#including ones i can no longer stand the feel of the yarn

[little-homestead-in-the-suburbs]

I've been going through large totes of knitting and crocheting projects going back to when I was just starting to learn around 2006. I have a huge chunk from around 2009-2015 where I would start projects that caught my eye and then drop them never to touch again unless I was stealing the needles or hook for another project.

Some were ambitious like a cabled bed spread, others I just wanted to try a stitch pattern or technique (so many random crochet squares of samples), and some had fabulous intentions but either ended up in the wrong yarn type or a very bad size issue so it got abandoned.

Most of the finished samples or handfuls of blanket squares I'll gift on as mug rugs or coasters. Others I'll frog to pass the yarn on or just trash because the yarn is so matted or damaged it's not worth saving (looking at the eyelash and fuzzy yarns).

Yarns I'm willing to use will get re-skeined and organized. I had a grand time tonight logging tools and some UFOs turned WIPs onto my ravelry. I'm planning on adding pictures too as I've discovered it's great being able to look up projects by yarn to see what other crafters find it does well in. Especially great for some one off skeins I picked up in sales or was gifted.

I'm on ravelry as Gelflingandtiny if you want to follow the chaos directly:)

[rubyblue2005]

How Time Blindness Affects my Way of Life

There are a lot of parts about ADHD that are either overly talked about or not talked about nearly enough. ADHD stands for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, and it can be either hereditary or genetic, meaning you were born with it or you got it from the gene pool. I've been told by my parents—my mom, who is a teacher, and my dad, who has also been diagnosed with ADHD—that I've been exhibiting symptoms all of my life. I only got an official diagnosis in my senior year of high school. Yet, everyone always says they know I have ADHD because of my "hyperactivity" or fidgeting. Hyperactivity is talked about in ADHD all of the time; all of the fidgeting, all of the "bounciness," and all of the lack of focus are attributed to it. Ironically enough, the doctor who diagnosed me with ADHD had trouble being able to officially diagnose me because the variations of the Vanderbilt Assessment Scale were created to easily diagnose mainly males, and I turned out to basically be the poster child for females with ADHD because I exhibited all the symptoms of ADHD but not many of the symptoms used for an official diagnosis. The Vanderbilt Assessment scale has been acknowledged to not have Masking (Neurodivergent people concealing or controlling natural responses and behaviors in order to avoid calling attention to themselves) and societal pressures taken into account. While the Vanderbilt Assessment Scale came out in the early 2000s and can be very reliable, it is currently mainly used for kids 12 and under, who are not harshly judged and punished for exhibiting in public. Which has been acknowledged by both medical experts and personnel as a flaw. At one point, the doctor sat me down and told me that I was exhibiting several symptoms, but not many of the symptoms that were used for the official diagnosis, so the process would take longer.

A symptom that is not talked about often about ADHD is something called Time Blindness. Time Blindness is an often overlooked symptom of executive function disorders such as Autism, OCD, Depression, and ADHD. One of the symptoms of ADHD is Time Blindness, an inability to sense when time has passed and estimate the time needed to get something done. Time does not feel linear to me. As I was working on this essay, I stared at the clock on my phone, and over an hour had passed, yet to me, it felt like it had only been maybe a few minutes at most. Time blindness can cause a plethora of issues, such as late work, being either too early or late to work or school, and I've had to have many creative coping and problem-solving tactics to abate Time Blindness, such as sticky notes and the clock on my phone. 

For a metaphorical example of what I am talking about, imagine your measurement of time passing as a length of yarn. Someone who feels time in a linear fashion, not suffering from Time Blindness, will see this string of yarn laid out in a semi-straight line. Sometimes, the time string is actually shorter than first glanced at or longer than estimated, but the string of yarn generally stays in the same laid-out line, making the guesswork of how long the length of yarn is easier. Time Blindness takes this relatively straight length and organizes it as a yarn ball, and a person who suffers from Time Blindness has to attempt to judge how long the string actually is. Dr. Manos from the Cleveland Clinic does a much better job of wording what I am trying to express in the article “What is Time Blindness?” They explain that everyone runs on two types of attention: Automatic attention and Directed attention. Dr. Manos explains Automatic attention as “It’s the kind of attention that lets time fly by because you’re having a good time. It’s essentially cruise control for your mind.” whilst they also define Directed attention as “Directed attention is what we use when we’re engaged in things we have to do, but don’t necessarily want to do. That can include things like listening to a particularly dry lecture at school. Or filing your taxes.” Everyone, even neurotypical people, can and has experienced some form of Time Blindness, as the phenomenon is that the brain uses Automatic attention rather than Directed attention. Why is this important to note for people with executive function disorders? The article further explains, “‘People with ADHD tend to have very strong automatic attention. When they are doing something they like, they can more easily go deep into hyperfocus,’ Dr. Manos says. ‘But their brains generally find it more difficult to use directed attention.'"

With a skewed sense of time, there is a tendency to be either really early or very late for events and affairs. This is something that most people with executive function disorders deal with. In an article written by Lisa Lightner, an IEP and Special Education advocate, they mentioned knowing someone with similar experiences. She shares, “When I was a teacher, one year I had this student who always showed up to school super early. As in, like 2 hours early. So early the administration was concerned and asked me to speak to her. Turns out, her EF skills and time blindness were so poor, that she truly did not know how to get to school on time. It was either super early or late or not at all."

My dad, who is also diagnosed with ADHD, would drive me to high school in the mornings; we would leave really early, get breakfast on the road, and then wait for a few minutes in the parking lot before I went inside the school. When I entered the school, I would still be over an hour early, and being one of the few kids there and awake enough to function at a little before seven in the morning meant that I usually hung out in the cafeteria with the hall monitors or with my first-hour class teacher. I was so paranoid about being late, because it is not a good feeling to have to explain to the mean secretary that we came to school late because we didn’t look at the clock before it was too late. Once, Dad and I actually timed how long the ride to high school took. Then, we managed to make a series of adjustments so that I wasn’t at school before most of the staff were. Though Dad continued to drop me off early because he had meetings to attend, I liked how quiet the mornings at school were.

In my educational career as a student, I had a tendency to finish the work given to me within the hour an assignment was given to me, thinking that I would not remember to set a time to do so later. I would do all of this work and then wait for the due date to arrive so that I could turn the assignments in, only for me to forget to bring the work in on the day it was due. For years, I did all of my homework and all of my assignments, and then I would forget to turn them in, not realizing that the due date had just passed. It was a little better when the due date was the day after they were assigned. I went to my online class earlier and realized that the part of my project that I had been finished with for weeks was due the day before. I had completed pages of research and thorough analysis for this project the week it was assigned and had to wait because the submission for the assignment online had not opened. I waited too long and had turned in all of my hard work that I had completed before the deadline as a late assignment. Getting points off and lowering the grade of my work feels awful; it is not a nice feeling. And while I was working on this essay, I stared at the clock on my phone, and over three hours had passed. Yet to me, it feels like I only just started working on this essay.

Timing the drive from home to school is not the end of the road. I am hyper-aware of my weakness in telling the time, and I have always been hyper-aware of the concept of time. I have sixteen alarms set in total. Ten of them are used every morning as reminders to get certain parts of my routine done. The first four of these ten morning alarms are to get me awake and dressed. Then there are two alarms that tell me when I need to be eating or finishing breakfast. Afterwards, I have two alarms that warn me to get all of my stuff ready and packed. The last alarm rings for when I should be leaving the house and on the road. The six alarms that are not used in my everyday morning schedule are used for when I should be finishing lunch and going to work. One alarm is for the end of lunch, and the other five are alarms for when I should be leaving to work my shift on different days. Even with my alarm reminders, I tend to arrive at work ten minutes before my shift. I stare at the clock on my phone, waiting for the time to pass so that I can clock in on time. “I cannot clock in so early; it would mess up the paychecks, and then my boss would get mad.” Even during work, I have a timer saved so that I do not have to worry about accidentally overextending my breaks when I am on shift. I have stacks of sticky notes in my room. The sticky notes are used mostly for work-related reminders, topics I want to research or talk about later, medical appointments, and abbreviated tidbits I need to add to my paperwork or essays. I have the front section of my notebooks left blank to write down what I need to start working on or finish for the day.

Lisa Lightner also talked about a few of the ways Time Blindness can exhibit itself, listing off procrastination and hyperfixation. “Procrastination: Time blindness can contribute to a tendency to procrastinate, as individuals may struggle to accurately estimate the amount of time required for a specific task and may therefore delay getting started. Hyperfixation: Individuals with time blindness may become hyperfocused on a specific activity, losing track of time and neglecting other important tasks or responsibilities.” Procrastination does not just mean putting off work or school-related tasks. I have a tendency to push off taking breaks. As an example, at work, I stare at the clock on my phone and think to myself that I’ll take a break after I finish organizing these books. Then I see that there are some items that need to be checked in, and after I check them in, I need to go check the exceptions bin to see if there is anything that I need to pack to be mailed out to. "That reminds me that I should check my work mailbox to see if there are any notices, and also sift through my work email. And I should also check my personal email because I haven’t in a while." All of these small tasks start spiraling, and I forget to take my break, continuing to work without pause, slipping into hyperfixation on the small tasks of my job.

