his girlfriend's and many other women's past or current tormenter. It was pretty much an open secret.

"Well then, fuck it, we‘ll go independent," Sarah said in absolute sobriety.

Pedro rubbed his forehead, realising his next words were easier said than done. "It's simple. That just means more self-financing. I'll have to tell our partners, everyone, then... I'll have to tell Nini we can't afford something in the South Hamptons and then I can contribute the amount myself.”

There was one of Sarah's typical overwhelmed sighs on the other end of the phone. "P, I know you and Nini were set on that gorgeous house but it was 'so' unlike you anyway." She complained to him in a compassionate tone. "But were you able to imagine living in the South Hamptons? That's like placing a fish in the desert. Or like... a twinky on a Ceasar Salad. Maybe this is a good twist of fate."

He choked on a sound of protest. "What are you saying? Am I a twinky?" "I mean, you belong with the Bohème, where the little cinemas are, where you can get away and have a smoke on a rooftop. I've known you since we were eighteen. Come on."

He couldn't deny she had a point and he saw, now more clearly than ever, that he'd agreed to the house to appease Nini. "Fuck that, you're right. I wasn't feeling it. Screw rich asshole neighbourhoods. One mention of charade and charcuterie board nights and I'd spontaneously combust!" He hissed, secretly pleased he had evaded this version of the future. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he calculated the financial risk of producing this movie himself. "We'll have to see at which end we can cut some of the costs." He mourned this possible loss of quality already but would continue to pour more love, blood, sweat, tears and money into his movie to make up for it. A twenty million dollar budget would have to be enough. Finally, he admitted to himself that he was starting to give in to Nini's offer. Partly because she was the least complicated sponsor and he'd very much like to let her profit from the movie's possible success as well. Plus, this project was his baby and he'd also rather cut his foot off than cut scenes out unless it suited the narrative.

"Do you even need to move? Her house is lovely."

"Nini fell in love with the mansion. I'm not sure how she'll take the news. I mean... I feel at home with her but her fully complete and lived-in house kinda makes me act like more of a permanent guest. I'd keep living there forever but she's a collector, she owns too much stuff. I mean, we can play 'The floor is lava' on easy mode." Sarah chuckled. "Oh, invite me next time."

Pedro made a pause to laugh and store this piece of information away. "She said she would donate a lot and only keep her most precious collections. But dude, let me tell you. Sorting through it is a pain in the ass, I tried once, never again. There was this match box with a single grain of rice in it and she protected it with her life, Sarah. Her life." He made an annoyed face at the tampons.

"You'll find something bigger soon where everything will find its place, maybe after her tour and after you got this film up and running." Nini would go on another tour through the US, twelve shows in twelve cities and he would start overseeing the urban locations for his movie.

"How is she?" Sarah asked in a tone of deep compassion, probably still remembering the condition Nini was in when she had visited them in LA a couple of weeks ago. Everything became too much of a challenge when she nearly funnelled back into old substance-abusing habits. He had been working too much and the day he hadn't paid enough attention he found her high on tranquilizers, entirely overworked and unresponsive. Heavily triggering Pedro's own fears of losing another important person in his life, he cut the breaks and got her away from this toxic environment as soon as possible.

”Doing better, thanks.” Pedro didn't know how else to respond, for his tongue was tied in discretion but Sarah was nothing if not kind and resourceful. "People mismatch with their therapist all the time, it happens. She will find a new one." She said in good faith.

A wave of shame and helplessness clawed at him and he chose his words careful in fear of a lack of decorum in a public space. "I don't know what to do. I try to breach the topic, she doesn't want to talk about it and I can't just make an appointment for her, that's pushing her. I can't make a list of possible contacts and let her do it in her own time, that's patronising... and she won't do it on her own."

Seems his prayers for an epiphany came in the shape of a friend and words as liberating as a slap to the face. "Seems to me the only thing lacking with option number three is your faith in her."

He blinked rapidly, stupified by the simplicity of pointing out his entirely wrong approach. Was it really that he was doubtful while Nini did the opposite with him? "You're... you're right, Sarah." "I know." "I feel like an asshole." It felt like the comfort one might have known and now yearned for the moment after being dunked in ice-cold water. "Of course I have faith in her. If I ever stopped having faith in her, there would be nothing left for me to do." He released a deep breath of air. "Thank you for knocking some sense into me." He gulped and he could hear the kind smile in Sarah's voice when she told him he was welcome. In a moment of tender silence in which he tried desperately not to cry, he changed the topic and tried to sound more cheerful. "Can I ask you a question real quick?" He could focus on less immediate problems later.

"Sure." "The organic tampons with regular flow are out. Should I buy the inorganic ones with the regular flow or the organic ones with either heavy or light?" They laughed away the tension before Pedro rambled on. "Is flow more important than the fact that they're organic? Why even organic? Because it's fair trade or what?" He made a distressed face at nobody.

"Um-" Sarah took a second to gather herself at the tsunami of questions. "I suggest if Nini insists on the organic ones, then definitely go with those, toxins and whatnot. Are diva cups an option?" "They are now but I... I dunno, I guess they're good for the environment and stuff but if I were in the position of a menstruating woman and I'd pull this out, filled to the brim my monkey brain would just tell me... hard to pretend it's not port wine. Cheers, now shot it." Pedro rambled and heard a gargled laugh at the other end, followed by an outcry of disgust.

"What if I just... did a Jackson Pollock with it?" He narrated his fantasy and made Sarah howl with laughter. "Would it even work in a public bathroom? Where do I rinse the cup out? I'd bleed all over the place until I'm back inside the stall."

"Your intrusive thoughts win."

"What can I say, I'm a 'cup half full' kind of guy." He joked drily and had her stuck somewhere between crying and gagging.

He slowly caught up with his words and pulled a face afterwards, apologising to Sarah for his unhingedness and throwing a purple cup into the basket and a smaller pink one for good measure. "I'll buy all of it. Just to be sure."

"What a good boyfriend you are. Look at you. Should I reconsider being a lesbian just to get myself a man who's not afraid to buy tampons for me?"

"Okay, thank you, Ms. Paulson, whose bar is also, embarrassingly low. I'm more embarrassed that I'm leaving with a pack of cigarettes than going home with the ingredients for my girlfriend's monthly blood sacrifice ritual."

"Any time, Mr Pascal. Do give Nini my love."