These two separate symptoms can bleed into another problem, neglecting important bodily functions and overall health. In order to prevent this from creating a serious problem, I was taught to do something I lovingly call the Human Maintenance Check, which just means going through a mental checklist when something feels off. “Oh, I have a headache. Why do I have a headache? Did I drink enough water today? I had some water before I left the house, which was how long ago? Okay, only a few hours ago, so that is not it. Have I eaten anything? Well, I had a granola bar and fruit snacks for breakfast because I was running late. When was breakfast? Oh, I haven’t eaten much all day. Okay, so I have a headache because I need to eat something."

All of this shenaniganry has caused an increase in anxiety and depression for me. “Why did I forget to eat lunch? How did I miss my break time? I did all of the work; how did I not turn this in on time? They must think I don’t like them anymore; they hate me for staying so late; they must think I am avoiding them, but I didn’t know we hadn’t hung out for a month; they must hate me for arriving so early." But I am not trying to disrespect others by chewing up their time; I am not trying to seem impatient by showing up early; and I am not trying to disregard spending time with others. For a long time, I could not explain in an understandable manner what time felt like to me. It took an even longer time to realize that other people do not feel the passage of time the same way that I do.

I mentioned before that my mom is a teacher; she had to attend an online conference about ADHD. It lasted two days, and when I had the time, I would sit in and listen to what the presentations had to offer. It was surprising how much I corrected some presenters; these people had mentioned their credentials, and I was saddened but not surprised that people who graduated Harvard had gotten wrong. One presenter said that females with ADHD do not have hyperactivity, which I can attest is factually incorrect. Females present hyperactivity differently than males do; this is due to how males and females Mask differently due to societal norms. Masking is when neurodivergent people conceal or control their natural responses and behaviors in order to avoid calling attention to themselves.

Out of the four hour-long presentations that I sat for when I had the time, I did not feel the need to correct something from only one presentation. One of the last presenters for the conference was a mother with ADHD who had children who also had ADHD. She talked about all sorts of methods she used for herself and the situations and systems she had with her children. The other presentations had mentioned Time Blindness in bullet points, briefly mentioning it before continuing on with their presentations. She was the one who defined exactly what Time Blindness was. She took the time to outline how that Time Blindness was one of the largest obstacles neurodivergent people, herself and her family included, dealt with every day. How her oldest accidentally skipped school because it was a half day and he had gotten up late, thinking he still had time. How doctor’s appointments were times where she took off the whole day because otherwise she would miss her appointment, etc.

Before my mom had this conference for school, I never had a term for not feeling time in a linear fashion. My closest to accurate explanation was how A Wrinkle In Time explained String Theory: “to put it into Euclid, or old-fashioned plane geometry, a straight line is not the shortest distance between two points” But the string was longer and would get tangled up if you weren’t staring intensely at it. Then, one of my alarms rang. I had to go to work, and as I stared at the clock on my phone, I finally had a term for something that has affected almost every aspect of my life. Time Blindness, an inability to sense when time has passed and estimate the time needed to get something done.

Citations:

“Why Time Flies When You’re Having Fun.” Cleveland Clinic, 2 May, 2023, health.clevelandclinic.org/time-blindness. Accessed 30 Nov. 2023.

Lightner, Lisa. “What Is Time Blindness? (And How to Manage It!).” A Day in Our Shoes, 27 July 2023, adayinourshoes.com/what-is-time-blindness. Accessed 30 Nov. 2023.

Anson, Kelsie. “The Science of Science Fiction: A Wrinkle in Time.” Science Buffs, 19 Mar. 2018, sciencebuffs.org/2018/03/05/a-wrinkle-in-time. Accessed 30 Nov. 2023.

[little-homestead-in-the-suburbs]

*looks sideways at the large plastic totes of WIPS and UFOs stretching back to 2006*

Casts on a gift for a coworker, then rifles through old projects to find the missing needle or hook size needed to do new projects

Me at me: you already have enough projects to work on

Also me: cäśt ōń åńöthęr

[illicitlimerence-writes]

always | p. gasly

pairing: pierre gasly x reader word count: 3.6k words (i don't know why but i thought this was longer) request: yes/no, by an anon: "Hey! I loved Chérie so much it’s such a great fic! Could you do a Pierre imagine with #2 from fluff on prompt list 2. Maybe where him and reader have been dating for ages but no one really noticed cause they’ve always been like touchy people. Then one day reader turns up with an engagement ring and everyone is shocked but v happy for them cause people were routing for them to get together anyway. Feel free to change it up however you want to just thought it’d be a funny/cute idea ☺️"prompt: letter g: grateful. from this christmas alphabet prompt list. & fluff "2: "they're good for each other" (i changed it a bit) from this prompt list.warnings: language, time jumps (lmk if they're confusing), memes at the end. a/n: day seven! i hope you like it, it's my favorite out of all the christmas alphabet fics i've wriiten.

my masterlist/ christmas alphabet masterlist

(sir plsss)

age 5

december 25th, 2001.

a young girl with two french braids sat on one of the swings in the park where she was playing. it was extremely too cold for anyone to be out at that time in the morning, but she had to have at least thrity minutes of playtime outside every day, and that included christmas morning.

her house was right across the street, and she could see from the short distance that her mother, who sat on the porch swing waiting for her, was waving her arms at the little girl, telling her it was time to come home. she raised both hands, stretching her fingers wide, asking her for ten more minutes. her mother crossed the street and walked to her.

"mommy, please, ten more minutes." the girl asked, pouting.

"you'll get a cold, my love. i don't want you sick," her mother replied, brushing the hair away from the girl's face, before adjusting the hat back on her head. the bright pink pompom bouncing from side to side with each movement the girl made.

"i won't! i promise i won't get sick, i have my hat, and my scarf, and my gloves! look, i put the scar over my mouth and nose like you do!" the girl said as she imitated her mother, the yarn protecting her from the cold air.

"five minutes, i'll wait for you here," her mother answered and the girl ran to the swings.

"can you push me?!" the girl yelled, and her mother approached her, standing behind her as she pushed the little girl. the happy giggles that escaped the girl's lips feeling like the greatest christmas gift the mother could ever ask for.

they heard a door slam shut, and from the other side of the street, they saw a family leaving their home, a small boy with light brown hair walking between his mother and father. they reached the park where the girl and her mother were. the girl was a little shy, so she jumped from the swing and grabbed her mother's hand, hiding behind her legs as the family walked to them.

"merry christmas!" the girl's mother called, smiling at the neighbors.

"merry christmas, i don't believe we've met, we just moved a few days ago," the boy's mom said, walking to the girl's mother and shaking her hand.

"i saw the moving truck, are you adjusting nicely?" the girl noticed from behind her mother's legs that the boy had a toy plane in his hands.

"yes, thank you," the boy's father said, the adults continued to introduce themselves before the boy caught his father's attention. "this is our son, pierre, we were just going to fly this plane that santa brought him," the man said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"nice to meet you pierre, this is my daughter, (y/n)." the girl's mother moved a little to the side, exposing her child to the three strangers. "say hi, honey," the woman instructed, the girl felt her cheeks warming as his parents smiled at her. she just waved her hand, looking at the boy for a second before looking up at her mom.

"do you want to come play with me?" the boy asked, extending his arms for her to see his airplane. the girl shook her head, gripping her mother's hand. "it's okay if you don't want to! but i think it will be fun! my dad says it's the best one that santa and his elves could make!" the boy explained, grinning as he admired his plane.

the little girl's eyes widened, looking from the smiling boy, to his brand-new plane, to her mother. the woman laughed, looking at her daughter's conflicted face.

"do you want to go play?" she asked, the girl nodded her head enthusiastically. "it's okay, you can go. i'll be right here," she assured her daughter, who took off running behind the boy to the center of the park, where he set the plane on the grass and grabbed the remote control, pushing furiously all the buttons in hopes of making it work, all of a sudden, the airplane took off a few meters in the air before crashing down.

the kids laughed and yelled, pointing at the airplane as they ran to it.

they played for hours, until their stomachs grumbled and their lungs protested from all the laughter. when her mother told her it was time to go and visit her grandparents, the girl didn't want to leave. she wanted to spend more time with the boy, her new friend.

"it's okay! we can play tomorrow! and you can show me all the gifts santa gave you this year!" the boy comforted the girl when small tears welled up in her eyes.

"tomorrow?" she repeated, pierre nodded, smiling at her.

"yes! we're friends now, and friends play together all the time!" he said, hugging her. the girl was surprised, but hugged him back.

"okay," she said, "bye, pierre!" the girl called as she walked home with her mother, the boy was doing the same, head turned back as his body kept moving forward.

"bye, (y/n)! thanks for playing with me!"

age 11

december 22nd, 2007.

"say goodbye, (y/n), we need to go to the gate," the girl's mother said as she rubbed a hand up and down her back. she was clinging to her best friend like her life depended on it. she didn't want to go.

"why can't i stay?" the girl said as she hid her face in pierre's neck. they were about to start puberty, and he was already growing taller, meanwhile, she remained the same height.

"because you promised nana and pop you'd go for christmas, they will be sad if they don't see you," her father spoke this time, as he returned with the plane tickets in his hand.

"i can go during the summer," her voice came out muffled, as she squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling.

"you're coming with us to rouen," pierre said.

"then i'll see them in march," the girl said as pierre pulled her closer.

"we're going to london," pierre reminded her. from behind her, the girl heard her father sighing.

"not helping, son," he chuckled.

"i don't want to go," she said.

"we'll be back in two weeks," her mother smiled at her.

"that's fourteen days. four. teen."

"glad to see you can do math, kid, let's go or the plane will leave without us," her father said and her eyes shone as an idea popped in her head.

"my stomach hurts, i need to use the restroom!" she said.

"there's one on the plane," her mother said, realizing what she was trying to do.

"i can't feel my legs!" she said, leaning her weight on pierre, who caught her before she fell.

"i'll carry you," her dad said, in the same monotone voice as her mother.

"i'm afraid of flying!" she tried, but everyone, including pierre's mom who had volunteered to drive them to the airport, looked at her with a frown on their faces.

"you love airplanes," pierre whispered at her, though it wasn't as low as he had intended.

"i know i love planes, but they don't know that!" she whispered back at him.

"we do know that," her mom said. she grunted, rolling her eyes.

"i have rights," she crossed her arms.

"c'mon kid, we have to go now. say goodbye, you'll see each other in just a few days," her mother side-hugged her.

she hugged pierre again, holding on tightly before reluctantly letting go of him.

"here," he said once they separated. she watched as he took off his blue beaded bracelet, grabbing her hand and slipping it until it was secured around her wrist. "so you have something to remember me while you're away." he said before embracing her again.

"thank you, pierre. i'm going to miss you,"

age 16

december 25th, 2012.

"hi, is (y/n) here?" pierre heard a male voice from the front door.

it was your usual christmas eve, (y/n) and pierre were going to hang out at her house whilst wearing matching onesies and watching action movies.

"yes, she's getting ready, she'll be down in a minute," her mother said as she invited the guy at the door in. he was surprised to see the girl's friend from school, toby.

pierre knew she had a crush on toby, she spoke about him in a way that made his stomach feel funny. he glared at the boy, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal on his hands. it wasn't helping pierre's confidence the fact that he was wearing the stitch onesie she'd gotten him for christmas last year, meanwhile toby wore a cheesy red and green christmas sweater.

"hey," toby greeted pierre, placing his hands in his pockets, pierre didn't answer, returning his attention to the tv, where the avengers were closing the chitauri wormhole.

she walked down the stairs, not wearing a pink stitch onesie, instead wearing a maroon turtleneck, jeans, and a black jacket.

"hey," she smiled, standing on her tiptoes as she pressed her lips against his. toby's.

"hey, beautiful are you ready?" toby asked, a grin on his face.

"yeah, i'll just talk to my mom and we can go," the girl said as she grabbed her bag, facing the living room, she saw pierre sitting on the couch, eyebrows furrowed.

"pierre... wh- what are you doing here?" the girl asked. "can you wait for me outside? i'll be right there," she said, toby nodded, kissing her cheek, which made her blush.

"it's christmas eve," he said. he didn't feel the need to explain any further, it was clear as day. christmas eve is pierre and (y/n)'s day.

"oh, my god. i forgot," she said, eyes widening. she sat next to pierre. "i'm so sorry, i promised toby we'd go ice skating together, he invited me last night," she giggled like a little girl.

"you kissed him," pierre said. noticing the way the girl tugged a strand of hair behind her ear.

"he asked me out last week, didn't i tell you?" she asked, he shook his head. "i must've forgotten," she whispered. "i'm really sorry, but he's waiting right outside, can we... maybe, do this tomorrow?" the girl said.

"i can't tomorrow, i'm going-"

"to your aunt's..." she finished for him, sighing. "it's fine i'll- i'll tell him we can go another day, i'll-" she said, but pierre felt a little sting in his heart as he heard the disappointment in the girl's voice.

"no, you go with him. we'll have many more christmas eves in the future," he forced a smile. the girl squealed, reaching forward and wrapping her arms around pierre's neck. she kissed his cheek.

"thank you, thank you, thank you. i promise i'll make it up to you, bye!" she said as she ran out the door.

"by-" the sound of the door slamming shut cut him off.

after saying goodbye to her mother, pierre walked back home with the hood of his onesie on. his house was empty, everyone knew pierre was unavailable on the 24th of december, always. he changed to an oversized sweater and jeans, grabbing his phone and checking his social media.

he ate by himself, his parents were returning that night, after an early christmas trip to the mountains. he watched tv in the living room, not really paying attention to whatever was playing, the sound drifting him off until he fell asleep.

loud banging on his door woke him up, the doorbell rang incessantly as he got up and ran to the door.

she stood there, tears falling down her face as she ran to his arms. he lead her in, closing the door behind her. she leaned her weight on him, her whole body shook as sobs left her throat.

"what's wrong? what happened?" he asked, moving her hair away from her face and wiping the tears with his thumbs.

"cami and toby- i-i went to get something to eat and when i came back they-" she shook her head, and pierre pushed her head into his neck. letting her mourn what could've been.

"he didn't deserve you, (y/n). no one is worthy of you. you're kind, and beautiful, and so, so lovely. you don't have to waste your time on people who can't see how valuable and absolutely magnificent you are." he whispered as he led her to his room. they laid in his bed as he continued to console her, until her throat hurt from the sobbing and her eyes burned from crying.

"i'm sorry i left you alone for him, i-"

"don't apologize, pretty girl."

"no, i have to. it's our tradition and i didn't even remember it. god, i'm such an idiot, all he had to do was tell me a few sweet words and that was it,"

"don't say that. you deserve to fall in love, i know it hurts, but sometimes heartache is part of the process. next time, maybe pick a better man," he tried to joke, and he felt relieved when he saw a smile on her lips.

"i don't think i want to fall in love anymore," she said as she looked up at the ceiling. the tears had stopped, thankfully.

"it'll happen, the moment you least expect it, and they'll be everything you can think of, you'll worry for their safety when they're away, you'll want to spend every moment with them. you'll think they're the most amazing person to ever walk the earth," he said and the girl smiled as she looked at the glow-in-the-dark stars she'd helped pierre stick to his ceiling many years ago.

"since when do you know so much about love?" the girl asked, turning on her side.

"i don't know, i guess i'm in love with someone."

"care to share with the class?"

"no,"

"why?"

"you'll find out sooner than later."

"thank you for helping me feel better,"

age 21

october 1st, 2017.

she had a vip pass around her neck, she'd been invited by pierre to his f1 debut at the malaysian gp. she was sitting at the toro rosso garage as she waited for pierre to come back from his race. he had media and other responsibilities, so she watched intently everything going on around her. the mechanics were doing an incredible job as they inspected the car, she was mesmerized, too enthralled by what seemed to be an extremely rehearsed choreography, that she was startled by two arms wrapping around her frame.

"had fun?" she heard in her ear.

"that was amazing," she stood up and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down.

"yeah, well..."

"you did your best, and that is enough reason to celebrate," the girl said as she toyed with the bracelet around his wrist. since she'd kept his blue beaded one, she gave him one of hers.

they said goodbye to everyone, his arm on her shoulders as they walked away.

"thanks for coming with me," he said.

"anytime," she answered as she kissed his cheek.

age 23

august 31st - september 1st 2019.

everyone knew not to mess with pierre's friend. and everyone knew that when pierre was having a bad day, only his best friend could fix it.

the 2019 belgian gp was one of the hardest weekends for pierre to live. her plane arrived in the middle of the night, even though he'd said he was alright, he clearly wasn't and she knew. she spoke to his team, who arranged a car to pick her up from the airport and had left a key for her in the lobby.

she knew she wasn't ready for whatever was going to happen next, but she had a friend to comfort, her person needed her, and she'd be there for him like he did many times for her.

she knocked on his door even though she had a key. she waited a few seconds, hearing no sounds coming from inside. she slipped the key from her pocket and waited for the light to turn green. she opened the door and walked in, closing it behind her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

she placed her suitcase down, careful to not make any noise. soft crying coming from the bedroom broke her heart, she didn't need to look to know it was him.

the girl approached her friend, climbing in bed with him and whispering sweet words for him.

"hey, hey, i'm here pierre. let it out, let it all out. i'm here," he was sitting on the bed with his knees up to his chest, his face buried in them.

"(y/n)..." he said, looking up at her. his eyes were so red, wet with tears.

"i'm here. i've got you." she said. seeing him like that, so broken and sad, with millions of tragedies one after the other, it made her wonder how he was still standing after enduring so much. "i'll always be here," the young woman said.

"thank you," he whispered.

"no need to thank."

age 23

november 17th, 2019.

her nails were long gone, her foot was tapping incessantly on the floor as the laps ticked by and the end of the race neared. her best friend crossed the finish line in 2nd place. the tears that welled up in her eyes were a mix of happiness and pride. she felt so proud of him, the screams he let out in the car after he was told he'd finished in p2 were like music to her ears.

she watched with the rest of the team as he sprayed the champagne with the other two drivers on the podium. the smile on his face was one that she'd only seen a couple of times, they all included her, but this was all him. all his hard work and perseverance.

when he finally finished with everything, he ran to his driver's room, buzzing with excitement and need to get her in his arms. he opened his door to find her tapping her foot against the floor. when she heard the door open she shot up, running to him and jumping in his arms.

"p-fucking-2!" she said as she grabbed his face in her hands, she shook her head in disbelief. "p2. fuck, i knew your time was coming, you've worked so hard."