"I will. I think I should go, these teens are taking pictures of me." "Take care, hun." "You too, alright? See you soon." Pedro hung up, his mouth having gone so dry it was hard to swallow but this was hardly the time to respond to his rising anxiety.

~~~

"Hey, I'm back." He didn't receive a response. Shrugging off his jacket, he let Edgar off the leash and dog sweater before investigating the silence. "I'm sorry, your normal choice of tampons were out but I got every other opt-" He entered the room and found her munching on shredded cheese. "Hey songbird, what happened while I was gone?"

Her words through her crying were fast and nearly incomprehensible. "I think I'm never going to be ready to be in front of the camera ever again, I had such self-confidence but I think I should maybe disappear from the public for good, like what would they even want me for now?"

He had to catch up with the meaning of all of this. "What are you talking about?"

"I think they're done with me anyway, now that I'm thirty. I started acting at fourteen..." She gulped away cheese and tears. "Then real jobs when I was sixteen and as a sixteen-year-old you play kids, you play the daughter, the high school girl, whatever. Then you're in your twenties and they start seeing you as a woman but I was still cast as a teenager until I was like twenty six and then they start giving you a baby, just a little baby. Now, by the standards of this industry, I'm middle-aged and I might be cast as a mother now but what- in like five years? I'll be the mother of four babies who's got a drinking problem. All until I'm forty, then I'm the grandma until sixty, then I'm dead!" She made intense eye contact at that. She gestured at him, admiring his physique in a mix of good humour and envy. "While you'll always look hot. You just keep improving until you're physically incapable, that's what. You're allowed to age like fine wine and everyone will say 'Oh, look he's so scruffy, so seggsy. Look at you, Gladiator two point O. You know how hot you’re gonna be as cyborg pirate captain Silver?"

As much as Pedro was looking forward to these roles, he was apprehensive and still wasn't thinking through what these strong body transformations meant. "You're biased. I'm not going to make him hot." "I'd like to see you try."

Pedro had let her rant peacefully. "We are both seggsy, damn, do you know how gorgeous you are?" He simply commented and scrunched his face at the insulting notion that she thought she was getting old. "You don't need botox, fillers or even makeup to be beautiful. And you're not old, silly thing. What am I supposed to say, nearing my fifties." He scoffed. Outrageous.

"Thank you." She sniffled, at least a tiny bit more relieved. She sighed and stood up, digging into the shopping bag and retrieved a box of tampons he made a mental note of. "These are just fine, thank you for getting them."

Her cheeks were flushed eyes still glassy when she returned from the bathroom, her full cupid bow lips were all pink and puffy and he was so in love with her, no matter which state she was in. "Did I ever tell you how pretty you are when you cry?" He tried to console her and made her laugh and roll her eyes at him before wiping the track of her tears away with the palm of her hand.

"You’re you always so kind to me." Nini blubbered. The strings of his heart pulled tight. "Aw. I can fix you." Pedro spoke his inner thoughts out loud. He couldn't help but baby her, fingers prodding at her skin and trying to smooth out the worried frown between her brows.

She laughed at that. "Thank you for the ice cream, for everything." She sobbed and dug in. She then somehow laughed with a mouth full. "This is delicious."

"No worries, baby girl. You're welcome." Pedro at least tried to hold back but his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

She chuckled messily.

Maybe it was the stressful time she had been dealing with but she was finally letting the traces of it get to her head. "M'sorry. I guess I was just getting inside my head thinking that in this industry, most other women my age have gotten surgery by now."

"You’re not saying you’re thinking about it?" He frowned deeply, not on board with the idea at all.

"Some botox here and there, buccal fat removal-" she pinched her face and hollowed her cheeks grotesquely. Pictures of Burtonesque transformations of female celebrities flooded his memories. In their world, surgery was standard, a mandatory procedure... the next tragic step of many an actress's evolution.

"Leonie." He cut her off, raising his hand and taking a moment to collect his patience.

He stuttered out random noises to interrupt her talking points. "They cut the fat out of your cheeks and sculpt your face to have higher cheekb-"

"Yeah, I know what that horrible thing is. I've seen the before and after pictures." She shut up immediately, eyes going wide as she seemed to hold back a laugh. Pedro took a long and serious look at her. "What are you talking about?" He asked calmly.

"Surgery," Nini repeated obviously, ready to further test him.

For several heartbeats, Pedro's face was frozen in an expression of utter horror and confusion while internally, he tried to remain patient. Finally he sat down next to her and raised his hands like he needed to calm down a wild horse. "Nonono, baby, I know-" he breathed calmly, gathering his thoughts. "I know the industry has too high expectations of women conforming to beauty trends but that's just what it is, a trend. I have no say in what you do with your body but- the tragedy of it… I don't want you to get plastic surgery. Please. Please?” Pedro was truly panicked, devastated even.

"No?" There was the faintest hint of a cheeky smile playing at the corner of her lip. His face fell at her success of having messed with him.

"You little shit." His voice came out as a monotone. “You had me. You really did.”

He cracked up as well when she started giggling at him. "I have bottom lip filler. And had my ears done also." She confessed and schooled her expression like she had just told him the world's worst dad joke.

He made a noise of understanding. "Is that why you're so pouty?" "Oh, shut i-" "No, you shut it. If you cut up that cute face or gorgeous body of yours... any more, I'm gonna leave you." He threatened in a bitchy tone.

She hunched over in a decent impression of a caveman. "Husband said no." She grunted, mocking his voice.

Pedro tried to stay dignified but his voice trembled. "Husband will get a heart attack if you’re gonna be like this." She snorted out a laugh and he tried to interrupt her with a failed strict, then pathetic whine. "I mean it, baby girl. You don't know how perfect you are." Yet she only cooed while he talked over her, serious enough to have the opposite effect.

"You'd really leave me?" She repeated in a high, heartbroken mewl.

He nodded, pinching her cheeks, her round Hobbit cheeks. "I'd nurse you back to health and then leave you." He explained and the sentiment drew a chirping laugh out of her, the kind that made him crack up too. He placed a kiss on her lips that turned into two, then three, making him lose himself in her for minutes to no end.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Don't worry, I wasn't seriously thinking about it. It looks horrid." "It really does." "By the way, don't you dare do anything yourself. Your doctor's name is God and we know he only uses the good stuff when he makes angels." She said up close, tracing her thumb over the deepened lines across his forehead. The crow's feet in the corners of his eyes crinkled into an adoring smile in the wakes of her tracing down the arch of his nose until she had reached his lips and lingered on his chin. Her hand cupped his beard, the bristles having gotten so long they had nearly grown soft to the touch.

Pedro smirked, catching up with her affection. "I was also not gonna leave you, I could never." He admitted.

"I know." She draped her arms over his shoulders, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

"I almost forgot what I wanted to tell you." He finally spoke up. "I still got some news." He rubbed his forehead, getting this over with.

"Sean Astin agreed to play my dad in a zombie film." She threw in her wildest guess.

"Nobody has offered that... yet." He replied compassionately and Nini let out a sad noise.

She hit him with another hopeful guess. "You said yes to the queer story with Mads Mikkelsen."

"Do not remind me of the things I'm missing out on." He told her in a strict tone before catching his bearings. "I'm afraid you will think it bad news, should I tell you later?"

Never a great fan of bad news, she groaned and let herself fall back into the sofa. "Oh no. Tell me now or I'm gonna throw up."

"It seems we can't afford the house in the South Hamptons. We lost a producer due to my film’s well… let’s call it political message but I'm not willing to sacrifice the soul of my movie. So, my ability to contribute a big budget to our housing situation is limited." He confessed.

"Oh..." She stared ahead, lip pouting but at least she didn't start crying over a house. "Well, maybe there could be worse things."

His eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. "I thought you loved it." "The beach was nice." "Nice' is not good enough for us to go way over budget. We almost bought a house we both don't want." There was a reason why he didn't value owning a house, let alone a mansion. Not ready to face the consequences of an ill-timed outburst, he counted to ten. "Let's be real, we can't afford and maintain a mansion right now, maybe if my movie pays off. Until then... well..."

"Damn, are we both too much of a people pleaser to communicate what we really want?" She sighed with a lopsided smile playing on her lips. Nini seemed sheepish at his insight. "I'm sorry. Hey, if you want to live here forever or move into a red brick apartment above a pizzeria, I'll still be happy as long as I'm with you." She gestured around. "I know this place has increased in worth. If I sell it, we can afford something else and use the rest for your movie."

"Oh, you sweetheart." He sighed, not annoyed but yes... annoyed that she was genuinely willing to give up so much for him. He caged her in against the cushions of the sofa. Looming over her, he revelled in her smile. "That's out of the question." He kissed her, letting himself disappear in her loving embrace, not even able to fathom how much he adored her. For a moment, he let worry pass from the flickers of his eyes. "Do you even want to move?" He asked his love.

Something between grateful- and playfulness sparkled back at him. "I do. I really do. I want a place that's both you and me. I want a separate kitchen and a library for you." Nini swore, petting the side of his face.

That sounded lovely. God, he wanted it so much but he didn't know where to go from here with his serious lack of time. "We'll find something, I promise." He rubbed his forehead, starting to feel a headache from all this stress. He yearned for a moment of quietness and walked over to the shopping bag to retrieve the pack of cigarettes like a busy, stressful time somehow excused a life-long bad habit he had been so close to quitting. "Gonna head outside for a minute." He said with the cigarette between his teeth.

"Okay." Nini paid no attention to it and went back to watching Brandon Fraser beat up some shrivelled Egyptians when he wordlessly opened the glass door into the garden, lighter cupped behind his hand before he had even passed the threshold.

He stood outside for a while, wondering if the cigarette would keep him warm as he set up a new appointment for house viewings. Phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, he looked up when he saw movement behind the wall. "I'll have to call you back, sorry. Gotta go- yeah, I appreciate it. We can do Tuesday. Riverside Drive, two p.m., got it. Okay, sounds good, bye." He hung up just when their neighbour Samir 'I am your mother now' aka Brooklyn's most beloved drag queen 'Peachy' du Maurier peaked over the wall.

"Hellooooo Habibi!" His wide figure in purple fur and leather cap appeared fully. "Just wanted to join you for a second. Making sure you're doing okay, just checking in." Sammi said sweetly with a worried frown between his brows. Pedro nearly teared up at the sentiment alone but then his friend-shaped character had to reappear with a large plate of food for them.

Pedro's hand flew to his chest. "Sammi, oh my God, you didn't have to." He gasped. He willed his face to light up despite his tiredness while he watched the cherubim trying to figure out a way to climb without nail breakage. He complained loudly while doing so. "Ya- I don't know how you guys always do it. I wasn't made for this. Oh fuck, I'm shakin' like a pole on Friday night, honey."

"Hey, whoa, careful mama." Pedro led him a hand, pulling him across and making sure he wouldn't fall. "I saw you double Dutching and doing the split in ten-inch heels, what happened?" Sammi was out of breath and breaking out in sweat unlike one of his many, way more exuberant drag shows.

"Old age, bitch." He pulled his shirt back over his belly and groaned in agony one last time. Clouds of condensation met clouds of smoke.

Pedro emitted a chuckle. "Don't I know it?" He brushed a leaf off Sammi's shoulder as he balanced the aluminium foil-wrapped dish that seemed way too much and way too generous.

"It's Börek, thought you might-" he squinted. Sammi raised his eyebrows, looking somewhere past him through the house. "Oh dear, is she okay? Is she inhaling her ice cream?" His softness betrayed him when he noticed his chosen ward inside and in distress. Nini placed a kiss into her hand and waved it at Sammi momentarily and glared at Pedro before continuing to mind her own business on her phone.

Sammi looked at Pedro in disappointment. "Did you guys have a fight?"

"No-" he sighed, unsure. "At least I hadn’t thought so." Pedro briefly looked back into the living room, confused about where this new agitation suddenly came from. "She'll be okay, especially with your burek. Thank you so much. I had to find a way to feed the hangry gremlin inside soon."

"Relationships are difficult, sometimes I just take several seats and breathe in and out for a while." Pedro snorted at the self-depreciation. Sammi was a big queen but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be gorgeous. "You look stressed though. Do you wanna talk about it?" Sammi had pointed him up and down, Pedro's fatigue speaking more than a thousand words.

"Yeah..." He met him with an apologetic expression on his face but didn't know what to say. "Is there a twenty-four-hour support hotline for husbands who are trying very hard?" He scream-whispered, fearing Nini might hear him otherwise. Somehow they had found teams. Sammi was a wholesome, teary-eyed genuine pure person while his husband and Pedro's girlfriend brought up the mean girls in each other. Sammi cackled, too familiar with the feeling after being with Hugh since the nineties. "It's called calling your sisters and talking shit." He bummed a cigarette without the need to ask but made a tutting sound at the sight of Pedro's evident fresh supply.

"I'm fine, I swear. I just had to get away for a second... but it's always nice to have a kiki with you." Pedro replied, proud of his correct use of ballroom terminology and despite the utter delight in Sammi's laugh, he suddenly looked like he was struggling to come up with words. "Actually, I also came to ask you and Nini a favour."

Pedro became flustered again. "Oh, we have been closing the blinds when we-" "Oh, no it's not that!" The shorter man pretended to gag. "No, we're in trouble," Sammi admitted.

"Oh?" "Remember when we were dog-sitting Mon Bernadette and you helped us look for her when she escaped?" Sammi couldn't inhale a bigger drag and he stared ahead like he was going through massive trauma.

"Is the dog alright?" Pedro couldn't deal with more bad news.

"Yeah, she's fine, alhamdulillah but she got herself knocked up. She's having puppies soon."

Pedro's initial reaction was a gasp that was made of pure shock and delight. "Wait, really?" They stared at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter. "Fuuuck."

Edgar waddled his tail. "No buddy, you're not the dad. You don't have balls." The pooch quit the excitement just when Pedro remembered in clear detail finding the fancy designer poodle in her rebel phase who had then currently been mounted by a very ambitious schnauzer-like creature in a Brooklyn side alley. Pedro had suppressed a laugh then and conveniently never mentioned it to a single soul after. Now he was staring at an upset Sammi and the consequence of his silence, pondering whether to come clean or not. "Crazy." Pedro exaggerated after the awkward flashback of two copulating dogs. Coward.

"The owner wants to sue us! Can you back us up and tell her we're no damn animal abusers? It was an accident!"

"Oh, they're not saying that." Pedro countered, scandalised.

"I miss the cat. It was so much easier." Sammi cried. "That beast of a puppy-hating woman wants us to pay alimony for the ‘flea alley’ bastards-" he made quotation marks into the air. "-who are God knows what mixed." Apart from being queer, Sammi was Muslim and knew too much about experiencing mistreatment himself, especially in the early two-thousands. Apparently, the puppies weren't better off in the company of a snob. "She says she won't bother looking for homes for the pups since that's an 'us' problem now." These words caused a surge of anger rise within Pedro and he looked down at Edgar, thinking the ratty white shelter dog wasn't a fancy breed, rather skinny and his thin fur one shade away from being called 'crusty'. Edgar was, therefore, all the more lovable and tilted his little head with giant bat ears at his owner. An idea struck Pedro.

He thought for a moment, looking back at the glass front at a still, very unhappy-looking Nini. "When's Bernadette having them?" He turned back towards Sammi. "I dunno, soon. End of the month?" He guessed.

Thinking out loud, Pedro made a calculation. "One month plus eight weeks minimum before the puppies are old enough for adoption. That's when I'll be busy on location but I'm in the city. She'll be back in New York from tour by then and we'd have longer breaks together after." He muttered under his breath.

Sammi's expression became nearly emotionally devastated. "What are you saying, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Would it be crazy to ask if we could adopt one of the puppies? We'll work together in finding homes for every pup, of course and help you with anything you need." Pedro said hopefully, ruffling Edgar's head when he allowed him to lean his front paws up onto his leg like he was adding his approval. He pet his bony little head. "Slowly but surely I’m thinking about a playmate keeping Edgar active too, having someone younger around does make you feel younger as well." He spoke from experience. Maybe Pedro's main motivation was born out of an impulsive decision but quite frankly, he was also keen on taking care of a small living being that depended on him. Their busy schedule made it look like Nini and he wouldn't even think about starting a family any time soon or ever so, a puppy was the next best thing and the desire for it was maybe but not entirely a bit selfish. He normally would have preferred adopting a shelter dog but these special circumstances spoke to everything he could have wished for.

Sammi's jaw dropped. "Really?" He asked too loudly, tearing up.

"Yeah!" "We wanted to move but haven't found the right place yet anyway. Plenty of time before we'll open a new chapter in our lives." Pedro said and bit into a crunchy spinach cheese roll.

He was met with a pleased hum from the other man. "Are you going to get married soon, then?" Pedro had anticipated this question sooner rather than later and therefore didn't choke on his food.

Sammi smiled innocently, a romantic through and through. After all, he and Hugh got married the minute it was legal for them to do so.

He knew his explanation of 'Well, we have been for two years, just not legally,' wouldn't suffice so he consoled his friend with the answer he wanted to hear. "Someday soon," Pedro said. "Yeah, real soon. These are delicious, thank you very much. I'll tell her these were made with love." He distracted him by finishing the delicious burek. He hummed in satisfaction and Sammi seemed delighted.

"That's my cue. I'll let you know when the bad girl's having the bastard puppies. No telling Nini." He reminded him and groaned in protest while climbing the wall back to his side. "I know you want this Peach, why you gaggin'?" The glam lady bellowed her famous catchphrase and went over the wall head first, but not before blowing him a kiss. "Love you, Pedro!"

"You too." Pedro waved and smiled to himself before he went back inside.

Pedro could only worry at the sight of finding Nini face down and beside the couch on the floor while Edgar already worried over her. ”Oh no.” He set the food on the dinner table before rushing over.

She turned her face towards him, tear-streaked cheek pressed to the floor with a sob spilling from her lips. Nini broke out in tears again when she saw him kneeling beside her. "Is it because the meds killed my libido?" She cried out.

"Jesus," He tried to pluck some of her terribly askew hair away from her damp face and behind her ear until she shoved his hand away and scurried off. He didn't know if he wanted to send a curse down into hell or a prayer up above. "Please, tell me what happened. Just... calm down." He could feel his patience running thin while Nini grunted in frustration and limped through the living room, holding her tummy.

"What's going on?" She choked out a noise of upset at his question, picking up after herself which was a telltale sign of her annoyance with everything in this world including him.

Her bottom lip trembled. "I don't know. Pedro, are you happy?" Her hands gestured weakly into the air at the question. She finally looked up to witness him slightly paling and he only managed to make a confused sound.

Pedro tried to make sense of anything but failed. "You're angry with me and I don't know why but yeah, I'm happy. What's this about, honey?" He asked, standing up to approach her when she unlocked her phone.

"Well, are you happy? Because if you were, would you go out on a date with someone else and lie about it?" He could only try to form the word 'what' threatening to spill from his lips. "Tell me I'm just being silly- please." She begged.