"it's all thanks to you," he said.

"no. this is all you. you0ve worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and endured all the shit that life has thrown your way, and you-" she broke into a sob. "fuck, you deserve this, you deserve so much more." she pulled him close to her.

they both had so much adrenaline in their veins, that one thing led to the other, and suddenly she had her back against the wall, his chest against hers as their lips fought for dominance.

age 25

december 25th, 2021.

your friendship was always meant to be something more. your lives changed throughout the years, but the only constant was your presence in each other's lives.

you look at the shiny ring on your finger, biting your lip as you think back to the night before. pierre had turned the search for your last christmas gift into a scavenger hunt all around the town where you grew up in. as it turned out, the gift was always in his pocket, but the clues led you back to that park across the street from your childhood home, where you first met.

you sat on the swing as he pushed you. after you got tired of swaying back and forth he sat next to you, you thought that your gift was just to reminisce about that day where you first met exactly twenty years ago. but as you were about to get up, pierre noticed that your shoe was untied, so he kneeled in front of you, tied your shoe for you. you stood up, but he stayed there, one knee on the grass. you looked down at him as he looked up, your eyebrows furrowed.

he pushed your legs back, until you sat on the swing again. he placed a hand on your knee, as he discreetly pulled out the ring with his other one.

a kiss on your cheek pulls you out of your thought, you look to your side as your fiance moves so he's on top of you, leaning his weight on his elbows.

"good morning, fiance," he says as he pecks your lips. one of your hands grabs his face, leading him back to your lips.

"hey, fiance," you whisper.

"have i told you lately, i'm grateful you're mine..." he says and your heart squeezes inside your chest.

"all yours... as long as you're mine," you say, throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, using all your strength to flip you around so you're on top.

"always. thank you for making me the happiest person on earth," pierre says.

"always," you repeat his words.

age 26

march 19th, 2022.

daniel created the groupchat.

daniel has added lando, charles, carlos, max, checo, seb, lance, mick, george, nicky, yuki, esteban, and fernando to the groupchat.

daniel has sent a picture.*

daniel: hello???? did anyone else notice this?

lando: what

mick: what?

daniel has sent a picture. **

daniel: here, i've circled it for you blind losers.

charles: oh.

daniel: now you see it?

lance: that's a huge fucking rock.

seb: good for her! she's a great kid, and deserves to be happy.

george: do we know who the lucky guy is?

checo: whoever he is, he's won the lottery.

max: daniel, you stupid fuck, you literally only had to ask pierre instead of making this groupchat.

daniel: oh.

esteban: lol

fernando: children, all of you.

lando: i agree

nicky: stfu, you're literally the second youngest on the grid.

lando has sent a picture.

yuki: lmao, he does look like that right now.

carlos: someone photoshop lando's shocked face on top of that pikachu.

george: i'll do it

lando: your photoshop skills suck

lando has sent a picture

seb: guys, focus.

max has sent a picture

lando: hey! don't steal my meme.

max has added pierre and (y/n) to the groupchat.

(y/n): what's this?

max: congrats on your engagement, (y/n)!

(y/n): thanks! we're very happy!

pierre: yes, thanks guys! you're obviously all invited to the wedding!

daniel, lando, charles, carlos, max, checo, seb, lance, mick, george, nicky, yuki, esteban, fernando: what!?

(y/n): what?

pierre: what?

seb: you're together?

pierre: yeah, we've been for a couple of years.

esteban: wow, it makes sense. you're good for each other!

charles: why didn't you tell me?

pierre: i did

charles: i thought we were friends.

pierre: i did tell you

charles: oh

charles: i thought you were joking.

(y/n): ??? he literally said "it feels like we've been together forever" to you this morning.

charles: i thought he was talking about m e.

yuki: jesus fucking christ. anyway congrats to you both!

yuki has left the chat

carlos, lance, george, nicky, esteban, and fernando: same

carlos, lance, george, nicky, esteban, and fernando have left the chat

pierre: thanks!

mick: i'll hug you in person when i see you! congrats!

(y/n): alpha tauri motorhome, come along!

daniel, lando, charles, max, checo, seb, mick: coming!

pierre: we'll be here!

everyone has left the chat.

* & **: i didn't want to add the picture, but just imagine you and pierre walking the paddock side by side and there's an engagement ring on your finger.

[girl4music]

BUFFY REWATCH - S04E22 - Restless

Tara: “I think it’s strange. I mean, I think I should worry that we haven’t found her name.”

Willow: “Who, Miss Kitty?”

*shot of their kitten, playing with a ball of red yarn in slow-motion*

Tara: “You’d think she’d let us know her name by now.”

Willow: “She will.

*looking down at Tara*

She’s not all grown yet.”

Tara: “You’re not worried?”

Willow: “I never worry here. I’m safe here.”

Tara: “You don’t know everything about me.”

Willow: “Have you told me your real name?”

Tara: “Oh, you know that.

*Willow smiles, reaches for something. Shot of a paintbrush dipping into ink jars*

They will find out, you know. About you.”

Willow: “Don’t have time to think about that. You know I have all this homework to finish.”

*the camera pulls back so we can see Tara is lying face-down on her bed, naked, and Willow is painting on her back*

Tara: “Are you gonna finish in time for class?”

Willow: “I can be late.”

Tara: “But you’ve never taken drama before.

*shot of Willow dipping the paintbrush again, moving it across to Tara’s back, which is covered with Greek symbols*

Might miss something important.”

Willow: “I don’t wanna leave here.”

*Tara twists back to look at her*

Tara: “Why not?”

*Willow stands up, looking down at Tara. She turns away toward a dark red curtain. Walks over to it*

Willow: “It’s so bright.

*pulls back the curtain to reveal a brightly sunlit desert. The light falls on Tara, who looks over. Looking back at Tara, still holding the curtain open*

And there’s something out there.”

*shot of the desert, straggly plants, rocks. We briefly see something (someone?) moving, then it’s gone. Shot of the kitten stalking forward toward the camera, in slow-motion*

I have been so anxious to get to this episode and write my meta. For all the time I’ve brought up Willow’s insecurities, this is the one and only episode that lays them all bare for everybody to see, if - and this is important -, you are clever enough to decipher the code of visual symbolism and possess the ability of interpretation. Pretty much all of the episode ‘Restless’ requires you to interpret what you see. You’re not told straight-forwardly what the dreams, each of the core 4 Scooby members have, are about and that’s precisely what I love about it and why it is probably my most favourite episode of the whole show.

Now, obviously, I’m only going to be talking about Willow’s dream in the episode because if I were to do an analysis of every character’s dream, I’d be here all day and this recap would be incredibly long. I would suggest watching YouTuber Passion Of The Nerd’s analysis for it to get the whole picture. Much of what I will write here will draw from that as I agree with quite a lot of it and think it makes a lot of sense in understanding each character. Every character has fears, worries and insecurities, and that’s what these dreams are specifically about, but Willow’s go much deeper than can be witnessed in all of the show due to her “hiding” them under a “thinly-veiled” persona of who she wants to be. For the most part, you only get to see who she wants you to see. It is not until this episode that all of Willow’s real thoughts and feelings take center-stage - quite literally. There’s a reason why both her dreams in ‘Nightmares’ and ‘Restless’ have her performing on stage. The former, being more about stage fright and about wanting to go unnoticed. The latter, about acting like something she’s not and “putting on a show” of confidence and security to the other characters, who she fears knows about “the real her”, and the audience watching her. Now, “the real her” is as ambiguous as this entire dream sequence is - meaning: it depends on your point of view who Willow is. And this is why I clash with @confusedguytoo about Willow often regarding my views and opinions on Willow. They see something different to me. However, I’ll let them better explain that if they so wish to. I’ll only explain what I see - in Willow - and in this episode.

I relate Willow’s insecurities to her accumulation of power and need for control. For me, much of what I interpret in ‘Restless’ ties in and very much foreshadows Willow’s magic addiction and ‘Dark Willow’ storyline in Season 6 because, to me, Dark Willow is less about the Magicks and more about power and rage, (Anya interjects here: “and vengeance, don’t forget vengeance”). So I will go through the meaning of Willow’s dream in ‘Restless’ from the way I interpret it and in my own words:

Starting off, we have Willow sat on Tara’s bed with Tara (well, actually Tara is laying down on it and Willow is sat on it.) Tara is turned away from Willow as Willow paints some writing on her bare back (see Passion Of The Nerd’s analysis to know what is being written because it’s very significant to the scene.) This part of Willow’s dream has more to do with Tara than Willow, but it’s important to remember that it’s all from Willow’s perspective. Willow worries that there’s something about Tara that Tara isn’t telling her. Something she’s not “facing her” with and letting her know bothers her. But other than that - she has no worries. She feels safest with Tara and, as I’ve previously mentioned in another recap, is much more invested in the relationship they share than Tara is at this point in it. And the scales don’t actually equal in that because Willow becomes uncomfortably and unhealthily invested in that she starts to abuse Tara in such a way where she wants to make sure Tara pays the most attention to her. And magic has always been the best way for Willow to have “her will be done” well before Tara entered the picture of her life. And so, she knows it’s her bread and butter to getting her way.