His gaze softened when she showed him a recent online post and he finally understood. It was showing Pedro having lunch with a woman he had met yesterday. An Instagram post with the footnote 'When Pedro Pascal went on a date with me. You made my day'. Still unfamiliar with Instagram ever since they both deleted Twitter, she had scrolled through the comments, which for most parts still didn't agree to their relationship and praised him for having plenty of other options.

Even more than a year after their temporary breakup and after several of their public appearances and interviews together, she was still the one who couldn't claim her own narrative. They were cute together, yes but the toxic domain of their less-favoured fans didn't know she wasn't half as problematic as she appeared to be.

Now Pedro seemed to be in trouble. In the picture she showed him, he was wearing the same outfit and bad hair day he had gone out with yesterday before meeting Lux and he was suddenly very aware of what this looked like. Her crying fit was not unreasonable anymore. The way the woman and he looked so close and the fact that Nini had never seen him do this before with anyone who wasn't a close friend made her jealous and genuinely heartbroken. "I hate to sound cliché but this is not what it looks like." He almost laughed out.

"Well, whatever it might be, you told me the story of how you've been out all night with your sister!" She said in between a yell and a sob and through his dumbfounded moment in which he cursed his forgetfulness. "Honey-" He had been out all night, just not with her. "And she's pretty too." She said with a whine but while Nini was pouting, he couldn't help but grin at the misunderstanding.

He sighed. "Michelle was just a friendly encounter. Nini, wait-" He had to catch up with her when she repeated her name in a mocking voice and was already leaving him on the couch and stomping up the stairs. "I was too busy this morning to remember telling you the entire story and then you were being difficult-"

She looked back from the top of the stairs. "Oh, sorry I'm causing 'you' to have a bad day!" She huffed at him and shut the bathroom door in front of his nose. He hated it when she did that and chuckled in anger. "Great." "Don't laugh at me!" "I'm not!" "Fuck off!"

He huffed against the barrier between them, tapping his fingers against the unforgiving wood. "I get it, you basically caught me lying... unintentionally. I'm sorry, okay? Please at least let me explain." He sighed. "She was just really nice and of course, she posted this. I just forgot to tell you because I was fucking hungover-"

"And I was difficult!" She quoted back at him, terribly insulted and he could gnaw his arm off in frustration. A mute yell later, he had composed himself again.

Pedro needed her to listen but he'd rather do it to her face. "What are you doing?" His hands slapped onto his thighs.

"Maybe going to a club. If you can go out and have fun, so can I." She explained, stubbornly.

He let out a long exhale, tried and failed to count to ten. "While you're on your period? C'mon, don't do that."

"I've done three-hour concerts for an entire week while I was on my period!" She screamed in an outburst of emotion and Pedro dead panned at the door. Fair point.

He gathered a breath. "Come on! Just because I missed- just because it was a lunch. Yeah, but only by definition of two people sitting down and eating food. There was nothing romantic about it." "Yeah, no. Sure." "I can have a life outside this relationship, you know?" "Wh- nobody said you couldn't! Am I giving you the impression that I'm that kind of girlfriend?"

"Right now you are, asking me who this woman is. I'll tell you." He leaned forward with his hand against the door. "I was waiting for Lux at the restaurant forever and she stood me up eventually and we agreed to meet up later but while I was waiting, I noticed this couple who was clearly on their first date and Michelle was extremely uncomfortable." He told the story in a calmer voice now, leaning his shoulder against the frame but feeling like he was talking to a wall. "The guy was saying things she shouldn't put up with like... making comments on her tight dress and how fantastic her tits looked." Nini made a sound of disgust at that and he relaxed a little, feeling her rage ebbing away. "-and I couldn't watch it anymore and the moment he went to the bathroom I asked her 'Are you okay'? And she was like 'No, he's absolutely disgusting' and I took his seat then and he came back and I explained very calmly he was not supposed to be so inappropriate like 'Oh-" he imitated the man's unpleasant asshole voice. "She's fucking hot, why shouldn't I comment on her nice ass?' and I stirred drama and eventually paid for his taxi to go home and Michelle and I had lunch together instead."

"Oh." Her voice came out almost too quiet for him to have even detected it behind the door. "Well, did she?" Now it had turned heated again.

He squinted his eyes. "Did she what?"

"Have a nice pair of tits and ass?" She clarified and he cleared his throat, speechless.

"I guess? I didn't judge h- why..." Pedro at least tried to hold back but his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "You don't think I'd ever cheat on you?"

"No... not really," she admitted grumpily.

"No, seriously. If it weren't so stupid, it would be cute."

"Stupid? Who's stupid?"

Pedro let out a long exhale at her new rage. He tried not to sound condescending at her overreaction to what he thought had been out of the ordinary noble of him. Maybe Nini was down to listen to reason. "Just... dammit. You can't just... put yourself in danger because you're in the mood for getting back at me." But before he could say anything more the door swung open and she came out wearing heavy makeup that covered her freckles entirely. He was too stunned by her appearance to realise she was sticking to her plan than to even appreciate the sight of her in black lace underwear.

"This is not about getting back at you!" She hissed heatedly over her shoulder while he followed her into their bedroom. "Stop this, please. I'm not letting you go out like this." While she stomped into the walk-in closet, he suddenly realised she was dead serious when she put on the wig with long raven hair she had worn for their Morticia and Gomez Addams partner costume last Halloween. Truly, it served the purpose of making her look like a completely different person.

"Why not?" She seethed, putting on a two-piece black outfit and heeled boots. "Guess what, we've been back in New York for two weeks and I haven't been out without you in months. So, why can't I have fun too?"

"Well, for once, you're in pain, second it's dangerous for you to drink anything on medication." "I forgot to take it anyway."

Pedro wanted to throw something through three layers of walls. "You told me you did!" No wonder why she was behaving this way despite her acting like it wasn't a big deal.

"I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I thought you meant Ibuprofen."

"You are ‘supposed‘ to give yourself time to adjust to less-potend meds." He attempted to reason with her. "Wait," She snuck her way past him, batting his hands away. "Stop i- stop it, Leonie. What if something happens? They'll recognise you, then what?" He tried a different approach.

She scoffed. "People can't even tell the difference between Amber Heard and me these days, I think I'll be just fine in disguise."

He knew he was being the jerk as soon as he heard himself say it. "I don't want you to go clubbing, unstable, looking like this. Alone this late in fuck knows which part of New York and in what's basically lingerie? No. No chance." He caged her in, aggressively. "I don't want any men out there to be a danger to you."

She laughed in his face and left him in the doorway, feeling like a control freak boyfriend.

"I'm not scared!" "That’s not the point. It's dangerous and you're in a vulnerable state. Hey- we're not done talking." He tried to argue while she furiously gathered her things and skipped down the stairs quickly.

"Oh, I think we're done talking." She decided with a flick of her straight fake black hair, somehow managing to glare him down, looking fierce, full of rage and devastatingly hot in her entire dark gear. "You-" She pierced a finger into his shoulder. "-you've had way too much control over my life anyway!"

Another verbal slap to his face at this point, one he thought he'd deserved this time. "I didn't -" He choked, never meaning to hold any power over her head. Everything he'd done had been for her wellbeing, for her protection... right? The apology got stuck in his throat out of pure shame.

Nini's eyes had turned glassy. "Wait, please." Pedro tried to block her way but she ducked underneath his arm on the second try. "Fine, just go then!" His patience snapped, he had given up.

"I will!" She always had to have the last word but so did he.

"Have it your way." He sighed in frustration and went into the living room where he didn't have to see her leave. "Can you at least please send me a text so I know you're okay?" He tried one last time.

"Jaaa haaa." She called back through the echo of the corridor, annoyed and he knew that meant, 'fuck off.'

Edgar's ears were droopy and the dog whined when the door slammed shut and she was gone. Somehow, Pedro hadn't thought she'd really do this.

Slowly, his tired body sank back into the sofa. Pressing the heels of his hands to his throbbing headache, he cursed. All he could do now was go through every stage of grief, wait and hope Nini would get home safe.

Part 2

~

Translation notes:

(sp): querida - (eng): beloved

(sp): tranquilo - (eng): calm down

(ara): habibi - (eng): my love

(ara): alhamdulillah - (eng def): Arabic phrase meaning "praise be to God", sometimes translated as "thank God"

[kimikokuro22]

SHINO 3RD ANNIVERSARY SSR CARD TRANSLATION

[Someday, In My Favorite Story]

CARD STORY [In a Bustling and Noisy Place]

Chapter 1

Akira: Hm? What's that sound?

When i entered the forest to look for Shino, i heard an unfamiliar sound. I followed where the repeated sound came from.

Shino: Oh, it's you Sage.

Akira: Good afternoon! ….Is that bow and arrows? It's rare seeing you using it.

Shino: Yes. It's been a while since i touched this thing.

Shino: Don't you remember? This bow is a gift from Boris when we went to the Jura Forest.

Jura Forest is the place Shino and the others went to before. Boris is the name of a young man who took care of them there.

Shino: Leaving that aside, you came all the way here because you need something from me, right?

Akira: Actually, i want to ask you something. This is a book called [Book of Memories] i got from Murr the other day…

Shino: [Book of Memories]...? Never heard them.

Akira: It's a magic tool from Murr's storage room. When you open it, it'll draw a picture of the scenery before you.

Akira: I've been given the permission to put anything i want in it, so i want to keep a record of memorable sceneries with everyone.

Akira: If there's a place you want to go again one more time, would you take me there?

Shino: Interesting. I already chose where i wanted to go.

Shino holds up his bow and arrows with a grin on his face. I also nodded and smiled.

Akira: Jura Forest it is!

.

.

Chapter 2

Akira: I'm glad we arrived safely. It's reassuring to have you here, Shino.

Shino: Of course. Well, the protective charm Fauts gave us also played a part in keeping us safe.

Akira: That's true. We should thank him when we get home.

Shino: But, don't you think he's being too overprotective? If i go with you, there's no way i would let the Sage face danger.

Akira: Ahaha. Shino is really reliable after all.

Shino once defeated the legendary beast, Bdellaglossa in this forest.

His splendid action even moved the hearts of the people who were not accepting wizards at first.

Boris: Is that you, Shino? Thanks for the letter, i came to pick you up.

Shino: Boris. Long time no see.

Akira: Good afternoon, Mr. Boris. Thank you for welcoming us.

Boris: Ah, you brought those bow and arrows. I'm honored.

Boris: But i'm sorry for requesting this the moment you arrived. We need to borrow Shino's power. Will you lend us your help?

Akira: I wonder what's wrong…?

There are other hunters in the place he guided us to. While exchanging light greetings, i noticed their tense faces.

Boris: A beast who usually stayed deep in the forest suddenly came to the human village. We wish to bring it back to his den. 

Boris: It's a wild one. Be careful.

Shino: Got it.

Shino replied light-heartedly. But his shining red eyes tell me that he's treating this situation seriously.

Shino: Sage, don't leave my side.

Akira: Y-yes!

Hunter: There! The beast shows up!

Boris: Okay! Let's go!

The hunters run towards the beast. But there is one person who did not move from his place.

Akira: Shino? What's wrong?

Shino: Sshh.

Shino held his breath and followed the beast movement with his eyes.

Hunter: Over there! Release your arrows!

The cornered beast roared and ran back into the deep forest.

When i thought we're safe, the beast let out a loud shriek and charged to one of the hunter.

Akira: Mr. Boris! Watch out!

.

.

Chapter 3

Mr. Boris's face stiffened the moment he saw the beast charged at him.

At that moment, i felt a gust of wind blowing. A single arrow grazed the beast's eye and pierced a tree trunk.

With its path blocked, the beast thumped in confusion.

Shino: Now! Get it!

Hunter: kh… Yeah!

With his hand still gripping his bow, Shino shouted. With that voice as a signal, everyone started to move and the beast was caught in no time.

Akira: Shino…. you're amazing.

.

Boris: Shino, you're really amazing! Thanks to you, we can finally catch the beast!

After safely returning the beast to its home, Mr. Boris held a congratulatory feast.

With a bonfire in the middle, everyone lightly clicked their wooden glass.

Boris: Your archery skills are exceptional, but why didn't you use magic?

Shino: Bow and arrows are enough for a beast like that.

Shino: Besides, i think you guys will move easier if i don't use magic.

Boris: ….No one here will speak ill of you anymore. You're the hero who defeated Bdellaglossa after all.

Hunter: Yeah, we're very grateful to you all. When i heard Shino and the others were coming, i went ahead to hunt our prized prey.

Hunter: It's grilled with special seasoning. Please have a taste. You too, Master Sage.

Akira: Thank you.

Akira: It's delicious!

Shino: Yeah, it's good! I want to bring this back to Heath.

Seeing our reaction, the hunters light-heartedly laughed.

Akira: Their reaction is completely different from before….. I'm sure Mr. Boris told everyone about Shino's and the others' achievements.

Akira: That wizards are not a scary existence….

.

With the feast getting livelier, Shino and i gazed at their merry faces from a distance.

Akira: Shino, you're really amazing earlier. But i'm also surprised. I thought you would charge forward and lead them.

Shino: I'm not one of the locals. Just lending them my hand a little is more appropriate.

Shino: Besides, i'm more used to moving alone.

Shino: I always spent the night alone in Sherwood Forest and it's very quiet….

Shino suddenly stopped his words. The sound of strings being plucked fills the silence.

Following that sound, one of the hunters continued playing an instrument. Everyone went silent and listened to that sound. Shino continues his word while gazing at the spectacle.

Shino: My surroundings have become noisier now. There are those who came to hunt, those who cook, and those who play an instrument…

Shino: I don't think nights like this are bad. There are people who would praise me for my hard work here.

Akira: Shino…

Shino: ….Okay. Let's stop our conversation.

Shino: You came here to get a drawing for the [Book of Memories], didn't you?

Akira: Ah, you're right!

Akira: Since a lot happened, why don't we also put the hunters in our drawing?

Shino: Not bad. Let's do our best to draw this noisy night.

Shino: Come here.

Shino brings out his broom and helps me get on. We gaze at Jura Forest from the sky. The sun is about to set in the faraway mountain.

Surrounded by the flickering bonfire and leaves lit up by the setting sun, the back of the laughing hunters are very warm and beautiful.

Akira: It's a very beautiful sight…. Thank you, Shino.

Shino: Heheh. You're very welcome, Master Sage.

.

.

CARD EPISODE [Where Your Interest Lies]

Akira: Shino, do you have any favorite legends or stories? Perhaps a book that leaves a lasting impression on you….

Shino: A book of clock blueprints.

Akira: Eh? A blueprint?

Shino: Yeah. It's not a story but Heath showed me one when we were little.

Akira: It's surprising. To think Shino is also interested in things like that. 

Shino: No, i'm not.

Akira: You're not?!

Shino: Yeah. I don't understand any of it.

Shino: However, when we look at those blueprints, Heath looked like he was having so much fun. His voice sounded much more cheerful than usual.

Shino: As i listened to his story, i thought it would be nice if he could be this confident all the time.

Akira: Ahaha, as expected you would think like that. I understand, because Heath is really excited every time he speaks about his interest.

Shino: Right? That's why i told him, "You sure speak a lot today."

Akira: Heath must have thought he's being teased….

Akira: Umm, How did Heath respond?

Shino: He apologized and said, "Sorry for speaking so much".

Shino: I quickly cut his words and asked, "Why are you apologizing for having fun?!"

Shino: He answered, "I want you to know the things i loved." and laughed. I kinda feel embarrassed after hearing that.

.

.

Homescreen Voiceline

"This is my story. That's why, i won't let anyone tell me what to do. Sage, i will show you an one of a kind scenery. Look forward to it."

3rd Anniversary Voiceline

"Today is a celebration, i'll give you my sugar as a treat. It's a bit sharp but it's cool, right?.... Even if it have a weird shape, you still look so happy receiving it. I like that about you."

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 70: May 2017

Jon was trying so hard to be sensible and brave.

After Elias had lectured—no, not lectured, scolded, like they were a pair of naughty children—him and Melanie for their rash behavior in going to the Trophy Room and forbidden them to do any more field research without authorization and proper supervision, he’d been making an effort to actually do his job. Melanie had thrown her nervous energy into trying to figure out how Martin, who was apparently the only one that ever paid attention to his own systems, had organized the Archives, while Jon had taken over the research into the log book from Breekon and Hope. He couldn’t tell the difference between the real and fake handwriting any better than Melanie could, but he figured looking up each and every delivery source and recipient would help better than impulsively throwing himself at desperate chances.

It was hard to stay focused, though. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from pinning all his hopes on each new name he found, and being crushed when it turned out to be closed or completely innocuous or thoroughly unrelated. He kept wandering to the statements, even the fake ones, barely interested in the follow-up anymore but still trying because maybe this one would be the key to the Unknowing’s location. And it was harder and harder to keep himself from going off on an impulsive adventure. Only Tim’s snapping and Sasha’s nagging kept him—or Melanie—confined to the Archives.

But Tim had called out today. He sounded like he needed it, but he also sounded calmer than he had since before Martin went missing, so Jon had had no problem accepting. Still…it meant one fewer person to keep him from doing something impulsive and stupid.

He tried to distract himself by going to the breakroom to get cocoa for everyone. He didn’t even know if Basira drank hot chocolate, but he wasn’t making tea, that was Martin’s thing and he refused to contemplate the idea that he wouldn’t be back to do it someday. It took some concentration to juggle four mugs at once, but he managed it and headed back to the Archives after longer than he would have liked. Sasha was at her desk, Basira in her usual corner, but Melanie was nowhere to be seen. Jon left a mug at Basira’s elbow—whether she’d notice or not he had no idea—and set another on Sasha’s desk, then looked towards the climate-controlled document storage room.

“She went to the bathroom,” Sasha said, startling Jon so much he almost dropped both mugs he was still holding. She reached up and took Melanie’s from him, then set it smoothly on her desk. “She’ll be right back…uh, I think she left something for you on your desk a minute ago, but I don’t know what.”

If it had been anyone else, Jon might have been apprehensive about what was on his desk. But it was Melanie, and he knew he could trust her. Clutching his mug of cocoa tightly like a talisman, he headed into his office to see what was going on.

It was, probably unsurprisingly, a tape. On top of it was a sticky note with Melanie’s handwriting scrawled across it: Think this is the one you didn’t want to record last week.

Jon shut the door to his office, then sat down and slowly moved the note to one side. Sure enough, the tape was labeled in Martin’s handwriting, a slight lefty slant to his otherwise precise, even handwriting. It simply had the file number, 9971402, and the words Internal Use Only, with no further identification. That wasn’t necessarily unusual; even Gertrude’s labels had rarely made sense to anyone but her, and they really only needed to know what tapes went with what folders. But Martin usually added a word or two to jog their memories if they were just pulling the tapes, and he always wrote the speaker’s name underneath the file number. This one he hadn’t. It was almost like he hadn’t wanted anyone to listen to it…or maybe that he did, that he wanted Jon to be so curious he would just listen without investigating.

That wasn’t like Martin, to tempt him. Martin was usually extremely careful to keep Jon from falling further into the Eye’s clutches. Maybe he’d just been in a hurry.

Still…Jon wanted to listen to it. And it had nothing to do with the Beholding. He wanted to listen to it because Martin had recorded it. He wanted to hear Martin’s voice, to imagine him sitting on the other side of the desk reading it, to picture the way his face relaxed and his shoulders straightened and his beautiful green eyes seemed to shine brighter than ever when he spoke the words, and wow, Jon was smitten. If he hadn’t realized how hard he’d fallen for Martin before, the fact that he was thinking about something as objectively both horrifying and terrifying as the statements that led them further and further into the clutches of an evil otherworldly being and all he could think of was how pretty Martin looked in those moments would be a pretty big tell.

He took a deep breath and popped the tape into the recorder, then hit PLAY.

For a moment, there was nothing, just a faint rustling. Then Martin’s voice came out, shaking slightly. “Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, recording statement number 9971402, statement of Police Constable Thad Williams. Statement given fourteenth of February, 1997. File marked ‘For Internal Use Only.’ Statement begins.”

As Jon listened, he heard the change in Martin’s voice, the way he relaxed and sank into the statement, the way it took him over and let him speak calmly and coherently. It sent an ache through his entire body, largely centered around the heart, as much because of the fact that it was Martin’s voice as it was the implications of what that meant. He leaned his chin into his hands and stared vacantly at the tape recorder, listening as the statement spooled out, or at least the lead-up to it—the statement-giver seemed to mostly be complaining about his idiotic bully of a nephew, who was likely going to end up either in prison or the victim of an organ-harvesting scam. Jon was willing to bet this would end up being a Flesh statement, especially after the statement said the boy had gone missing without warning.

Then he heard the words Jurgen Leitner, and he sat up and paid closer attention.

It only took a couple more sentences for Jon’s heart to leap into his throat as the truth struck him like a thunderbolt. The Leitner being discussed was his. This was the young man whose name he’d never been able to remember, the one who’d saved his life inadvertently, and someone had made a statement about his disappearance and the search for him. He wasn’t surprised that the constable had found neither his nephew nor the book, but…

But he’d known about it, too. He’d known Leitner existed, and what the books meant. If Jon had known that…would it have made a difference?

“Statement ends.” There was a quick intake of breath from the other end, and when Martin’s voice came back, it was shaking again. “It took a little bit of, uh, I had to use some sleight of hand to keep Jon from recording this one, but…Jon, if you’re listening to this tape, I’m sorry, but I didn’t think you were ready for it. You just got back, and with everything else you’ve been through lately, I figured…I thought maybe I’d give you some time before you have to think about this. I’m hoping I’m sitting there with you for this, because I think you’re going to need the support. If I’m not there…well, come find me if you need me.”

Another deep breath, and this time, when Martin spoke, it was in the same tone of voice Jon had noticed him using for most of his summaries. “Investigating statements marked ‘internal use only’ is always a bit trickier than usual. Most of the time there’s some kind of nondisclosure agreement surrounding the events, or it’s something that was given to us in the nature of a priest’s confessional—something that was never discussed outside the Institute—which means that we have to be careful about any follow-up we do, and it’s naturally going to be more cursory. In this case, though, the incident predated the Freedom of Information Act by three years, and was even before the election that made that a campaign promise, so it wasn’t technically a Section Thirty-One case, which gave me a little more leeway into the research. Still, it’s been twenty years, so I knew there’d only be so much I could find. And I wasn’t about to let anyone else help with this one. I figured the fewer people who knew about it until Jon got back, the better.

“I got lucky, though. I went down to Bournemouth and made contact with P.C. Zacharias Smith, who’s now the captain of the entire precinct. He confirmed that Thomas Warner is still considered a missing person and the case is still open. Mr. Williams retired from the force about five years after this incident, but…well, there aren’t a whole lot of care facilities that deal with his issues and will take people under a certain age, and it just so happens that he turned out to be in the same place as…my mother, despite it being at the other end of the country, so it wasn’t hard for me to get in to talk to him, especially since he never gets—got, I guess—visitors. He was dying when I went in to see him, but his mind was sharp enough, or at least as sharp as it needed to be. He told me a bit more about his conversation with the ‘bright young spark’ who set him on the right path, and he was really concerned about him. I’m glad I could ease his distress enough to let him know that Jon was alive and well, and that I promised I’d look after him.

“He died before I could also assure him the book wouldn’t ever hurt another child again, but I hope it will comfort anyone listening to this tape to know that A Guest for Mister Spider was the first Leitner my siblings and I found and destroyed when we decided to start burning them. I didn’t regret burning it then, and I regret it even less now.”

Click.

Jon pressed both his hands over his mouth, staring at the tape recorder, which had suddenly become very blurry. Hot, wet tears dripped onto his thumbs and he didn’t even try to stop them.

He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember any officers he’d spoken to about what had happened, or either of them telling him they believed him, any more than he’d been able to remember Thomas Warner’s name. To suddenly find out that one of them had believed him, that someone had known all along he wasn’t making it up, was almost more than he could stand.

And the gentleness in Martin’s voice when he spoke about it almost broke him. Martin had recognized right away that it was Jon in the statement, had gone out of his way to validate and reassure Jon that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, and then even after Jon had returned, he’d kept him from having to confront it before he was ready.

Come find me if you need me.

Jon did. He needed him more badly than he had ever needed anyone or anything in his life. And he was trying to find him, but…maybe he was going about it the wrong way. Maybe he needed help.

The question was going to be how he found that help.

It took him an hour to figure it out, most of which was spent panicking over whether he should be doing this in the first place or should ask anyone else to help him with this part. Once he’d worked it out, though, he waited until the others had gone to lunch, then shrugged into the jumper he’d pilfered from Martin headed down into the tunnels.

He hadn’t been down in them since the first day he’d been back at the Institute, since the team had shoved him and Martin down to debrief one another. They were still cool and slightly oppressive, but they also felt…private, in a way very little else in Jon’s world did anymore. As long as he didn’t spend too long down here, it might be a good way to keep himself from going completely round the bend if he took a bit of time to sit and miss Martin in solitude.

First, though, he had a task to complete. For a moment he thought about venturing further into the tunnels, but he very quickly realized that would be stupid; he had no idea what direction to head, and if he missed his target he would never forgive himself.

Instead, he sat on the bottom step and waited.

He had no idea how long it had been—minutes? Hours?—before he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Jon took a deep, silent breath, got to his feet, counted mentally to three, and switched on his torch.

“Daisy,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

Daisy Tonner stood a few feet away, frozen like a deer in the headlights—or perhaps more accurately like a wolf in the headlights: still, but with her every muscle tensed for action, her eyes cold with anger and menace, her gaze fixed directly on him. She hadn’t even flinched away from the sudden light.

“What do you want?” she growled.

Jon swallowed hard. She still terrified him, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that she would kill him if given the opportunity. The stairs at his back were his only asset right now—the stairs, the door, and the knowledge that she didn’t know for sure that nobody outside would hear if she tore his throat out here and now. There was no sense in beating about the bush; he’d need to make his case as quickly and concisely as possible. “I want you to find Martin.”

“I’m not your bloody errand boy.” Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. “Bouchard might have me on a leash, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to fetch and carry and send messages to—”

“No, you don’t understand, he’s missing,” Jon interrupted, which was dangerous, but so was letting her think he just wanted her to do menial tasks about the Archives. “We were out on the street in front of the Institute and we got chased down by a delivery van—Breekon and Hope, the, the same ones that you told me about i-in your statement. They kidnapped him.”

Daisy snorted, sounding unimpressed. “Go to the police.”

“I am going to the police. It’s the Magnus Institute, that’s an automatic Section Thirty-One.”

“Just because you’re right about that doesn’t mean I’d even be the one who was going to investigate it.”

“I thought you were the only sectioned detective right now. Besides…” Jon gestured helplessly. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t…i-it’s been over a month. I know Elias has had you doing…other things. But I can’t just—if I go to the police now they’ll want to know why I waited so long. And you’re the only one I…”

The word trust curled up and dried out on his tongue. He didn’t trust her, couldn’t trust her. She’d tried to kill him for no reason, on no evidence, with no witnesses, and the only reason she hadn’t was because Basira had convinced her to hold off for now. Neither Basira nor Martin was there to protect or save him. If he screamed, he was pretty sure Melanie would come down, but he didn’t know which one would prevail in a fight and he refused to let anyone else get hurt in his place if he could help it.

He stood his ground, with a superhuman effort, and met Daisy’s eyes. “You owe me.”

“Owe you?” Daisy spat, and Jon would have taken a step backwards if there had been anything other than stairs behind him. “How the fuck do I owe you anything?”

For an answer, Jon traced the scar across his throat with two fingers. Six weeks meant it had faded to the point that it was nothing more than a slightly raised red line; he occasionally found himself rubbing it with his thumb like a worry stone, but at least it didn’t hurt anymore. Daisy’s eyes locked onto it, and there was something…hungry in them that Jon didn’t like.

It occurred to him, fleetingly, that the reason he didn’t like it was less because she was staring at his throat with that look and more because it was uncomfortably close to the way Martin looked at the statements on occasion.

Forcing the thought back, he said, a bit hoarsely, “I didn’t go to the police about what happened, even after what Elias said. You know I have that on tape. They would have had to believe me, and they would have…”

That fast, Daisy’s eyes snapped back up to Jon’s, blazing with anger. “You think I should be fucking grateful that you, what, saved my life?”

“Not yours. Basira’s.” Jon was aware that the beam of the torch was trembling, but he didn’t bother making himself stop. “I-I wouldn’t have, I don’t…but, but if that tape ever got into the hands of the police, Basira would be just as liable as you. That’s the only reason I didn’t say anything to the police, but I also didn’t tell Elias I had it. I gave him one less thread to hang on you, one less—one less thing to hold over Basira.”

Daisy tensed. Jon was pretty sure he’d said entirely the wrong thing and was about to die. “Why do you care so much? Don’t like other people taking your toys?”

“He’s not a toy.” For just a moment, anger overcame Jon’s fear, and he bristled at Daisy. “He’s the most important person in the world to me. I care about him more than anything, and not knowing where he is is killing me. I just—I need him to be safe, and you’re the only person I can think of who might be able to find him, if Elias hasn’t by now.” The anger left him all at once, and he added more softly, “Please, Daisy. It was me they wanted, and they took him instead. How would you feel if Basira was kidnapped in your place?”

Daisy stared at Jon hard. He held his breath, realizing he’d probably said too much, but waited it out. He’d cast his dice. All he could do now was see how they landed.

After long enough that a cold bead of sweat wended its way down the full length of his spine, she gave a sigh that sounded somewhere between exasperated, angry, and resigned. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll do what I can.”

Jon exhaled hard. The torch drooped in his hand. “Thank you.”

“Whatever. Get out of my way. I’ve got a fucking meeting.” Daisy shoved Jon to one side and stomped up the steps.

Jon didn’t follow her. Instead, he sank back down onto the steps, his whole body trembling as the adrenaline flooded out of him. He tugged the jumper a bit tighter around his shoulders and hunched into it, leaning over and pressing the side of his face against the cool stone of the wall.

That had been an absolutely terrifying experience. It wasn’t just the fact of having faced down Daisy, who was still the thing that scared him most besides the possibility of never seeing Martin again. He really, really hadn’t enjoyed threatening Basira, whether he meant it or not. He tried to rationalize it—it wasn’t as though he’d actually meant to hurt her, or cause harm to come to her, it was just that he was letting Daisy know that if he’d chosen to do it, he could have. He wouldn’t have, but the truth was that he had the means to, and if that meant Daisy understood why he was willing to face her down and ask for her help…

No. No, he couldn’t rationalize it like that. Regardless of his intentions, he’d still done it, and that wasn’t something he wanted to get in the habit of doing. He would need to apologize to Basira later. Maybe get Melanie to help him figure out ways to…not do that again, at least until Martin was back to help him.

But not right then. Right then he was going to stay where he was and let himself hurt. He was going to give himself some time to miss Martin, and be afraid for him. And then, once he’d reminded himself that Martin would come home, and that he’d be okay, he would head back upstairs and deal with whatever consequences he had brought on himself.

For the moment, though, he simply hunched into himself, wrapped his arms as far around himself as he could, and tried his hardest not to cry.

[duamuteffe]

Stream of consciousness getting everything out below the cut.

This past week has been the damndest yoyo. I finally got all my books in storage (aka my folks' basement)

There's 83 boxes of them, plus the four I'm taking with. We wanted to leave by the end of April but that's coming faster and faster and there's still so much to pack. I can't get Fi's strangles vaccination until the 27th unless I want to pay an extra hundred dollars for the farm call. My mother and uncle are selling the land I spent half my life on and love more than any other place on earth because none of us have the money for the property taxes. I was gutted. I've bellowed and sobbed. I've read Pema Chodron endlessly until I stopped thinking about jumping off roofs. (Mine still needs a coat of tar before we can sell. We need three days without rain to do it. How are we ever going to get out of here by the end of April if we can't get it ready to sell?)

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

I'm finding comfort in the oddest places. The Allegheny Mountains are older than the rings of Saturn. They were the height of the Himalayas before the evolution of bones. Losing access to 92 (beloved precious) acres on the top of one mountain won't alter the power of a chain of hills 480 million years old. It's everywhere down there. I can follow the river and feel it everywhere (maybe someday we'll have the money for a little camp past Nebraska Bridge so I can smell the trees and earth and not have to be close enough to the Farm that my heart threatens to break again) Every inch of the place is inscribed in my memory in full 3d and surround sound

I will carry the place for the rest of my existence. And then my mother says there was a rifle stashed away for me - eight years since my grandfather's collection went to auction because my grandmother's sanity broke down in the wake of his sudden death and all of us kids were left without the (antique, carefully selected) rememberances I knew he'd wanted us to have. For eight years I had thought them all gone, just the memories of shooting skeet with my grandmother's 20 gauge (should have gone to Suz, they loved her as their grandchild as soon as I brought her home, and man was she good at tagging clay pigeons with it, there's photos of her at my wedding in her pretty dress showing how it's done) and plinking at soda bottles full of water with lever action Winchesters that were carried on saddles in the Old West (the boys should have gotten one each, the heaviest for Pat, the middle for the Doc, and the lightest for my amiable ex) They were all gone, I was told, but someone stashed one away for me. She's had my step-cousin-in-law bring it up so I could have it. The oldest one, and the most beautiful; 1760's or thereabouts, stock made of solid tiger maple from back when the trees were four feet across. Barrel forged by a patient smith. Carried to hunt for food when this country was still a colony. Too fragile by far to fire but one of Pappap's favorites; I remember how tickled he was when I told him the one I saw in the Royal Armouries wasn't nearly as nice.

I asked if the same step-cousin-in-law could be asked to bring Pappap's canoe up to my folks, and if my mother could grab a few small items from the house and she said yes, so I don't have to go there to the house where Bummy and Pappap aren't and haven't been for a few years now, and walk around in the places they're not, and have to deliberately choose a last time to stand in the field and then leave forever. The last time I was there it was a good day. It was sunny and spring and the leaves were just out, and a good friend and I were clipping small new branches from the apple trees for her to try and root (those 150 year old apple trees, will the new owners keep them? The one tree still gives the best pie apples ever grown and the russet tree gives crisp tart apples that are best after a hard frost. They could live another hundred years if tended.) I can live a lot easier with that having been inadvertently my last visit. I don't think I can go there ever again now, knowing it's the last time.

We're going to another farm to try and keep it going, I remind myself. If I can't keep my own best place I can do my damndest to help friend-family keep theirs. It's so beautiful there. There's so much to do. I'll have meaningful work again. No more retail hell. A garden. A couple of goats. Some bees. Two dozen horses to help care for. My mare, with all the turnout her little feral heart desires. Maybe she'll recover enough from the fractured hip by Fall for me to ride her again. I saw Mrs. Edwards in a dream and asked her and she smiled at me. I'm taking it as a good sign. There is so much awaiting us once we get unstuck from here. The Doc can hunt in the Fall. We can fish all summer in spare moments (Pappap said he was going to teach me to use the old spincasting rods he had from his father; they run differently from modern ones, and we didn't end up having time but I can learn online.) Unless my brother contests we're getting Pappap's canoe, and we'll haul it up with us and put it on the lake. It's sturdy enough to go fishing from. There's so much yet to do.

"When you see the Southern Cross for the first time/You understand now why you came this way/'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small/But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day"

We're going to be okay. I repeat it a lot. We're going to be okay. "Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

It's falling apart. It's coming together. There's so many moving parts, so many ducks not in a row. But we're going to be okay.

(Knock on wood)

[mayarism]

4.14.24 to lola

I hope you’re doing well. dad told me you’re taking mom with you to paris this fall and I was really happy to hear that. I think she really needs a vacation.

abby told me she plans on writing you a letter. I’m worried for her. she doesn’t eat a lot because they can’t afford to get a lot of groceries, so she’s really skinny. when I visited kansas, the first week of april, I was scavenging the fridge & cupboards for food. I gave up - everything was expired - and I got food from restaurants and cafes instead. abby was having a hard time job searching, and she was doing it all on her phone because her laptop broke. she also didn’t have data on her phone so she could only use her phone with wifi. she finally got a job today though at a coffeeshop, I’m really proud of her. I hope someday she moves to new york city so we can live together. she tries her hardest to understand dad, and so does mom. when abby’s stressed, she handles it by talking efficiently about what she needs to do: an ever growing to do list. I think her strategy is to take it day by day. she got really sick when I visited her in kansas, so I asked dad to get her soup but it was stressful because she doesn’t have health insurance. I’m scared for my sister, and I’m sad about all the stress and sadness she must be holding, even though she tries not to hold it. a few days after I had arrived in kansas, mom encouraged dad to tell me and abby. of course we already knew, but this was the first time he ever openly acknowledged this to us. later that week, I asked dad to take me to the storage unit where he had been moving all our things. I wanted to look for my journals, which I had explicitly asked him not to pack until I got to kansas because I feared exactly this would happen: the journals would be most amidst the disorganized chaos of the storage unit. When I stood there in front of all the boxes at the storage unit, I knew it was a lost cause. I got upset and started crying and was angry with dad – he was bewildered and started looking through all the boxes for my journals. I tried to explain to him it’s not the journals that upset me – it’s that our family never got a chance to process our loss together. we had a happy family in this house we’ve lived in for almost my whole life, and then the house contained and bad memories and we’re essentially rushing to bring everything to storage. I’m sure you already know everything. I’m not sure how you might be feeling about all this, I think all of us must be handling this in different ways. I don’t think I even know who my dad is, after all this time. Do you? I hope this letter didn’t take an unexpected turn. I was trying to share how abby & mom are, but our lives impact each other so it becomes more than that and about all of us. and as for me, I’m better than I was a few months ago, in that I’m in a clearer state of mind to navigate these more painful moments. everything else in my life is easier, I’m employed and I have friends who care about me. I’ve been decorating and organizing my room, and writing letters to home, and reading library books, and trying to learn how to cook simple meals. I hope you can visit me in NYC soon - you’re always welcome to stay with me. my roommates are also very welcoming, I’ve grown close to them, especially niko. it’s easy to grow close to people I live with, because I get to talk to them about our lives when we come back home after work. i’ll write you soon - love, felice