Moving on, we now see Willow walking the halls of Sunnydale high school and Xander and Oz are in the dream. No Tara. Meaning this part of the dream is something passed in her life but still very present in her mind. Although this is of the past, the dialogue between all 3 characters is about Willow’s then-future. There is mention of Tara and of the drama class they will take in college. I interpret this to mean that Willow can’t entirely let go of what was to focus on what is or what will be. Hence why Oz is in the scene and why he says “Oh, I’ve been here forever” when Willow asks him if he’s ever took the drama course - at which point we see Willow trying to take something out of her locker but can’t seem to get it open. I interpret this to mean she’s locked out and cannot access that part of her life anymore despite still thinking about it, and specifically Oz, in it. You see, Oz may have followed Willow to college, but he never stayed. Their relationship was only one that existed in high school and Willow has regretfully moved on from Oz and entered a new relationship that exists in college and will last beyond that. She cannot access her high school life anymore. She cannot access Oz anymore. Thus, their love affair was tied to their high school life and Willow no longer goes there.

At this point we see Willow walk out of the frame, leaving Xander and Oz behind, to stand backstage of a production in their drama class - of which Willow has never even rehearsed for and hasn’t even had her first drama class yet. And the characters of Harmony, Riley and Buffy are dressed up in costume ready to perform the play and tell Willow that she’s late but she’s “already” dressed in “costume” and “already” in “character”. Giles then enters the scene as the stage director and his dialogue in rallying his actors to get ready to perform reveals that this play is all about Willow. In fact - she’s the main character in it (go figure) and everybody in the audience, including the cast, is there to watch her perform.

“Acting is not about behaving, it’s about hiding. The audience wants to find you, strip you naked, and eat you alive, so hide.” - Giles.

Next Willow goes behind the stage curtains (which are red to represent a vagina, apparently, according to Whedon in the commentary track for ‘Restless’) and finds Tara among them with her who tells her that things aren’t going very well. Willow says that drama class is not being done in the “proper” way, she doesn’t know what to do, and the play’s starting soon. Tara then tells her that the play’s already started and that’s not the point anyway. Willow doesn’t understand. As the play happens without Willow, Tara disappears, and what was following Willow attacks her.

Buffy saves her and we go back to Sunnydale high school. This time we’re in a classroom. It isn’t clear which class but it’s presumably English as Willow reads out a book report on ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. Before she does that though, Buffy tells Willow that the play is long over and asks her why she’s still in “costume”. Willow responds that it’s not a costume, she’s just in her outfit of the day. Buffy tells her that everybody already knows about her and to take her “costume” off, to which Willow panics and refuses. Buffy rips her “costume” off of her to reveal her wearing the clothes she was wearing on the very first episode of the show. Now, Willow stands in front of a full classroom of her peers (both from high school, college, and the Scooby Gang) mocking her for her appearance and her reaction to being totally exposed to what she believes everybody perceives of her as the truth of who she really is. Still a shy loser. The dream sequence ends with what was following Willow and attacked her throughout; the first Slayer sucking out her soul and leaving the real Willow paralyzed in her sleeping state. Unable to escape from her personal Hell.

So what does it all mean? Well, it really all depends on the way you interpret her dream. Some things about Willow and what she thinks and feels are clear, some are not. But how I’ve interpreted her dream in ‘Restless’ is that Willow, despite appearing a much more confident, secure and assertive person, doesn’t have any belief in herself when it comes to her value and requirement of her from her peers, friends and lovers… Or everyone that’s not her. Her need for validation in who she is and what she can do from everyone. Her worthiness in her work. Her ability and capacity to love. Her appearance to whoever perceives her. Especially the ones she loves. And her insecurities run so deep in this that even she doesn’t recognize them. She’s not aware to how much she’s acting like someone she’s not in order to please, in order to have attention, in order to feel of use to people. Now, it is not that she is still the loser. She’s definetly evolved into a much more worldly and well-rounded person since her high school days. Stronger, smarter, wiser, and more confident. It’s just she doesn’t believe in it and she absolutely fears no one else does either. In her mind she’s still the lonely nerd and she’s doing the most to make sure people don’t see that. Even though she has the belief that they do and always will. So her need for power and control all stems from these deep unconscious insecurities. Magic just happens to be the most effective tool for her to accumulate this. And she only becomes addicted to it in Season 6 because she relies on it to make her special. Even though she’s special as she is - with or without magic - to which Tara does her damnedest to make her aware of and believe. And she’s about the only person in the show that achieves it - until, of course, her death… Which, of course, triggers Dark Willow.

Willow's need for power and control as Dark Willow is channelled through rage and pain and so no amount of it is enough. Willow isn’t enough without Tara. None of these fears, worries and insecurities are the truth of Willow. But getting her to believe in and trust in that is next to impossible. Tara is only capable of it because she’s the one thing in the show that Willow truly loves. Is truly committed to. Is truly invested in. And she feels like she means and is nothing without her, without her love, without her attention, without her validation, without her light. She abuses her the most because she’s the one person in all of the show that she covets the most. That she doesn’t want to be without, that she feels the safest and is the happiest with. That she won’t let leave her life. Yes, it’s unhealthy. But true love can be when there’s so much inner turmoil. When there’s such a storm inside threatening to be unleashed with every bad day. Every screw up. Every "spaz" feeling. That's what it stems from. A loser mentality.

That is Willow’s entire predicament throughout the whole show and why her character representation, development and evolution is the greatest, the most profound, the most detailed, the most poignant. This is a character that you absolutely fall in love with very early on. To see them go from that gentle-natured, quirky, inspiring and endearing person to one of the most abusive, frustrating, corruptive and destructive people is hard. Fortunately, they’re given the endgame they deserve and become the hero. They learn to balance both sides to who they are - the dark and the light - and they become exactly who they want to be. Someone of great power and control. Someone that is valued and loved. Someone that matters. Whether she believes it or not is up to you. 😉

[hawkinsindiana]

i want to talk about it

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER TWO OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: you asked for it! guess what - the anGST IS BACK!!!! i have also decided not to include gifs until we get to s3 content okay? okay. enjoy!

masterlist

You think about that night often, even though there have been plenty of others like it since. It was the breath of fresh air you so desperately needed. And while your relationship with Steve has made certain aspects of your life better, not all of them are so positively affected. 

The lump that forms in your throat every time you lie to your baby brother is especially difficult to swallow. You wonder if it will get any easier. Hopefully you won’t have to keep up the charade in front of the kids for much longer.

Especially now that Mike knows, that little shit. 

It had only been four days since Steve had suggested the idea of keeping the status of your relationship a secret. Four days. You still can’t believe it. 

The group was in the middle of a rather rousing round of Monopoly; Will had just sworn never to speak with Lucas again after a painful double mortgage incident. Steve, bankrupt from Max’s hotels and exhausted by their shenanigans, decided to leave a bit early. In traditional fashion, you made sure to see him out. 

Moments after the pair of you disappeared from the room, Dustin sent the Wheeler boy to grab extra sodas from the fridge in the garage. You’re lucky Mike closed the door when he entered; no one else heard him shout in surprise when he witnessed Steve give you a quick kiss goodbye. 

Your face flushed beet red in record time. Steve could’ve sworn his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Mike has a habit of catching him in the act.

Thankfully it didn’t take much to convince Mike not to tell the others. He could tell how much it would mean to you to keep this quiet - a part of him understands why. It also helps that the boy would never want to disappoint you. Like all of the kids, they would hate to be the cause of grief in you. 

But keeping this from your brother is the toughest part. Mike knows first hand just how much Dustin wishes you two were together. It’s unfortunate he hasn’t figured it out himself yet; Mike thinks he probably never will.

But of course, now that’s the least of your worries. 

Billy Hargrove gets bored easily; it explains much of his behavior. When something, or someone, becomes a bit too dull for his taste, he feels the need to stir the pot. You are no exception. 

You’ve learned to ignore his posse’s comments in your direction when they walk by; Tommy’s sting a bit more than the rest. Normally, you’d love to fight back and embarrass him - it’s one of Steve’s favorite things about you. But now, Billy’s involvement makes you think twice before saying anything. After what happened at the Byers’, you never know what it could be that sets him off. 

Considering what happened last week, you’re certain something similar could occur again. 

Billy cornered you at your locker, spewing his usual comments. You were unnerved by his presence but able to keep your emotions in check as he leaned in closer; it was impossible not to catch the stench of cigarette smoke off his breath as he spoke. The hand he had broken months prior twinged in pain. 

In a moment of rage fueled by your silence, Billy fisted the collar of your sweater in his fingers. The fabric tightened against your neck as he said the damning line, “I could do it again, you know.”

The delicate knit of the yarn was stretched when he finally let you go. You threw that top into the dumpster as soon as you got home. You couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

Steve wishes that you’d let him do something about Billy; you’re too frightened about what could happen if Steve confronted him. You would never risk letting your dream become a reality.

All that kept Billy from killing Steve that night was Max, had she not intervened. You’d thank her everyday if you could. 

Even though the little moments you do get to spend with Steve help calm your mind, your experiences from November still hang over both of your consciences. Steve just tries his hardest to make sure your conversations are Upside-Down free. He wishes you both could be normal teenagers again without these traumatic experiences haunting your every move. He misses not having to worry about that.