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

If anyone wants to be nosy, I spent part of the afternoon reorganizing my bookshelves:

[jadelynlace]

Powerlifting⎮Ink Drinker NSFW Blurb⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

more Ink Drinker here!

author’s note: After a few posts, and a few requests and ideas, we have “Ink Drinker, Lockdown” *dramatic music*. Thank you all, as always, for the love and the inquiries on this AU. I am forever grateful. ♡ The divider is by @firefly-graphics​

content warnings: This is just a thirst trap. Imagine that tattooed beast powerlifting, those muscles moving. Fuck. Oh, there’s smut!

Ivar gathers a few more hobbies while in lockdown: puzzles, buying betta fish and watching them, and searching the internet far and wide to find math work books. He really, really gets into Trigonometry, especially while remodeling the new house. And as always, trying so very hard to convince you to partake in the creation of a lockdown baby, mostly so he could say “Yeah, Y/N and I did not keep 6 feet apart!” 

But most importantly, he gets into powerlifting. And while you’re not exactly a non-essential worker, Ivar spends his time without you at Floki’s house, helping his boys with their school work. And what does Floki have? (The better question is what doesn’t Floki have?) A collection of weights. Why? Who the hell knows. 

“Floki, why do you have them?” Ivar asks, in the back storage building on his property. “Do you even use them?”

“Honestly, I do not recall where I acquired them,” Floki hums, scratching the back of his neck. “But they are here, and I will find a use for them someday,” He shrugs.

“Can I use them?” Ivar then asks. “The gym is closed anyways,”

“Of course!” Floki chirps. “Let’s get them into the truck, shall we?”

That’s what you come home to the following morning: Ivar’s Jeep in the driveway, and a sudden set up of weights, bars, mats, and belts. You almost don’t even want to ask.

“What did you do?” You say slowly and Ivar smiles widely when he sees you. You step back when he gets closer though. “I have to decon myself, goofball,”

“Floki had them!” Ivar answers.

“Floki had...of course he did,” You groan. 

“My goal is to be able to deadlift 400 pounds,” Ivar replies.

“That’s not much of a goal,” You tease and Ivar furrows his brows. “You can bench 350 pounds, I’ve seen it,” Ivar only deadpans.

“That’s classified information, baby. And, uh, your security clearance isn’t high enough,”

“How high does it have to be?” You question.

“Um....six foot five,” Ivar smirks, a cocky grin on his lips and you roll your eyes. 

“I’m showering!” You call as you walk away. “Alone,” You suddenly add, turning to see Ivar in a trek to follow you.

All through the shower, you hear the bar hit the floor every time Ivar drops it, and you half expect to see him under it when you peek out. Cleaned and in your undergarments, your eyes catch his back as he moves, shirt long since discarded and you watch him do exactly what he said he couldn’t: the 400 pounds is lifted quickly, three times before the bar crashes on the mat. Sneaking through the door, you lean against the railing as you watch him repeat the set, one very quick photo taken from your phone before you send him a message. “All cleaned, ready to be hugged.”

When Ivar turns around to see you watching him, his face deadpans, blue eyes stuck staring back at you and you click your tongue.

“Don’t lie to the woman who knows a multitude of ways to make your death look like an accident,” You hum as you smile. Ivar tries so very hard not to break his stare.

“You get a five-second head start,” Ivar says lowly.

“What?” You ask.

“Run,” And you laugh. “One, two...three...” All while he still holds your gaze. “Four...four and a half...five,” And you squeak when you watch him move, opening the door with a squeal as you take off into the living room. Even as you turn down the hallway, Ivar snatches you quickly, laughing with you and you’re caged between two very thick arms. “Oh, no,” Ivar hums, his voice in your ear and you can’t help the small moan that slips through your lips as he’s pressed against you. “I caught you,” He sighs, palms sliding over your stomach, crossing your hips before they dip lower, tracing your covered slit and you moan. “What was that?”

“I think it’s called a moan,” You remark back and Ivar’s dominant hand moves, back towards your chest and you gasp quickly when it’s on your throat. 

“Let’s not be sassy, miss,” Ivar purrs. “That’s my job,”

“I like watching you lift,” You whisper while his hands roam.

“You know what I like watching?” Ivar asks as the tip of his nose trails the curve of your head. “You, riding me,” He adds and you gasp.

You’re spun in his grasp quickly, looking up at him while his eyebrows move towards the ceiling. Half of you wants to take off again, but the other half, the side that wins, wants to challenge him. Ivar’s hand moves to your jaw, his thumb on your cheek and you know he’s waiting for you to answer. 

“What do you say, baby?” Ivar asks, and you nod. 

It’s a wrestle back to the bed, as Ivar tries to take your garments off and you try to not lose your footing. Like clockwork, he crawls over you after your back hits the sheets, and your hands fumble, rolling the band of his shorts down while his lips still lock with yours. A low groan rumbles through his chest when he feels you grab him over the fabric, squeezing slowly as his cock hardens. Pushing him, Ivar’s back flops against the bed as you throw your leg over him, covered middles brushing one another and you watch him deflate. 

His eyes close as you hum, leaning closer to his mouth. Instead, you take your nose against his neck, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, mixed subtly with sweat and you plant your lips once, twice, three times below ear. Ivar’s palm crosses your back, palming your ass suddenly and offering you a quick smack against your backside. It sends your head to drop against his collar bone, absentmindedly rocking your hips as if you’re already riding him before a moan passes through your mouth. So, Ivar repeats the same motions, greeted again with the heavenly sound. 

You feel his hands shuffle, pulling his shorts down just enough to free his cock while you push your weight up through your knees. Before you’re even able to grab the band of your bra, Ivar halts you, clicking his tongue before one hand grabs your hip. You freeze, watching him bite his lip as his fingers crawl towards your panties, pulling the cotton to the side and you inhale sharply as you peek down. There’s a pressing of his tip against your opening, making your walls clench around emptiness, and you whimper, waiting anxiously to feel his cock spread you. Taking reign, you drop your weight slowly, swallowing him in your heat until you’re sitting against him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ivar gasps, his fingers tangling with the cotton on your hip as your thighs shake against him. 

Ivar’s chin tips towards the ceiling as he swallows, feeling his body register the warmth, the wetness you’re enveloping him with, and his cock twitches back inside of you. He can feel your palms plant themselves on his chest, moaning back to him as you take the smallest flick of your hips. Ivar’s head sinks into the pillows, his mouth parting as you work him, finding a steady rhythm as your cunt grows your slick around his shaft. His breathing picks up when your pace does, heart beating rapidly behind his ribs and his hands can only stay where they are.

“You’re supposed to be watching me,” You whisper softly, shuffling your hands across his ribs before his eyelids peel apart. 

“Fuck me, baby,” Ivar groans, pulling your hips for you and you giggle at the sudden drop in his voice’s octave. A sudden thrust through his own hips makes you bounce, moaning as his cock brushes further inside of you and your body shakes with electricity. You lean forwards, lips meeting his while you move, and when he slips back out suddenly, Ivar’s hand moves quickly, pushing his cock back in his favor before you’re sinking back onto him. Gasping against your tongue, it feels even more heavenly this time, spreading you again and you moan when he does. 

As Ivar drops your hips, he takes one hand to your throat, treading his other palm across your pebbled breasts and you gasp when he places his hand where you desire it. Only then does he use his hand to move yours, dropping it to mirror his grip on your throat, so your fingers are on his. Halting your hips Ivar whines, nodding, bucking himself to move you again and you’re quickly catching his memo. His hands take back to your chest when you start up, bouncing against his cock and you push pressure against the sides of his throat, under the angle of his jaw. 

His cock twitches inside of you in response, as fire rolls through you and you press harder. When his lips part you watch the muscles in his abdomen contract, flex vividly under the artwork and you know he’s almost there. The final straw comes when you clamp your walls against his shaft, pressing him deeply inside of you as his hips thrust in response, cock spurting inside of you as his orgasm rolls through him. With his thighs shaking below you, you’re quick to pull your hand back, letting air back into his body, and the groan you so love floats over his tongue. Emptying himself as you stay still, watching the man below you come, you can’t help but find pleasure in that alone. 

Leaning forwards, you feel his cock flag, slipping back out of you before you nuzzle against him. His seed is there next, dripping slowly and Ivar’s arms encase you and he relaxes against the bed.

“I didn’t know you liked to be choked,” You whisper against his neck. 

“It always makes you come,” Ivar rasps. “Wanted to see if it would make me come,”

“A lot of things make you come, Ivar,” You giggle, and Ivar offers a short chuckle back. Pulling back, you bump your nose with his, kissing his lips softly in contrast to the pleasure-hungry movements you were just offering him. 

“Your turn,” Ivar whispers and you pull back slowly to look at him. 

“For what?” You ask cautiously. The words hardly leave your lips before Ivar rolls the two of you, your back dropping against the duvet and he’s moving quickly. Crawling himself between your legs and your knees bend out of instinct while his fingers tug your panties down, tossing them somewhere in relative proximity. Curling his biceps around your thighs, you’re yanked closer to his mouth as his eyes watch you.

“To come,” Ivar says lowly, dipping his mouth down to your core, tasting his own release mixing with your essence.

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[therenlover]

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)

(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...) 

Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask. 

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn

Rating: M (+16) 

Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere

Word Count: 10,200~

“What’s with the mask?” 

The question was innocent enough.

Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation. 

Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.

Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,” 

“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?” 

“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket. 

Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”

That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?” 

“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly. 

“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded. 

Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him. 

As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?” 

Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,” 

“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”

“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”

 A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,” 

“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?” 

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,” 

Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,” 

“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.

He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence. 

“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips. 

Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian… 

Y/N. 

“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…” 

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

“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,” 

The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.

He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,” 

A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,” 

Now that was enough to make him pause.

“How did you-”

“How could I not?”

It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him. 

Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”

Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already. 

“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”

Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?” 

That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily. 

Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it. 

He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!” 

Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it. 

“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,” 

Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause. 

“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,” 

The jab didn’t land, though. 

Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense. 

Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name. 

Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?” 

“Y/N,” They replied.

“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”

“Don’t call me that,” 

Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,” 

“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking. 

Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature. 

What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers 

Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…

He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it. 

“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much. 

Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach. 

He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,” 

Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,” 

“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed. 

Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,” 

Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia. 

Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch. 

Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?” 

Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be. 

He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games. 

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

Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up. 

They did quite the opposite. 

Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.

It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.

As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw. 

In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.

Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,” 

The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right. 

Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…

Not that Helmut cared for them. 

No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all. 

It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.

Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.

By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike. 

He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning. 

Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.

Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th. 

“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”

Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.

“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?” 

The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for. 

Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up. 

It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves. 

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.

“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though. 

So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.

Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”

“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed. 

Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey. 

“A drink, dear leader?” 

“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?” 

“Too many,” 

“For once, I agree with you,” 

A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it. 

Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,” 

Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”

“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”

“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan. 

Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?” 

That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.

“And who says that has to be true?” 

“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”

“I never said there would be no casualties-”

“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?” 

“You know that’s not what this is about,” 

“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked. 

Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing? 

No.

He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.

“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with. 

They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,” 

“I shudder to think what it might be,”

“How are you going to hide your face?” 

The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?” 

Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?” 

Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all. 

“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that. 

Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too. 

“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan. 

Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible. 

“Is this-”

“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,” 

For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible. 

At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,” 

“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,” 

“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips. 

He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,” 

“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?” 

“Why would that be wonderful?” 

“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own. 

Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first. 

With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one. 

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

In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.

They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.

After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine. 

On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him. 

By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained. 

Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself. 

Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.

I never said there’d be no casualties.

His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?  

The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group. 

As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached. 

They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch. 

“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.

Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too. 

Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this? 

“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end. 

So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,” 

Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,” 

It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?” 

A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over. 

“I never thought I’d see the day,”

Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back. 

“I’ll try not to,” 

“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,” 

Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours. 

There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed. 

“What?” 

“You weren’t invited,” 

They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?” 

“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,” 

“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?” 

He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,” 

“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,” 

“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”

They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”  

Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been. 

Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,” 

“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it. 

They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky. 

“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,” 

He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,” 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” 

“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,” 

“Yeah, he would have…”  

Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick. 

How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again. 

“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?” 

Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?” 

Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,” 

“Why can’t you sleep out here?”

“I don’t want to be woken up,”

“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-” 

“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,” 

Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,” 

The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,” 

Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip. 

“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,” 

“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,” 

“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.

He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it. 

“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea. 

It fell on deaf ears. 

“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave. 

They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live. 

Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.

“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before. 

Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again. 

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

As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.

Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better. 

Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued. 

Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck. 

Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.

Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded. 

Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth. 

Hans…

Helmut didn’t know how Hans died. 

He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life. 

What remained now? 

A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?

Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it. 

The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-

“Wait!”

The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.

“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”  

There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N. 

They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen. 

It was only right that they go together. 

Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”

“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,” 

“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun. 

“Quiet,” 

Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”

Who was he to deny them? 

Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles. 

“Oh, fearless leader… I win,” 

The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time. 

When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet. 

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

It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end. 

In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.

All the same, he hated them for it. 

Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that. 

Ghosts haunted him often.

Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be. 

Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him. 

They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there. 

Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…

It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side. 

When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it. 

Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.  

“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment. 

Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly. 

“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back. 

Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning. 

“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,” 

Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.

Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead? 

“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,” 

It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you’re married,” 

Married. 

The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?” 

Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,” 

“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,” 

His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”

In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips. 

“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”

“So it had a name!”

That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.

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

The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it. 

Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all. 

“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,” 

Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them. 

“Ciczheni,”

“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket. 

“We buried them in Ciczheni,” 

He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand. 

Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,” 

Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”

He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word. 

Ciczheni. 

As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks. 

They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two. 

Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home. 

Making a family. 

His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been. 

For Y/N, though... 

He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling. 

Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives. 

Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare. 

Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace. 

Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer. 

Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them. 

Either way, when they were together again, he’d know. 

They both would. 

--------

a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater​ , @elaineygrace​ , @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy​ , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​ , @alanathedeer​ , @your-pixels-are-showing​ , @shit-post-things​ , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus​ , @halefirewarrior​ , @janelongxox​ , @rax-writes​ , @wondermia69​ , @booklover2929​ , @lol-im-done​ , @rorodendra​ , @spookycereal-s​ , @viviace​ , @wxrmh0le​ , @whatawildone​ , @mush-room-princess​ , @aliyahsfantasticlife​ ,  @gredvb​ , @chipster-21​ , @whatawildone​ , @cloud-of-roses​ , @bry-97​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​

[cleanlenins]

Ectober Day 2: Scream

He Just Screams Uncool

Ectober Day 2: Scream

During Fright Knight, Mr. Lancer gets sent to a fear dimension after being stabbed by Soulshredder. What would have happened if Dash had gotten stabbed? What would his fear dimension look like?

AO3

Warnings: Light body horror

Dash trembled, covering his ears and crushing his eyes closed. He cowered in a corner, unable to muster the courage to move. This wasn't real. This wasn't real. This wasn't real .

Freaky Fenton must have done something. He was so desperate to win the stupid Haunted House competition that he had cheated. Yeah, that must be what he had done. He had gotten help. Maybe he didn't even do any of it himself. Not that Dash had done anything himself either-

He heard a distant laughter and crushed his palms against his ears. He didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Leave it to the freak to come up with something like this.

He whimpered as he heard the laughter get closer, pressing harder into the corner. The brick walls digging into his arm. He thought back and tried to find some explanation for this madness.

Dash had already won. He knew it. He could see on Lancer’s face as he showed off his room. There was no way Fenton could top this. Fenton’s room was a joke, just like everything else about the loser. It was just up to Mr. Lancer to say the final words.

And then...what had happened? Dash can't remember. It was all so hazy, like trying to remember a fading dream. Someone had shown up, dressed in armor and face obscured in darkness. He almost remembered the horrifying feeling of metal sliding through his chest. But he checked and he was whole. There was no wound. No blood. No pain-

One minute Dash had been standing next to Lancer, the next he was suddenly outside the school? How did he get there? And it was daylight?  Dash blinked at the sudden light. It was crowded with students milling around, but he immediately spotted Paulina and Kwan. His friends could never be mistaken for the normal geeks and freaks that populated the school. Both of their backs were turned to him. Maybe they would know what had happened.

Dash had walked up to the duo, raising his hand to clap Kwan on the shoulder with a cocky grin. The smirk melted away as his hand went through Kwan's arm. Dash stared at his hand, completely dumbfounded. Frozen in place in his confusion. Was he tripping? He didn’t remember taking anything. Then Paulina and Kwan turned and walked through him. Dash gasped at the foreign feeling, like the ice baths he and the team would take after training. Except the cold was under his skin. Under his muscles. Like his bones were made of snow and mist. And then it was gone.

“Guys!” Dash shouted in surprise, but neither Kwan nor Paulina turned to face him. Neither showed any signs of even seeing him. They continued to walk up the path. Dash ran to cut them off, waving his hands in front of their faces. Neither blinked. Dash tried to block their way but once more they walked right through him. He bit his lip, scanning around the school ground for any other familiar faces.

He rushed over to Valerie and tried to grab her shoulder, intent on spinning the girl around to look at him. But once more his hand went through. Star gestured wildly and her hand went through Dash’s head. He flinched away from the uncomfortable feeling. Dale threw his football through the air, and instead of catching it, Dash watched it pass through his chest before nailing that nerd Mickey in the head. Dash couldn’t even take pleasure in the nerd’s broken glasses.

He wasn’t panicking. No, he would never panic. He was the school star for heaven's sake. The hero of Casper. He wouldn’t be beaten by some freaky trick. He started screaming, yelling for someone to notice him. He tried to grab people. Tried to throw books and binders. Yelled expletives in their faces. Tried to punch random people. He definitely didn’t cry, no, those weren’t tears. He was just sweating. His heart was pounding against his chest from the running, not fear. His scream broke off as he choked down a sob. No, it wasn’t a sob! He leaned heavily against the flag poles, somehow not falling through them. He glanced around the grounds in despair. He was at a loss. He was...losing?

His eyes snapped to a trio not that far from him. He focused on Fenton, who seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with Foley. Dash nearly growled in anger, before marching over to Fenton.

Fenton seemed to shudder as he approached, a cold mist floating from his mouth. Typical freak weirdness. The smaller teen looked up and met Dash’s eye. Instead of cowering in fear, a wide grin split Fenton’s face. Dash flushed in rage.

“What did you do, Fenton?”

“What do you mean?” Fenton asked, grin widening even more.

“Why is everyone acting like they can’t see me? Why can’t I touch anything? If this is something your weirdo parents made-” Dash stuttered to a stop as he watched Fenton’s smile only grow wider, every tooth on display and...were his teeth sharper than usual?

“What do you mean no one can see you, Dash?” Fenton tilted his head, unblinking eyes seemed to be staring directly into his soul. The pupils were blown wide, only hinting at a circle of blue around the black. “I can see you. I have always been able to see you.”

Fenton took a step. Dash swallowed as he took a step away. Fenton’s grin grew even wider. Impossibly wide. Could mouths even reach that wide?

“W-what’s that supposed to mean, you freak?” Dash stuttered as he put distance between him and the nerd. Fenton continued to stroll, a very low chuckle.

“That’s why you don’t like me, Dash. Because I can see you for who you are and who you will be,” Fenton giggled. “A nobody.”

“J-just-Shut up, Fenturd!” Dash tried to hold his ground, balling his hands into fists to hide the tremors.

“You know that someday they are going to see it, too. See you for the nothing you are. Stupid, useless, boring, lame-the list goes on, doesn’t it? You had hoped it would be after high school, but I guess everyone just came to their senses sooner than you thought, Dash .”

Dash lashed out, as he always did when he was afraid. He was expecting the satisfying crunch of his fist against Fenton’s nose. But his fist went right through Fenton’s grinning face. The smaller teen stepped to the side. He reached up and gently grabbed Dash’s wrist. Dash tried to rip it away, but found that Fenton’s hold was stronger than iron. He grunted as he yanked his arm, but Fenton didn’t budge.

“The only thing really good about you is all this strength, isn’t it?” Fenton asked, a cruel excitement in his eyes. “But that won’t last, will it?”

Like the rippling of wind on grain, the skin around Dash’s wrist began to change. Tanned and smooth skin became translucent and liver spotted. Chiseled muscle seemed to deflate and loose skin hung from the bone in a wrinkly mass. The effect flowed up from his wrist to his elbow, as Dash screamed in horror. He once more tried to pull away from Fenton, this time with success as he fell and sprawled on his back. He sobbed and he tried to crawl backwards away, Fenton giggled down at him with hand still aloft. Dash felt tears overflow, he glanced down at his arm which still held it’s withered appearance.

Fenton took a step forward, and Dash’s eyes were back on him.

“Are you crying, Baxter?” Fenton laughed. “Well, that just screams uncool doesn’t it? Don’t worry. You don’t have to cry for long.”

Fenton took another step closer, and Dash was on his feet. He sprinted away, cradling his arm and screaming for help. Anyone. Help him. Please. Someone save him. But while the school had been full of people before, now there was no one. Dash sprinted around the school building, making his way to the brick storage building. He fumbled with the latch, before ripping open the door. Closing it quickly behind him, he shoved himself as far into the room as he could, leaning up against the cold corner of the brick wall. He tried to muffle his sobs, his hands trembling. He listened hard, waiting. Waiting to see if Fenton would find him. Tears flowed freely as he scrunched up his eyes.

So here he was. Trembling in fear of the kid he usually beat to a pulp, with no explanation for his change in fate. He waited, tense as a bowstring, as he heard Fenton calling his name. Taunting him. Laughing. When the voice came close, he held his breath and bit down on his unwithered hand to try and muffle the noise of his chattering teeth. He heard the latch on the door wiggle, creating an eerie squeak into the silence and Dash swallowed a scream. Dash waited with baited breath to see if the door opened. The clack of the rusted metal latch continued, the door remaining closed. Eventually, the noise stopped, the latch thudding against the wooden door. Dash heard Fenton laugh as he passed by. Footsteps inaudible through the thick brick walls. Dash waited, sure that Fenton would come back to unstick the latch. Sure he would come back to continue whatever sick game he was playing. But he didn’t. Finally, Dash felt safe enough to let out a cautious breath. He clamped his eyes shut, trying to calm his racing heart and block out the reality around him.

“Found you,” A voice whispered in his ear. Dash looked up to see Fenton, inches from his face, half of his body phased through the wall. Dash screamed, nowhere to run as Fenton reached one hand towards him.

“Mr. Baxter! Dash! You’re okay! It wasn’t real!” Mr. Lancer backed away from the screaming football star. Mr. Baxter scooted into the wall, eyes wide as he continued to scream and cover his face. Mr. Lancer glanced at Mr. Fenton and Miss Manson, who stared at their classmate in a mixture of concern and guilt. “One of you two should go and find a phone so I can contact his parents. “

“Right,” Miss Manson agreed. She locked eyes with Mr. Fenton, before rushing back through the haunted house.

Mr. Lancer tried to calm Mr. Baxter down. But the boy just continued to scream incomprehensible nonsense, clutching his arm to his body in such a way that Mr. Lancer was growing concerned that he had hurt himself. Mr. Lancer tried to distract him, tried to get him to get him to focus on something other than whatever it was that was scaring him.

But Dash Baxter would not look away from Danny Fenton.

[crescentsteel]

To All the Boys I’ve Loved - The Popular Guy (1)

route: Tooru Oikawa genre: fluff wc: 3.4k

This is a collab from our server @babythotshq. 

Experience other routes here. 

Route masterlist.

For the last time, he took in the sight of the volleyball gym. This is the last day he’ll ever step foot in one again. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of the place while reliving the memories he gained for the last three years. Training, wins, and losses – glory and bitterness, he recalls them all with no regret.

Yet, he found it best to leave the sport behind.

After having his fill, he turned around and found a girl waiting for him. At first glance, it looks like she’s going to confess. She had the look — blushing cheeks, starstruck eyes, and a letter, only it was not just one letter. She was holding one too many envelopes.

“Um. Oikawa-san?” 

He smiles, his signature one when greeting his fans, “Yes?”

She hands him a brown envelope that has ‘Oikawa’ written on it. He usually knows how to react to letters given to him. He’d be ‘happy and excited’ to receive them, but something tells him that this is not a usual letter. 

“It’s not from me, but uhh, can I have a photo with you?” Her voice was a pitch higher as she voiced out her request.

“Of course.” 

She took out her phone with excited hands and they both posed with peace signs. Before she gives him the envelope, she hurriedly gets a pen and scribbles something on the envelope. After she hands it to him, she bows and walks away.

He usually does not bother with fan letters these days. They say the same things anyways, just written differently. Yet, he has a strong feeling that he must read this letter. For the first time in a long time, he’s thrilled to open a fan letter.

When he gets home, he plops himself on his futon and carefully opens the envelope.

Hey,

I know this is weird since we’ve never talked except for that night but hear me out. I kind of like you, not in the sense where i know everything there's to know about you but in a way where if I see you at random times of the day, you just kinda lift my mood…

Maybe it's just because I find you inspiring? 

You were kind of an all around guy, super nice, with a fun personality to the boot. As much as I liked you, I envied you too. How could you make everything look so easy? As an overachiever who grew up burning her candles every damn night, you made it all look effortless and to add it all up, you didn’t even brag! How annoying you are. 

What’s even more annoying is that I can see your profile on magazine spreads and ads as if seeing your handsome face in school wasn’t enough.

I hate how it seems like something you’d do, yet at the same time, something you wouldn’t. Get what I mean? I thought your passion was for Volleyball, leaving modeling just as a hobby, but you do that exceptionally well too.

Indeed you were out of reach and definitely on another level.

Yet that night when I first got to talk to you on the farewell dance, you weren’t on another level. You were just you and it made me realize that maybe I should take a page off your book, “It’s all about a leap of faith, Y/N.” you said.

A leap of faith. Such words from a guy I’ve been crushing on wasn’t something I’d expect. I always thought you played safe, stayed behind safety bars but when I saw that dangerous glint in your eyes, I realized, you never did. 

You were always like that, people were just so caught up with the idea of the model/volleyball player with good grades that they never saw past that. They don’t think about the devotion and commitment you must’ve poured to be good at everything you do. 

I know I won’t be seeing you again and it’s kind of sad to be honest since you kind of brighten up my day but I’ll remember you, especially those words. Probably even buy a signed poster of you someday.

Take care always,

Y/N

Oikawa’s eyes remain at the signature of the letter with surprise and amusement. Y/N? The awkward, timid girl from the dance? He reads the letter once again just to make sure he’s read it right. 

He knows how popular he is, both in and out of school. He’s always approached by random people, mostly girls. Those who greet him and ask for pictures on the streets he immediately forgets. But the students, he somehow can remember their faces, especially when he sees them frequently ogling him at school. Being the captain of the volleyball team while working as a model meant having fans cheer for him on the sides. He doesn’t mind of course. He’s used to it. He knows how to smile for them, talk to them, make them like him even more. 

By the time graduation was just around the corner, the faces of his fans at school were already familiar to him. So when you talked to him at the night of the dance, he had question marks looming on top of his head. Prior to that night, he had no idea who you are. He hasn’t seen you around. He just knew you were in the same year with him because it was the farewell dance for the seniors. 

That whole night was tiring. If it wasn’t the girls asking him to dance, it would be students asking to take selfies and/or asking for his number. He’s used to the adoration and he loves it, revels on it even. But that night was on another level. They didn’t care about his personal space anymore. The dance was their perfect excuse to hog him. 

So when he had the chance, he escaped from the place and took refuge in a restricted area. The dance took place only in the school grounds, so they had closed off certain rooms for equipment storage and preparation materials for the party. He snuck into one of the rooms. He didn’t bother turning on the lights since he did not want anyone noticing that someone might be there. 