Looking for a way to blow off some steam and relax, you suggested a horror movie marathon to the kids. Since the final semester of your senior year began, you haven’t been able to spend as much time with them as you would like.

Max’s face lit up when you mentioned the idea; Dustin scowled. He hates scary movies. It seems ironic to you considering everything the group has been through. 

After sitting through Alien, the red-headed girl’s favorite, everyone decides to take a quick break before continuing. You and Steve are goofing off with Lucas and Max in the kitchen as the microwave’s working on the popcorn. Max just smiles as she watches you two interact. 

The pair of you are approaching almost three months of your relationship. In that time, your comfort with each other has grown exponentially. While you don’t express your feelings for each other in front of the kids, it becomes very apparent to Max how drastically different your dynamic is compared to when she first met you both. 

“I’m really glad you guys were able to sort things out,” She says before grabbing another bowl from the cabinet. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, the smile on your face drooping slightly at her words, exchanging a quick glance with Steve before speaking again, “Sort out what?” 

Lucas continues before she can, leaning back against the counter, “Just... back when you guys were fighting. It must have been for something dumb if you got over it quick.”

That has Steve’s mind spinning for the rest of the night.

In your giddy excitement with one another, you both had completely forgotten about what happened between you two that week. It all seems like background noise compared to what followed.

But whatever it was that had you angry with him, it must not have been something dumb, he thinks. Not with the way you reacted.

The kids decide to move the activities over to the Wheelers’ after finishing The Shining - and you’re thankful they do. You and Steve don’t know how much more of Dustin’s unnecessary screams you could take.

“It’s not even that scary!” Will says as he opens the front door, turning back to your brother as the rest of the kids file outside. You throw Max’s coat to her before she forgets it.

“Did we watch the same movie?” Dustin answers as he pulls his backpack over his shoulder, his face stunned as he looks between you and Steve, “And he’s the one who looks like Danny Torrance!”

“Alright, alright,” Steve grabs the door from Will and he ushers them out, “Go on, get out of here.”

Mike runs back before it’s shut, looking over his shoulder to the others to make sure he wasn’t followed. His eyes peer through the crack as he steps onto the porch, a smug grin over his features as he lowers his voice, “If you two do anything weird in there-”

“Oho, that’s enough out of you,” Steve slams the door before Mike can continue, making an effort to lock it immediately after.

Your muffled laughter reaches his ears, turning to see where you’ve disappeared behind the couch to grab a pillow you’d thrown to try and silence your brother.

“You think his antics are funny, huh?” Steve asks, placing his hands on his hips as you pop back up, your eyes sparkling, “Clearly I enjoy them much more than you do.”

“He’s lucky we haven’t killed him yet.”

“Steven!”

“What?” 

You scoff lightly at him, tossing the pillow onto the couch before plopping yourself down, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

Steve’s expression flattens as you look away from him, gaze not focused on anything in particular. The thoughts he’s been having about the rough patch you two experienced begin to overwhelm him. The unanswered questions regarding your aggression towards him make him anxious - Steve can’t stand it when you’re unhappy with him. 

It comes out before he can stop himself.

“You know, uh, what Max and Lucas mentioned earlier? About us?” Steve’s words make your brow furrow, confused as to why he’d bring it up. That seems like something he’d want to keep in the past, “Yeah, why?”

“I mean-” Steve exhales before sitting down next to you, his knee grazing yours, “I was mad ‘cause I thought that you’d been the reason Nancy...”

He stops for a moment, shaking the memory from his mind. He has no desire to bring his previous relationship into this one, “I don’t know, I guess you never mentioned why you were angry.” 

He just shrugs after trailing off, eyes focused on the carpet; Steve’s not able to look directly at you while he admits it, “It just doesn’t make any sense to me, that’s all.”

Your jaw clenches as you remember the cause of your anger and how it transformed you. It seems so stupid now, that his behavior towards you meant that he’d rejected your feelings. Turns out, it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You push those thoughts away; you’re not interested in furthering the conversation any more.

“It’s not important,” You state plainly, also not able to meet his gaze, “Lucas was right, it was dumb.”

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you re-adjust on the cushion, “Let’s forget about it, yeah?”

Steve shakes his head - he’s quickly growing tired of you dodging his questions, “No, I want to talk about it. I want to know.”

“Why do you care so much? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Because I was an asshole to you and you just…” He trails off as he leans away, arm draping over the couch, “You just took it! You accepted it like nothing had ever changed, like nothing ever happened between us.”

You huff, back pressed against the arm rest, voice quiet, “Damn right nothing ever happened.”

You freeze, surprised at your own comment. You didn’t know that you were still holding onto aggression directed at his obliviousness to your true feelings. But Steve doesn’t catch on, he only grows more concerned at your response, “What the hell are you talking about?”

You take a deep breath, thankful that he didn’t seem to understand, effectively saving your ass from whatever this revelation could’ve caused. The room is silent as you move to the edge of the seat, “Like I said. We should forget about it.”

Steve scoffs, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose as you stand up, “I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me.” 

You don’t turn to look at him as you take a few steps, instead opting to push both hands through your hair as you answer, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do! What - is it so horrible that I want to know what made you mad at me?” He raises his voice and you turn towards him, desperately trying to calm your temper, “Steve-”

“So we’re keeping secrets now too, huh?” Steve says as he gets up too, arms crossed over his chest, “This whole thing’s under wraps anyways, why not bring that into the relationship? What a great idea. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, truly-”

“Oh my God, Steve-” You interrupt him, growing so impatient of him that you don’t even register what happens until it does, “Fine, you want to know?”

“Yes!”

“I thought that Nancy told you everything! Everything about how I felt.”

Your lip gets caught between your teeth as you cast your focus to the ceiling, hating how you can never seem to keep your emotions bottled up anymore - you used to be good at that.

“I must have been more obvious than I wanted because she had figured it out. That night at Tina’s party was when she finally felt confident enough to confront me about it. And I just…” You swallow the lump in your throat as you feel the tears start to burn behind your eyes. There was a reason you wanted to keep this away from him.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed at her, Steve. I just screamed at her,” Your tone softens as you remember the words that you spit at her, guilt flooding you all over again, “I was so sick and tired of watching her pull away from you when you deserved someone who actually cared about you and I was right there! The whole fucking time!” 

“I thought that she told you about how I felt,” You mutter, shoulders slumping with embarrassment and shame, “I thought she told you and you had decided to reject me.”

Steve used to think that seeing you bloodied and beaten by Billy was the saddest he’d ever seen you. But seeing the look on your face as you realize what you’ve said - he’s not sure which one is worse. And it’s all because of him. 

He should have listened to your protests; you were right.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. 

Even though it’s only been official for a short amount of time, getting to be with you has been an absolute joy. It’s been perfect knowing that the sparks are mutual. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it again if they weren’t. Steve can tell there’s something different about why being with you feels so amazing and terrifying at the same time.

But the idea that you’ve kept your feelings locked away and hidden from him longer than he thought? That brings about a pain in his chest that’s greater than he’s ever had before.

“How - um, how long had it been since…” He doesn’t know how to finish - he’s not entirely sure if he wants to. He’s not sure he wants to know.

One tear hits your cheek, then another, “A year.”

Even though it’s whispered, it’s enough to make him dizzy. He sinks back onto the couch, his head in his hands as the information overwhelms him. The entire time that Nancy was lying to him, you were right by his side. 

You heard everything. 

He can’t believe that you just swallowed it - all the times that he gushed about her to your patient soul, telling you the plans on how he was going to ask her to the junior prom, mentioning how he thought she was the one for him. He can’t take it.

You still can’t look at him, it would be too much. Instead, you opt to pick at the sleeves of your hoodie, waiting for Steve to finally address what you admitted.

You grow impatient yet again, emotion scratching your throat, “Please just… say something.” 

It seems like hours pass although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. 

“I can’t do this,” The sound of Steve’s keys being pulled from his pocket catches your attention. Your eyes finally snap up and he’s already moving quickly to the exit, and you brush hair from your face before following him, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t-” He pauses as he pulls on the handle, briefly looking over his shoulder in your direction - still not able to directly catch sight of you, “I don’t know. I just need to think.”

The photos on the wall shake as he slams the door; you force your face into your palms. 

It’s ruined, you’re sure of it. He can’t even be in the same room as you anymore. Maybe you’re not as good at keeping secrets as you thought. 

Steve’s filled with regret as soon as his fingers leave the doorknob. What the hell is he thinking?

His mind quickly flashes back to the argument you two shared that night on the train tracks; he had forgotten all about it until now.

“You’re the one who caused this mess in the first place.”

His jaw clenches.

“This whole time, I knew you never liked her.”

His exhale stops short. 

“You feel so threatened by her that you had to do something about it!”

His stomach churns.

The thought of you interpreting those words as further evidence of his rejection completely fills him with regret.

And then Steve remembers how willing you were to separate from him - it hits him that you didn’t believe he’d ever see you as anything other than a friend. The very notion of him being aware of your feelings had you shutting yourself away from him completely.

He has to go back in. He can’t leave you to believe those things. And although he doesn’t think apologizing would be enough this time, he at least has to give it a shot. For your sake

Steve’s about to shove the door back open when it locks from the other side. You’ve accepted that he’s not coming back in. Why would he want to?

A shallow breath gets pushed through your lungs; it doesn’t help to calm you. At he sound of the engine of his car running, a whimper passes your lips. You’re certain you’ve lost him again.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing​ / @mikariell95​ / @pilunb​ / @harringtherin​ / @royalestrellas​ / @ultrunning​ / @buggs177 / @poutfull​ / @yoheyyosup​ / @duchessdaisybat​ / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury​ / @beththebubbly​ / @i-bitch-you-bitch​ / @captainstilinskis​ / @juliebean247​ / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender​ / @rexorangecouny​ / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior​ / @jointhehunt67 / @peanutem / @ketchuplukehemmo​ / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x​ / @elite4cekalyma​ / @marjoherbo​ / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass​ / @alafolieee​ / @mochminnie​ / @phantomalchemist​ / @dustyblueboo​ / @alonewolfsblog​ / @ggclarissa​ / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ / @bippityboppitybabe​ / @readinthegarden12​ / @bakugouishusbando / @stxtch72 / @random-girl-army / @wisdaemon

wow there are so many of you

if you wanna be added to the taglist (of if you’ve changed your url), just lemme know!

[kafka-ish]

a long time coming | r.t.

when a familiar face shows itself in derry, a familiar feeling picks up in richie’s heart

word count: 8,012

warnings/included: nsfw (smut, fingering, and regular vanilla sex, first time stuff), fluff (like... a conspicuous amount of fluff), fem!reader

a/n: gL gamers

-

y/n y/l/n was coming back to Derry. 

To any other bystander, this wasn’t news. However, to Richie Tozier, it was because Richie Tozier loved y/n y/l/n.

He loved her when they were five and she had introduced herself as the girl who moved in next door. He loved her when they were ten and she made friendship bracelets for both of them (which he would later find out she made friendship bracelets for all the Losers). He loved her when they were thirteen when he should’ve spent his time running from the bullies at his toes instead. And he loved her when they were fifteen when he was writing love letters. But she’d never see them because she was away at some fancy boarding school in New York, per her parents’ request. 

“I don’t see why you gotta go,” Richie said glumly. He was looking down and kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. Even if this would be the last time he’d ever see her, it would be too hard to look her in the eyes. 

Richie was the last one y/n told about Hoosac School. But if y/n had the option, she wouldn’t have told him at all. It was hard enough for her to bid her goodbyes to Bill, Stan, Eddie, Bev, Ben, and Mike. 

Naturally, Beverly was the first one she told. She was the only other girl in the Loser’s Club and the one y/n hung out with the most aside from Richie. Beverly was a blubbering mess. The brown mascara she applied delicately was running down her cheeks in ugly streaks and her red hair would sit tangled on her head for the next few days. 

Bill was next, but Bill knew everything. He found out from Bev the next day and confronted her about it at school. And y/n would sob into his shoulder and ask him what to do. 

“Tuh-tell the others,” he said sympathetically. 

So she did. 

She told Ben, Eddie, and Stan in her next period she shared with him. Ben sadly stroked her arm and told her he could have one of his CupCakes at lunch. y/n smiled, the sweet gesture easing the pain from her mind. And she told him she would take him up on that offer only if they were orange flavored.

Eddie cried that day, but he passed it off as an allergic reaction to the different brand of air freshener Mrs. Clarke used. Stan and Ben were just kind enough to believe him.

Stan was always the voice of reason. He told her this would be a great opportunity to learn new things and make new friends, but he also made her swear she’d write him—them—every week and call every night. He thought y/n would laugh at him for being clingy and compulsive but she didn’t. She took his hand in his, squeezing it firmly when she assured him she’d call every night and write every week.

But a certain sadness washed over her when it was Mike’s turn to receive the news.

It was on an early Saturday morning when he did. She offered to help him out with the farm—partly to spend time with him and partly to get some wear in her new overalls she’d thrifted before she left.

“I know… you’ve probably already heard.” y/n swallowed harshly before continuing. She was aimlessly shoveling a hole in the ground and she stared at the soil as if it were his brown eyes because this would be harder for her to say than harder for him to hear. “I’m leaving Derry.”

The sun wasn’t even up yet, but Mike was able to comprehend her words just fine. “When?” They were both turned away from each other—her working on the hole and him working on the bean sprouts.

“A month after school lets out. Don’t worry, Mikey. There’s still time for me to help you on the farm.”

“Just so you can dig holes in my daddy’s soil? I don’t think so.” Both y/n and Mike laughed. For a moment, y/n had forgotten about the packed boxes in her empty bedroom and the plane tickets her parents kept in an envelope for June the first.

And now y/n stood in front of Richie only a few days after she’d be boarding that plane because she’d been putting off telling him the way she did with the rest of the Losers.

y/n was staring at his forehead, desperately trying to meet his eyes. She didn’t care if the last time he’d be seeing her was with smudged mascara and red eyes, but she needed to see him. “My parents are making me,” she repeated. “If it were up to me I’d..”

“Don’t go,” Richie said abruptly, cutting her off. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her—even if her lips were bitten raw and her eyes welled with salty tears that he’d kiss away in his dreams when he went to bed that night. “To hell with your parents. You can live with me, kid. It’ll be like college but without the debt.”

y/n sniffed. Even though Richie was the funny one, she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Maybe if the words were coming from Bill, Stan, or Ben, but not Richie. Not when her whole life was in front of her and there was no sign of him in it.

Richie frowned because if he couldn’t put a smile on her face, he didn’t know what would. A strong silence edged itself between the two of them. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. He pushed up his glasses lazily with his index finger to get a better look at the sad sight ahead of him who was poorly trying to contain her sobs.

“Hey, kid.” Richie took her in his lanky arms. Neither of them said anything after that, but Richie couldn’t help but think if he said those three words maybe she wouldn’t have left.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” She’d say. They’d spend their next three years together attached to the hip before college sweeps them away. But they’d find each other later in life; at a record shop or on the streets of New York. y/n would ask “Richie, is that really you?” And Richie would reply in his British-man Voice:

“’Ello, luv. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

y/n would be left in a stunned sort of silence for a while—not because she was unsure if the person standing in front of her was him, but because she was in awe. In awe that she finally found him.

But now Richie didn’t have to wait. He didn’t have to wallow in his own pity because the girl he loved was no longer two states away, but a couple of minutes away as he paced back in forth in Stan’s room.

“Calm down, Richie.” Stan was laying on his bed, trying to ignore his friend’s loud footsteps. Even though he had forced Richie to take his shoes off before coming into his house, his feet still thumped loudly against the floor. He was uncharacteristically thrusting a baseball between his two palms. It cut through the air smoothly as it moved side to side in his soft hands.

“What do you mean calm down?” Richie stopped in his tracks so he could shoot him a cold stare. “How am I supposed to calm down?” His heavy steps had resumed. Stan sighed.

“Just don’t make such a big deal out of—”

“Don’t give me that shit, Stan.” Richie groaned and went to tug on the friendship bracelet y/n gave him from when they were in grade school. It was a habit he’d picked up when y/n left. Whenever he got nervous, or irritated, or missed her, his right hand would find his left and wind around the memento. Arguably, that friendship bracelet could be deduced to a tangle of old, ratty strings; better yet, trash. But in Richie’s magnified eyes, it was still the same bracelet made of vibrant blue and green yarn y/n had bought from the craft store and braided with her small, meticulous fingers.

“What shit?” Stan scoffed because sometimes Richie could be irrational. “It’s called honesty. And honestly, it’s just y/n. What could go wrong?”

What could go wrong? Hell, everything could go wrong. She could forget who I am. Or better yet, she would remember and hate me.

“She won’t hate you,” Stan said unconvincingly in his usual monotone voice. It was like he could Richie’s mind, but Richie was obvious when it came to this stuff. Painfully obvious.

“Wuh-what’cha guh-guh-guys talking ab-bout?” Bill let himself into the room without knocking. Neither of the two boys minded. “I br-brought my bb-b-base-ball cards. But I’m keeping the Babe Ruth—”

“We’re not trading today, Bill.” Stan put down the leathery ball which sat in his left hand and sat up exasperatedly.

“W-we’re not?” An odd sort of sadness flicked across his usually bright features and he pocketed the collectibles. “Ih-ih-if we weren’t you sh-sh… could’ve cuh-called me fuh-fifteen minutes ago.” He went down to sit on Stan’s bed with him but was met with a harsh stare and a scolding instead.

“Take your shoes off!” He screeched and Bill toed off his old, beat-up Keds.

“So, wuh-what are we doing… if wuh-we’re not trading?” Bill asked.

“Richie just wants to talk.” Bill’s nose scrunched like a child who had just been informed liver was for dinner.

“T-t-t-talk? Get a s-s-sex change while you’re at it.”

Both Stan and Bill laughed, and Richie only grumbled. “C’mon, guys.” His pacing had yet again stopped but Stan knew he wouldn’t stay still for long. “What should I do?”

Then, Bill knew what they were talking about. It wasn’t a secret that Richie liked y/n. But like was an understatement. It just remained unsaid between the Losers. Either because Richie wouldn’t hear the end of it if they did talk about it or because… what was there to talk about? There were only so many times six boys and one girl could sing ‘Richie loves y/n’ until it got old.

“Wuh-well…” The rest of Bill’s words were swallowed by a heavy build-up of saliva and replaced with new ones before either Stan or Richie could chime in. “What do yo-you wanna do?”