He took a seat near the windows and looked at the main grounds from that room. The bonfire was lit in the middle of the place while students frolic around, having the time of their senior year.

He’s always at the center of everything he’s involved with and it was fucking awesome. But sometimes, just sometimes, it gets a little bit too rowdy. Once in a while, It’s nice to sit out like he was doing now and watch from the sidelines as students like him have their moments like this. 

The door suddenly opened, much to his dismay. Was he followed? He made sure he wasn’t. He’s a bit ticked off. Some fans really don’t know when to quit. Maybe he’s been too generous to them.

He heard someone trying to flick open the lights, but the room still remained dark. 

“Huh? The lights aren’t working?” The stranger said. He stayed in his place, hoping that he wouldn’t get noticed and be left alone. Although, the chances of that happening is really slim even though he knows that only the silhouette of his back can be seen from the way he was facing the light of the bonfire. 

Like he predicted, you notice him not long after. But what came out of you wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“Hey! Students are not allowed here. Go back to the grounds.”

He turns around from his seat to look at you. You squint at him, trying to make out his face that was hidden by shadows. But he sees you, how you walked slowly to him so you can identify who he was and how your face contorted from strict to horrified. 

That’s a first. 

Even though you didn’t know it was him, you could at least be glad that it was indeed him. 

As you’re closer now, he confirmed that you weren’t one of them. You didn’t follow him. You found him.

“O-Oikawa san?!”

He executes his ever pleasant smile. “Hi! Do you mind if I stay for just a few more minutes?” Surely, you can give him that. You do know him after all. “Um, well... Students shouldn’t be here.” You responded hesitantly. 

He wanted to applaud you for refusing. It’s been a while since someone denied him of a request, especially a girl. Nothing he could do about it though. He’d rather just find another hiding place instead of convincing you.

He stands up and heads for the door when you suddenly block his way and wave your hands frantically. “Wait wait. Uhh. Err.” You look around as you try to search for the words to say. “Before you leave. Can I ask you something?” Your face is flushed red as you put your hands together and fiddle with your thumbs, obviously nervous about what you were going to say. 

“How do you do it?”

His brows knit together in confusion.

 You must have realized how vague that sounded since you spoke again. “I mean, how are you so good at everything?” The admiration in your eyes wasn’t like the one he sees from everyone else. It was one that showed respect, as if you recognize the hard work he’s put in everything he does. And for once, it felt like someone perceived him as an actual human being. 

“What’s your name again?”

“I-I’m y/n l/n!.” You said a bit too loud with a shaking voice. It was funny.

You must be part of the farewell dance committee since you seemed like you were about to get something from the room for the event. You’re also wearing the school uniform, unlike everybody else who’s dolled up. What a waste. You’re kinda cute.

You’re at enough distance for his arms to reach you and pull you closer. He grabs your waist with his left hand and holds your hand with his right, getting you in a dance position. Your eyes widen. The fluster in your cheeks goes a shade deeper. Your whole body becomes rigid while your hands tremble at his touch. He can literally see your chest rise up and down from breathing too heavily. He almost wants to laugh at your reaction. 

“Oikawa-san?! What’re you doing?” you whisper in a panicked voice. 

He really wasn’t sure, but he felt like teasing you. “We’re still part of the farewell dance, yeah? Indulge me and I’ll indulge you.”

He starts swaying slowly. You follow clumsily with that look of uncertainty and nervousness still transparent in your whole face. He wonders what’s going on in your mind. A lot of others had desperately asked him to dance with them, which he all declined because accepting one invitation meant accepting all of the others. 

But within the small confines of this dark room, he can do as he pleases without any regard to mindful eyes.

“Why aren’t you looking at me though?” You grimace at his question. “I’m not used to being this close to good-looking people.” You bluntly said, your expression is still of discomfort. You really are interesting despite the aloofness you show him. 

Still, you moved with him to the faint rhythm of the music outside. 

“How I do it, you ask?”

That’s when you meet his gaze, your eyes curious and attentive to the next thing he’s about to say. Your whole body loosens up, as if you forgot that he was holding you.

“It’s all about a leap of faith.” He was awaiting the look of puzzlement in your eyes. He knew how obscure his answer was. 

But it didn’t come. Your eyes retained the same inquisitiveness they held before.

“How can you sound so sure about something uncertain?”

Smart girl. You clearly understood what he meant. Maybe he can give you a real answer, one that he hasn’t said in any interview for it showed a dark side of him that doesn’t sit well with his image.

“Hmmm. Between you and me, y/n, when I hit something,” he dips his head just a few inches from your ear. 

“I hit it.. until it breaks.”

He felt you shiver at his words. Then he let you go and patted your head while you were frozen in place. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said while exiting the dark room.

After that dance, he never saw you again. He didn’t think much of it. If he’d be honest, it’s like it never happened. There were no traces, no witnesses, only you two in the dimness of that enclosed room. The exchange you had was just as brief as well. 

But your letter, it ties up with what little words were said between the two of you. The admiration is just the surface of it. Beneath that was perceptiveness, envy, and compassion. Four different things melded coherently to give a refined message of encouragement, all in the form of this letter.

He has to see you. The letter needs to be answered. 

Only then he realizes that you’re both senior students who already graduated. He didn’t even see you on campus as students. How the fuck can he even find you now that he has no chance of seeing you at all?

He quickly gets the envelope to see anything that might be a clue to how he can find you.

And there it was. A number written hurriedly at the edge of the envelope with a note that said ‘call me’.

The corner of his lips shoot up. He’s a hundred percent it wasn’t your number. It couldn’t be you based on how refined you wrote that letter. 

It was the girl from earlier, but he doesn’t mind. At least you’re traceable now.

—

He was able to get your number from your sister in exchange for a video greeting. Unfortunately, your sister was texting non-stop so he had to block her number after he got what he wanted.

He didn’t text you yet. First, he wanted to see the university you decided to go to. It was one piece of information he managed to extract from your sister. 

He’ll take a look around first. He wanted to see what uni life is like since he’s not going to attend one. He couldn’t tell if it was a busy day or there’s this many people on a daily basis. A few minutes of walking around and he could already hear the murmurs in the background. 

‘He’s so hot.’  

‘Does he go here?’

‘He looks like a celebrity’

Well, it couldn’t be helped. It was him, Tooru Oikawa. Even if they don’t know who he is, his looks attract attention.

Maybe he should’ve worn his cap and facemask. Admirers will just get in the way of seeing you. Maybe he’ll just come back later. 

He’s about to dip when two girls approached him. “Hi! Are you a freshman like us?”

Too late. He should’ve left sooner. When one comes, they’ll start flocking at him right after. Since he’s already caught, it wouldn’t hurt to accommodate onlookers.

“No, sorry. I’m just visiting someone.” He replied warmly. Another girl comes his way, followed by another, and another. Yep, just like he anticipated.

“You’re looking for someone too?” One girl asked, then her friend whispered something to her. It was supposed to be a whisper but it was loud enough for him to hear. “These hot men better not be looking for the same girl. I swear I’ll lose it if they are.”

He remembers the other colored envelopes your sister was holding. 

Ahh. So he was not the only one, huh? The original plan was there was no plan. He just wanted to see you again and talk about the letter. But based on what he heard, he has competitors now. 

That just won’t do. 

He tuned out the girly muttering and looked for a way to flee from the scene. 

Among the crowd he was attracting, there you stood, paralyzed in the middle of the path with your eyes expanded in horror. 

Great! He found you.

He filled his lungs with air. 

“Yahoooooo! Y/N!” He waved enthusiastically at your direction which caused everyone else to look at you. Instead of acknowledging him, you took a step back, turned around, and half-ran away. 

You really are funny if you honestly thought you could outrun him.

“Excuse me, ladies. That’s her I came to visit.” He hears the dejected groans but pays them no mind as he makes his way to you.

With his long strides, he didn’t really have to put as much effort in chasing as you did in running away from him. He’s impressed at your dedication though. You didn’t even dare look back. That’s good for you. At least you won’t see him right behind you already. 

He wouldn’t mind following you a little bit more just to see how long you can last before you turn your head back and check where he is. But he needs to be the first recipient of the letter who gets to talk to you. He has an idea to throw off anyone who could possibly be around, waiting for their own chance to go talk to you.

He picks up the pace just a little so he can close in on you. When you are within reach, he loops an arm around you which causes you to stop dead on your tracks. 

“That’s not nice of you, y/n. You heard me calling you.” 

You didn’t have to look at him. He knows that you know it’s him. You gulp before facing him. A terrified look spread on your face upon seeing his, verifying that it was truly him. 

You looked around nervously, assessing the situation you were in. You saw something that unnerved you, but he couldn’t tell what it was. You suddenly remove his arm, only to take his hands.

You spoke with a worried expression.

“Come with me.”

You drag him haphazardly, leading him somewhere in the university. He has no idea what’s running in your head as he lets you take him away. Though, he doesn’t mind. You’re essentially the reason why he came anyways. 

You reach inside one of the buildings with less people. Still on full alert, your eyes skimmed the area before going inside one of the rooms, pulling him with you. Once inside, you let go of his hand.

Without catching your breath, you yelp at him. “Why are you here?!”

He reaches for his back pocket and takes out the brown envelope. “Cause of this.” He smiles sweetly while he waves the enclosed letter at you, then puts it back to where it came from. “Your sister’s a real gem for going out of her way to give it to me,” his statement drenched with irony. 

Instead of answering him, you walked three steps away and faced the wall. You softly knock your head against the wall, looking down as you mutter, “What did I do to deserve this?” Followed by another knock, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Before you can do it the third time, he moves toward you and places his back hand where your forehead is supposed to hit again. You look at him distressfully, not removing your forehead against his hand. “Why are you here?”

“I just told you why, Y/n-chan.”

You stand up straight and sigh wearily. “I mean why even bother? I’m sure you get tons of those on a regular basis.”

You were right. Among other letters, he only read yours. Even though you didn’t intend to send the letter, he thought you’d be at least glad that he went after you. Instead, you were questioning his decision of doing so. Not once in any of your limited interactions had you agreed with him. 

He really just wanted to talk to you, initially at least. But you prove to be more and more entertaining that he’s about to do something totally abrupt. 

He supports his weight by leaning his elbow against the wall where his hand is. He slightly tips his head to the side as his smile veers from pleasant to haughty.

“I bothered cause I want to ask you out.” 

Route masterlist.

Taglist (those in bold and crossed out can’t be tagged):

@sakusarights  @elianetsantana  @tetsujime  @kweenregent @ne-kuroo @restricted-illusion @avbreyissad @kac-chowsballs @aksteldesu @justatempo @barali.k @humanitysbiggestsimp @al3xx1s @kellesvt @isentsworld @daniella-uwu @bokuakadaily @kitababie @luckypartyranchmug @melialeic @omigogames @cafetetsu @sleep3deprived @vicassa @the-writing-otaku @chibishae34 @chickennuggetthot @tsukisemi @timeturnerss @mariachiiii @spaceboitrash @dearestsuna @atsumubabe @cadenceh2o @hawkssnugget @hikari-writes @dabilove27 @isleofnajera  @thathoneybee3  @tsumue @uncleirohsbobbatea @shinhiromi @solarskiesdream @greyevangeline @graykageyama @holycometz @mattsuns-prettybaby @fluffymilkbread @rogueofbullshit @turntechsquishy @tweety1501 @sunashi @stale-sandcastle @kellesvt @heykoutarou​ @kuroosleftkneecap

[looneysguidetolife]

apartment stuff from howtogrowthefuckup

not all of it, but stuff i find particularly useful/want to remember. RIP this blog. the gimmick wears off after a while but it was genuinely useful information.

BUDGETING

suggested monthly budget for groceries for a two-person household is $553. estimated weekly budget is around $100. 

find a pad of paper and a pen and keep it with you for the next 24 hours. Write down every single fucking thing you use or even touch in your house. Tomorrow I want you to look at that list and figure out the cost of everything.

keep track of how much you spend on gas monthly.

add in your estimated utilities. You can fucking google that on your own, because it’s going to be different for wherever you want to live. Absolutely do this if you plan on moving to a different town or state.

divide your total monthly income by three. Hey, look at that, it’s my good friend Math again. Funny how he keeps showing up. Make sure the number of your expenses is less than the other 2/3rds, if it is, you can continue.

FINDING APARTMENTS

apartments.com

Focus on your top 10. Then your top 5. Then your top 3. Don’t go any farther than that (and don’t get rid of the research for the other 7 just yet). Create crazy complicated rating systems. Make an excel sheet or start putting stuff on your wall and connecting them with strings. Go full-on serial killer. Dedicate yourself.

You should also make note of how big the room is so you know if you can even fit what little you own. The same goes for the hallways or stairs or whatever exists outside the apartment on the way from your car. Could you get your mattress through all that shit?

PACKING

Figure out what you want to donate and what you want to put in the trash before you start packing.

Do not go grocery shopping right before moving... Just wait til you’re in the new place to make that trip.

Change your address. Like a week before you move. While you’re doing this, make a list of everywhere you’ve entered your address and need to change. Keep that list. Your future self will thank you someday.

Start in one room and pack all that before moving to a different part of the house. This is a good way to keep all your stuff together and it’s also a good way to find out that you own five decks of cards or one too many furbys.

Put everything into piles: keep, donate, and ditch.

Label the boxes with what room they belong to so you know exactly where it needs to go. Some people like to also mark this with a color coded sticker. 

Also label what’s in the boxes. For example: Kitchen - silverware; cooking utensils; hot pads; magnet collection. You don’t need to label every item individually, but have some idea of what’s in there. Label it on more than one side. Don’t label it on the top, because you’ll just end up stacking boxes on top of each other.

Distribute the weight of your stuff. Mix heavy books with stuffed animals.

Alternately, pack by weight. Heavy stuff goes in small boxes, light stuff goes in big boxes. Basically what I’m saying is don’t pack a massive box with too much weight that it’s too heavy to carry or will break the box.

Use all of your suitcases and bags for packing!

For toiletries - take off the top, place plastic wrap over the opening, replace the top. This way you don’t end up with lotion all over your towels or something.

Know what you’ll need immediately and make sure those boxes are the last thing on the truck, first thing unloaded at the new place. Maybe keep those things in a clear container so you can see exactly what’s in there. Hint: three of the things you’ll need immediately are your toolbox, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper.

note to self: get toolbox and first aid kit.

Take pictures of the new apartment. Before anything goes in it. This way if there are any scratches on the wall or stains on the carpet, the new landlord can’t say it happened during the move.

ASKING QUESTIONS

Apartments.com and My First Apartment both have lists of questions to ask.

questions directly from the blog:

Is the apartment available and is it still listed at the same price or are they trying to swindle you/are they completely incompetent at updating their listings?

Will it be ready when you need it? It’s gonna totally suck if you find the right place and find out it’s not available when you’re ready to move

Are there appliances? Are they included? Do they even work? 

How old is the apartment? This is important to ask because it will tell you how much trouble you’re going to have. Like, if it’s Civil War era, you might have issues with foundation cracks or old wiring or ghosts of soldiers waking you up in the middle of the night.

Have there been any issues with insects, rodents, mold, or mildew? You have to ask this. No good self-respecting property manager would tell you this of their own free will.

What kind of security is there? Did you have to go through a gate when you came in? Do you need a key to get into your building before you get into your door? Or does your door face out cheap motel style? Are there electronic pass codes? Is there any kind of security force on site?

If you ever find someone willing to hang out with you, is there a special place they need to park? Do you need to let the office know if they plan on staying the night?

Where do you park? Is parking included? Is in indoor or outdoor?

Do you need a city sticker to park on the street? [Note: I asked this when I moved to Missouri and everyone thought I was batshit crazy. This is normal in places like Chicago, not so normal elsewhere. See if you can determine that before you ask a crazy question.]

Can you paint the walls? Can you put holes in the walls? Can you do whatever it is you do to walls, so long as they look the same when you move out?

What exactly is the maintenance policy, beyond walls? What is covered, what’s not? And who do you contact when there’s an issue? Is there a maintenance person on staff, or do they call out to someone in the area? Do they have a 24-hour emergency maintenance line

Is there heat and air conditioning? What kind? If it’s a window unit, will it be included in the apartment? Are the costs of heating and cooling included

Do you have control over the temperature or is it a building thing?Are any utilities included?

Who are the cable and internet providers in the area? What are their rates? Does the apartment complex have an exclusive contract with one of the companies?

What kind of people live here? Do they have children? Are they all ancient? Do they have, as I suspect my last neighbors did, a bowling alley in their apartment?

Just how much are you going to hear from your neighbors? On a scale of Ernest Hemingway to Les Mis, how thick are the walls?

When is rent due and how do they want it? Are checks required? Can you pay with a credit card? Do they want it all in cash? Also, how is rent submitted? Can you pay electronically or do you drop it in a mailbox?

Do you need renter’s insurance? About how much does it cost? Are there any weird things that need to be included that might not be everywhere? Like, are earthquakes an issue?

What is the process for applying to the apartment, should you choose to rent it? Are there credit checks?

What’s the pet policy? Is there pet rent?

Are there quiet hours or other weird rules about volume or people or places or things?

Are there public areas like pools or parks or gyms? What are the rules regarding those?

If you have a roommate, will both of your names be on the lease, or will one person be designated as the responsible party (you better pray it isn’t you)?

What about trash? Is there pick up or dumpsters? Recycling?

Is there a storage unit included? Where is it? What kind of security does it have?

What happens with deliveries? Do they all go through the front office or are they left on your doorstep? Are you able to pick stuff up at any time? Do you need certain ID for it?

Is there a dishwasher? Is it louder than the bowling alley next door?

If you’re in an area that gets snow, do they plow or shovel? Will they totally bury your car if you don’t move it when the plow comes by?Is there public transportation anywhere?

not questions, but things to pay attention to:

Where are the outlets? Take note of prongs.

Are there permanent light sources or do you need to go to Ikea?

How big are the rooms? What shape are they? Are you going to be able to fit all your shit in here? [Note: you should already have a floor plan online, but ask for a paper copy if they have one.]

Do the people in the office seem at all competent? Are they going to make your life a living hell?

Can you get your stuff up/down the stairs or through the doors when you move in?

Are the appliances/apartment gas or electric?

Bathtub or shower?

Can you open the oven and fridge and still walk through the room? Will opening any doors block off other areas or hit something else?

Can you get a cell signal in the apartment? Seriously.

EDIT: waybackmachine links:

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

[creations-by-chaosfay]

We move in three days! To say this has been stressful is an understatement. The woes of being a renter. Our hope is to someday buy a house and never have to move again. Until then...

Sometime around mid-November, I'll be back to making new things for the shop. Quilt commissions will be closed until probably Summer/Fall 2022. If you've been saving to purchase my work, be it commission or ready-made, you have even more time to continue saving. I want to add at least four new quilts to my shop before opening commissions. This will help prevent burnout, which is vital. I'm on year six of jewelry burnout, and before that I had been making jewelry for 25+ years.

I have a stack of at least 10 projects set aside, of varying sizes and complexity. This will give me a nice selection of quilt tops to choose from for making a finished quilt, and my monthly supporters will be given the opportunity to vote on which quilt I finish first. These are all quilts I've been wanting to make for ages, but the summer heat prevented me from being able to work on pretty much anything.

The shelves we have set up in our current kitchen will be moved to my sewing room. Our current place has no storage in the kitchen for pots, pans, and other cooking equipment. The new place has loads of storage and a proper pantry. I'll decorate the shelves to hide the ugly metal, and then store sewing supplies, planned projects, work-in-progress, and pretty much everything I need to see to not forget it exists (ADHD = out of sight, out of mind, it no longer exists). My cats will be more or less banned from the sewing room if I'm not in there. Remember, all projects are washed before they're shipped to buyers.

Oh, and we're buying a washer/dryer set on Black Friday. I found the set I want (no touch screen, no computer, just good old fashion nobs and switches) and it's in our current budget, but we wanna save some money. Plus, BF is about a month away. I'll be putting in the order online, so likely Cyber Monday. Because I value my health and want to avoid crowds.

October 15th is moving day, then we're gonna spend the next several days cleaning up the duplex to get as much of the deposit back as we can (but let's be real here, the likelihood of a landlord ever giving the deposit back is slim, and what is returned is a fraction of what it ought to be). October 20th we hand in the keys and a check for the days we didn't live here, so 11 days of rent will be returned.

October 22nd is Dune Day, and my butt will be firmly planted in my recliner while I watch Dune in the safety of my living room. I'm a hardcore Dune fan, loathe the film from the 80s, love the interpretation in the two miniseries SyFy channel made (Dune and Children of Dune), have all 22 books (the 23rd will be released next year), nearly all the comic books (missing #8), one of the board games, the tabletop RPG with all the goodies (working on acquiring the dice sets), and would love to have a copy of each of the Dune posters, especially the character posters, but they're $25/each and...it's a lot of posters. If I can get them in say 11x16 inches to frame and set up around my home, I'd be thrilled. As it is, they're out of my budget and I weep.

My husband will be watching Dune with me and all the lights in the room will be on. I have epilepsy and folks who don't have epilepsy have been experiencing seizures in the theater. My husband will be protecting me from the flashing effects, helping me map out the film for when I watch it alone. We do this with every film so I can watching them safely when he's not in the room with me. Movie theaters are big flashy screen in a dark room, which is a big nope for me.

I'll make my next big update with photographs after we get everything in the house and unpack. Unpacking is the easy part. We moved here from a 1200 sq ft double wide manufactured home to an 814 sq ft duplex (that includes the garage, which has served as a third room). We're now moving to a 1500 sq ft single floor house. WOOT!

[thewitchandtheassassin]

That World (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: Part two of “Alone With You” happy ending style.

Words: 3171

Warnings: Uh, alcohol, language and some angst? Lemme know if I missed something.

A/N: Holy shit. One hundred percent wasn’t expecting a longer fic to be my coming back fic but this thing had a mind of its own. And, I just really want to thank y’all for sticking around. It means so much and I’m happy to say I think I’ll be staying for a while this time. But either way, WE GOT A NEW STORY HOLY FUCK!

-X-

She knew she shouldn’t have walked out. She knew it wasn’t what she’d wanted, but the words had gotten stuck in her throat and she couldn’t bring herself to let them slide off her tongue. So, instead, she’d taken the coward’s way out and left.

Left you broken just beyond the door closing behind her.

You’d never just been a way to pass time. Well, maybe in the beginning it had started out like that, but after the third time you’d let her in, something warm started creeping into her chest. You’d always assumed multiple people kept her company but the truth was…

There was only you.

She hadn’t meant to keep you in the dark – to make you feel the way you did – but she’d wanted to protect you (or maybe she was protecting herself. Those lines were a little blurred, if she was being honest with herself). She thought letting the distance hold you apart would keep you both safe but all it seemed to do was break hearts.

-X-

Hours became days and before Natasha realized it, it’d been a month since she’d heard you, seen you. She’d ignored it at first – the longing gripping her chest – but it was becoming overwhelming. She was reckless and withdrawn (more than normal). She was snappy and irritable and the team was worried.

“Nat, seriously, what’s going on?” Clint asked, flopping down beside Natasha on the couch in the common room.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha jerked to another page in her book, eyes scanning but not seeing the words printed. “Nothing.”

He reached out, grabbing her wrist calmly. “That’s a lie and we both know it. Talk to me.”

Natasha swallowed drily, fingers flexing around the book in her hands. Her tongue felt like it weighed a million pounds inside her mouth, threatening to suffocate her if she dare speak. A familiar pain traveled through her, the icy memory of the Red Room’s punishments creeping up her veins and pooling in her stomach.

Clint was startled to see tears filling Natasha’s eyes and he ripped the book from her, tossing it aside and gathering her in his arms. One hand stroked her hair while the other kept her close, murmuring soft reassurances to her.

“I fucked up,” Natasha hiccupped. “I-I should’ve stayed. I should’ve told her…”

His brows furrowed but Clint remained silent, waiting for his oldest friend to continue.

“All she wanted was for me to stay and I didn’t,” she whispered. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

Something dawned on Clint. “Is she who you used to go see after missions?” he inquired carefully, ignoring the tension that seemed to stiffen her muscles.

“…yes.”

Nodding, Clint leaned back and brushed a lock of hair from Natasha’s face. “If you’re this upset, you need to go to her. Tell her you regret leaving that night – that you regret leaving her. Wallowing isn’t doing anyone any good,” he advised, smiling sympathetically.

“I’m afraid she won’t forgive me,” she admitted brokenly. “I never told her anything. Not about missions or my life or anything. I kept her so far in the dark that I don’t know how to bring her into the light now.”

“You’ll never know until you talk to her,” Clint said. “If you care about her this much, you need to talk to her. Otherwise it’ll be entirely your own fault that you lost her.” He knew his words were harsh, but she needed to hear them. If he tried sugarcoating it, she’d never leave the couch.

Natasha’s face scrunched as she forced back tears. He was right. As much as she wished he wasn’t, he absolutely was.

“Okay,” she breathed, determination befalling her features. “Okay.”

Clint smiled, patting her shoulder as he stood. “C’mon. I’ll drive.”

-X-

The drive to your apartment was silent aside from the incessant tapping of Natasha’s fingers on her thigh. She was trying to prepare her speech, like she was readying for battle, but she knew the moment she looked into your eyes it’d be useless. This wasn’t something she could sweep under the rug with a seductive look or a sensual kiss. She had to actually talk.

She was going to throw up.

Sudden terror gripped her as they stopped in front of the building. “I can’t do this.”

Clint chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, you can. Go talk to her. I’ll wait here until you say otherwise.”

Bottom lip snagged between her teeth, Natasha inhaled sharply and tossed open the car door before storming inside and up to your floor. With every step her heart thudded a little harder, but she ventured on, blinking sporadically to keep the tears at bay. Fist balled tight, she knocked twice behind rocking on her heels.

Silence.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Natasha’s head tilted. Only stillness greeted her as she stared at the door mocking her. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side, which was bizarre considering your floor creaked just at the entrance.

Her eyebrows nearly touched as she tentatively reached forward and knocked again. It was well past nine at night, so where the hell were you? A nasty thought crossed her thoughts and she faltered. What if you’d already moved on? What if you were on a date? What if they were in there?

The old woman who lived next door peered out of her apartment and stared at her. She could see the emotions warring on the beautiful woman’s face.

“Excuse me, miss,” the woman called, garnering Natasha’s attention. “She’s not there.”

Natasha’s head snapped around. “O-oh. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

The woman’s pursed lips concerned Natasha. “I don’t think you understand, sweetie. She doesn’t live here anymore. Moved out about two weeks ago.”

All the blood drained from Natasha’s face and her lips parted slightly, a deeper concern blossoming in her stomach.

“None of us know where she went either,” she admitted. “We just saw her leave one day and the next, the landlord was trying to find new renters. It’s a shame too. She was lovely. Always helped me with my groceries.”

“She’s…gone?” Natasha repeated slowly, glancing at your door like she expected you to throw it open and laugh at your elaborate joke. This was just a joke…right?

Smiling sadly at Natasha, the old woman studied her. As a former nurse, she’d seen many people walk into her hospital with a similar expression; regret and devastation marring their features, waiting for someone to yell “surprise” or hoping to wake up from a bad dream.

She silently prayed this woman would someday find you and right whatever wrong caused that look; she’d always hated that look.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she mumbled before closing her door, the quiet click sounding like a thunderous boom in Natasha’s ears.

The urge to slump to her knees was crippling but Natasha forced herself upright and staggered out of your (former) building, dragging herself towards Clint’s car. Her fingers felt numb as she gripped the handle, dropping into the passenger seat. She said nothing and he didn’t push.

You were gone.

-X-

Traveling the country had never been something you’d really considered before. You liked having a steady home, steady relationships – a steady life. But two weeks after Natasha walked out of your door, you decided to throw caution to the wind and try it. You had more than enough money to survive for a while so you tossed your bigger items into the storage and began a trek across the country, headed west.

Was it irresponsible to quit your job and break your lease all because a woman didn’t love you? Probably, but you didn’t care. You needed something new; something wild that could help mend the shattered shards of your heart.

So you found yourself in a little town in Ohio two weeks into your trip, a cheap beer in hand as you looked around the bar. You weren’t trying to catch anyone’s eye, merely curious of your surroundings. Plenty of people were scattered about, filling the air with small-town liveliness.

A feminine hand caught your attention out of your peripheral and you discretely glanced over. Long digits traced across the edge of the wood.

“I might be mistaken but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you around here before.” Her voice was like a warm breeze in the middle of September and you couldn’t stop yourself from gazing at her.

She was pretty, relatively speaking, though she didn’t hold a candle to the woman who’d prompted this trip. But she might be pretty enough to help you forget.

“You’re not wrong,” you smirked, sipping your beer as you watched her eyes flicker to your lips.

She offered her hand, skin smooth and gentle against yours. “I’m Lucy.”

“(Y/N),” you replied, letting your fingers brush the palm of her hand as you let go.

Hopping onto the stool beside you, she raised a finger and the bartender handed her a drink. You weren’t sure if he’d been simply waiting for the gesture or if it was just a lucky coincidence but you weren’t going to question it. You were a stranger, what did you know?

“So, what brings you here?” Lucy asked, raising her glass to glossed lips.

You shrugged. It’d sound pathetic to admit all of this started because of a woman, right? An Avenger but still…

“Road trip,” you hummed, eyes drifting through the crowd again.

Lucy chuckled, smirking at you over the rim of her drink. “I’ve heard a lot of people say that but that’s never the full story, is it?”

Your gaze jerked back to her and her smirk deepened.

“Boyfriend troubles – or girlfriend?” she wondered, her glass thumping on the bar as she set it down.

Sighing, you acknowledged her probing with a humorless laugh. “Technically? Neither. She was never my girlfriend.”

Lucy’s brow arched, curiosity brimming in green eyes. “Oh?”

You downed your beer. “Yeah…” you didn’t exactly want to offer information but the need to vent was pulsating into your bones. No one knew the story; hell, no one had even known you had an occasional bed partner. “I had feelings for her but she walked out and never came back, so I decided a trip across the country wasn’t such a bad idea.”

Lucy gave an apologetic hiss and patted your arm. “Ouch.”

“But,” the corner of your mouth tugged up, “I’m sure some good company would help take the sting out a little.”

-X-

Finding out you had left was a blow Natasha hadn’t anticipated. She’d considered calling you from Clint’s car but the idea you had blocked her number gave her pause. You’d left for a reason, so she should honor that…

And she did try.

But, as another week drifted into two, she was crumbling inside. She’d spent many years trying to correct all the mistakes she’d made over in her youth but now she had no idea how to fix this one. You’d never been hers – though through no fault of your own – but it felt like you’d taken a chunk of her heart wherever you had gone.

In the end, it wasn’t even her who found you.

Tony Stark was many things: arrogant, a billionaire playboy, but not stupid. He’d seen Natasha losing herself and, while he might butt heads with her often, he hated the misery that lingered on the outskirts of green. So, as any friend would do, he stole her phone.

Your number was easy to find since it was the only “civilian” number on there, aside from Laura Barton. Natasha was nothing if not minimalistic.

Minutes later, he pinged your phone and had FRIDAY tracking it.

“Boss, what should I do with this information?” the AI wondered, curious – well, as curious as an AI could be.

“Send it to Agent Romanoff and tell her I better be her best man at the wedding,” Tony replied coolly, wandering off to go bug Pepper before Natasha could come skin him alive.

When FRIDAY alerted her of Tony’s meddling, she did consider hurting him for less than a second before she was racing out of the Compound and towards a jet. Yes, flying a million dollar get to win back her not-ex’s heart was dramatic but she was an Avenger.

And Avengers were good at dramatics.

-X-

You hadn’t left that little Ohio town yet, which honestly surprised you. After spending a night drinking with Lucy, you’d followed her home…

And slept on her couch.

She’d been wonderful to talk to – and you’d been right about the company – but sleeping with her had never been an option. You weren’t going to use someone like that, even if she was a stranger. But, she’d offered her couch and nearly two weeks later, you were still there. She’d argued with you about finding a motel, telling you she liked having someone to fill the silence of her little apartment.

So you stayed.

Right now, you were tucked in a little coffee shop, a mug in front of you as you waited for Lucy. She was off getting things ready for her upcoming art gallery in town so you’d been left to your own devices (which was fine). You were absently flicking through your social medias, listening to the locals discuss a plane that had touched down outside of town. You weren’t really paying any attention to it but the silence that enveloped the shop as the door opened certainly caught your notice.

You peeked over your shoulder, eyes widening as a disheveled – but still unnaturally beautiful – Natasha strolled over. She looked dress for war, but the uncertainty in her eyes left you frozen. In all the months you’d known her, she’d never looked so scared before. Like you were a wild cat that would either spring at her or dash away if she got too close.

“Hi,” she greeted, voice raspy and alluring.

You gaped, your throat suddenly so dry that it burned. You could tell your silence hurt Natasha but your lack of running away helped lessen the fear swirling inside her stomach. She cautiously grabbed the chair across from yours and dragged it closer, though she kept a respectable distance between you.

“W-why…how…um, huh?” you sputtered, trying to gather your thoughts. You had so many questions that wanted out and no idea how to ask them.

“You left New York,” she stated plainly, as if that explained everything – which, it did not.

“Yes?” you replied, though it definitely sounded like a question at that point.

Natasha cleared her throat, green dancing between your mug and the floor. “I was a coward,” she muttered, “The night you said you couldn’t do what we were doing anymore. I wanted to stay, but I was scared. Scared of what happens if I let you get too close; scared you wouldn’t like the real me. So, I left. But when I came to talk, you were gone.”

Her gaze almost felt accusing but you both knew she wasn’t angry with you.

“I –” you stopped yourself from apologizing. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You were the wounded party.

But looking at her, you wondered if maybe you weren’t the only one hurting.

“I shouldn’t have left,” she continued, lip trapped between perfect teeth. “I should’ve stayed when you asked and I’m sorry I didn’t. I should’ve told you I wanted more too. I should’ve given you everything instead of taking it. You were never just fun for me – and I wish I’d told you that sooner.”

“Nat,” you exhaled, watching her shoulders slump. “I wish you had too.”

She nodded, her hair obscuring your view, hiding that face you loved so much. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but can we try again? Try to have something real this time? I can’t promise I’ll be perfect but I really want to give us a shot. Because losing you? It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt.”

Your tongue was lead in your mouth, pressing it to your teeth. Thoughts swam through your mind at millions of miles per second and you wondered for a moment if you were dreaming. The air felt ten degrees hotter and you were fairly certain everyone was looking at you but you didn’t dare look away for even a millisecond.

“Hey, everything okay?” Lucy.

You didn’t even know she had arrived and suddenly the world felt like it was tipping on its axis. Natasha’s hair fluttered as her head snapped to the new arrival and you could see her heart turning to dust as she assumed the worst. Lucy’s eyes were on you but yours never left Natasha.

She didn’t say a word, merely kicking out of the chair and rushing from the shop, leaving you stunned. Another flurry of emotions and thoughts erupted in your brain but you knew one thing: you had find her.

You couldn’t lose her again.

Bolting off your chair, you lurched out of the shop and glanced about frantically. A glimpse of her black outfit was the only sign she’d ever existed in this little town and you surged after her, pushing your muscles in a way you hadn’t since you were forced to run a mile in gym.

You weren’t going to let her leave you again. If she left, there wasn’t going to be a third chance – and you knew it.

Catching her arm just outside of the trees that you assumed lead to her jet, you dragged her to a halt, breath escaping you in pants as you stared at the back of her head. This felt like something out of a stupid romantic comedy but that wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Natasha,” you started, though she hurriedly cut you off.

“It’s okay,” she sniffed, clearly fighting off her sorrow. “I get it. You don’t have to explain.” She was silently begging you not to. She couldn’t handle it if you did.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” you assured her, tugging on the skin-tight material clinging to her body. “Lucy’s just a friend I made when I stopped here. She’s not…we’re not…”

Instead of struggling to find the words, you simply jerked on Natasha’s arm, bringing her crashing into you. Her hands found your shoulders and yours cupped her face, thumbs brushing the stray tears away. You had so much you wanted to say but you’d been taught actions speak louder than words so with a rush of courage, your lips brushed hers.

She gasped, her lips still against your own and you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But, as she sagged into you, she fervently brought her mouth to yours, kissing you desperately. She clung to you like you’d disappear, arms coming around your neck to keep you close.

When air became a necessity, you pressed your forehead against hers and smiled. “Want to take a road trip with me?” you asked breathlessly, giggling as she nodded without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Maybe this was that world after all.