“Aw, man. Lots of things.” Richie took a seat next to Bill on the edge of Stan’s neatly made bed. Stan groaned and shoved a pillow over his flushed face. He was torn between wanting to hear the details and hating that Richie was taking this conversation to a sappy turn. “The first thing I’d do would probably pull her in for a hug and kiss her cheek… And then I’d—”

“Beep Beep, Richie.” Stan’s muffled voice came from under the pillow and Bill laughed in agreement.

“Kuh-kiss?” Bill asked skeptically.

“Yeah. I know that’s new vocabulary to you, Big Bill, but—”

“No,” Bill said, ignoring Richie’s previous, rude, comment. “I mm-mean, you cuh-cuh-can’t kiss y/n.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Richie said, only half-listening to what Bill was saying. But Bill’s next statement grabbed Richie’s (and Stan’s) full attention.

“I cuh-can’t. But her b-boyfriend wuh-houldn’t like it.”

“y/n has a boyfriend?” Both Stan and Richie said in unison. The pillow flew from Stan’s face and his eyes were now widened with interest.

“How’d you find out?” Stan sandwiched himself between Bill and Richie. Richie was almost falling off the bed and he wanted to scoff because if anything he was more a part of the conversation than Ol’ Stanny Boy.

“Oh-oh-over the phone. Sh-sh-she called muh-me and s-s-s-said some-thing about a guh-guy named Tr-Tr-Trevor Mmm-Martin. Nuh-Nothing s-s-serious at the tuh-time. Bb-but…”

Richie didn’t catch the bullshit spewing from Bill’s big mouth. His head was busy spinning in all different directions, and he felt as if he were going to puke. Though there were no signs of the tuna salad sandwich and salt and vinegar chips Stan and he shared trekking its way up to his throat and onto Stan’s just shampooed carpet. Was this what heartbreak felt like?

If so, it was one son of a bitch.

Richie couldn’t seem to enjoy himself for the rest of the day—or the rest of the week, for that matter. He didn’t laugh when Stan cracked a joke that Bill laughed at (something about Jews getting their dicks cut off as an alternative to hell). He didn’t race home to greet the girl next door he’d been longing to see. And he didn’t feel anything when that same girl was pressed against his chest during the scary part of the movie all of the Losers had planned to see.

It was a sort of ‘welcome back’ celebration for y/n. This whole week, actually, would be dedicated to y/n in regard to her return. Stan, Eddie, and Mike were the first ones at the theatre. They waited outside of the Aladdin Theatre, all three in a line while Stan checked his watch for what seemed to be hundredth time and Eddie counted the change in his pocket, hoping it’d be enough for snacks.

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie,” Mike reassured. He patted him on the back. It was firm but gentle at the same time. It calmed him. “If you don’t have enough for snacks, me or someone else can spot you. And don’t worry about paying back.”

Eddie visibly relaxed at his words but Mike didn’t know why he was all of the sudden anxious about something like that.

Just then, Bill and Bev came up. Beverly’s hair was held back in a blue cowboy bandana, a contrast to her red hair, as a makeshift hairband. Her white blouse almost blended against her pale skin and her blue jeans chafed because of how fast she was skipping. Bill was falling behind but he didn’t really care. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his denim board shorts and he walked—strolled—down the sidewalk as if he had all the time in the world.

“I’m so excited!” A harsh squeal erupted from Beverly’s lips and Eddie had to cup his hands over his ears.

“Jesus, Bev. You could blow out an eardrum with those lungs.” But he wasn’t too impressed with her vocal range.

Ben and Richie came up together. They were talking about some new comic issue—Ben looked really into it, but Richie just wanted to avoid the topic of y/n that he was sure was now prevalent in everyone’s minds. Beverly gave him a knowing smirk when the two finally reached the group and Richie displayed his best ‘what-the-fuck-do-you-mean’ expression when he really did know what the fuck she meant.

This left y/n to be the last of the Losers to arrive.

The rubber sole of Richie’s beat up left slip-on tapped impatiently against the hot cement. “How long does it take to get ready?”

“Do you think she got lost?” Ben asked curiously, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“We should go in. Y’know so seats don’t get taken.” Before the rest of the group could protest Richie’s lame idea in attempts to boycott seeing their long-lost friend, a familiar voice piped up.

“That’s awfully rude of you Tozier.” Richie turned around to see y/n. How could a person look the same, yet totally different at the same time? Her hair was longer from when he last saw her and there was a new glow in her eyes that Richie couldn’t help but think meant she lost her innocence. He could’ve sworn she got taller, but she was also wearing platform wedges with little white flowers on the straps which matched her baby blue sundress that came just above the knee.

“y/n!” Beverly was the first to say. She ran the not far distance between them and enraptured her into a tight hug. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you left me here… with all boys.”

y/n didn’t miss a beat of Beverly’s sarcasm and rolled her eyes. “I know, how could I? I’m such a monster.” The two giggled for an ungodly amount of time which the boys summed up to a sort of telepathic communication between the two.

Ben was next to greet y/n. He said she and he could share a pack of Donettes this time and a nostalgic smile crinkled her eyes as she remembered how he shared his dessert with him when she left.

Mike, Eddie, and Stan were next. Mike told her that while there’s no work to be done on his father’s farm, they could still hang out. Eddie hugged her just like Bev had. And Stan scolded her for being late but then whispered a ‘thanks’ for keeping her promise of writing to him, even if it wasn’t every week.

y/n lingered behind to say hi to Bill when he opened the door for everyone.

“Luh-luh-long time no s-s-see. Stranger.” y/n didn’t realize the Losers were waiting for them.

“Nice to see you, too.” She nudged Bill’s arm with her elbow and walked in. They didn’t say much to each other because nothing had to be said. They had an unspoken connection. Bill was like her brother. Always knew what to say. Always there for her…

Richie was the last to greet y/n because unlike Bill, he didn’t know what to say. He could feel the words dancing on his tongue, but he knew they’d come out in either a stutter or gibberish. He was waiting at the candy counter, drumming his fingers on the glass while Ben ordered a large popcorn and Donettes. Mike paid for his own strawberry licorice whips—none of the Losers partook in his favorite candy. Beverly only got a soda, and Eddie bought his own personal popcorn, but if Stan asked, he could have a few kernels.

“Hi.” Richie looked like he had seen a ghost when y/n came up next to him. He shouldn’t have been startled by her, but he was.

“Hey…” He held off on calling her a cheeky nickname because she had a boyfriend and that would be wrong, and he had morals—

“Are you getting anything?”

That depends, are you for sale? Beep beep, Rich.

“Nothing really…really caught my eye.” He glanced at the menu one more time as if he hadn’t had it memorized from the thousands of other times he’s been there—alone or not.

“That’s too bad. I thought we could share a popcorn?” y/n asked hopefully. “Or a soda? If you’re trying to cut down on carbs.”

Richie laughed. “I thought you and Ben were sharing those mini nightmares.” His hand dove into his pocket anyway. You can never be too sure, right?

“It’s called balance,” y/n said all too knowingly. “Have you ever heard of salty and sweet makes the perfect combination?” She eyed him through her mascara coated lashes that he remembered from three years ago and Richie heard himself calling one of the girls at the concessions stand over for a large popcorn. Extra butter.

Was she the sweet and Trevor was the salty one of the pair? His mind was numb during the movie, except for the one persisting thought he couldn’t help but circle back to. y/n and Trevor sitting in a tree…

He felt the armrest that divided the seats fly up and a trembling body wiggle itself next to his. Her arms latched onto his torso tightly and her head buried itself into his tacky Hawaiian shirt. Slowly, Richie began to fall from his catatonic state. His eyes drifted down to her figure, squinting in the darkness of the theatre.

“Hey…” His large hand smoothed over her hair in petting motions as he cooed into her ear. “It’s all… this stuff’s all fake. It’s not real.” Her quiet, pathetic sobs continued throughout the rest of the movie. Richie still consoled her.

Only until the lights drew up and the Losers were the last to leave an empty theatre decorated with chewed up bubble gum, candy wrappers, and the remains of popcorn on the floor did y/n remove herself from his shirt.

“Sorry.” y/n cleared her throat and sat up straight as if nothing happened. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a horror movie.” She laughed, making fun of her own pitifulness.

“It was a h-h-horror movie. Not a d-d-drama.” Bill rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his lips.

“Girls, am I right?” Stan scoffed. He stood up, about to be the first of the Losers to leave the room until he stopped in front of y/n’s chair. “Don’t worry, I almost shat my pants.” Richie overheard him whisper in her hear.

y/n tried to eat the giggles trying to escape her mouth, but she couldn’t help it. Her laughter echoed in the empty theatre and the rest of her friends laughed with her. They didn’t understand what she was laughing at, they just missed the sound of her voice after so long.

Her small hand slipped into Richie’s sweaty one when the group met daylight which Mike was surprised at, even though they entered the Aladdin at one.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, shaken up. They had officially fallen behind from the group, but it wasn’t like either of them cared. He took his hand from hers, opting to hold his own. Once his hand left hers he immediately missed the feeling. The warmth. The comfort. But his own would have to fair as a substitute for now.

“Just like old times… I thought.” y/n was flabbergasted at Richie’s antsiness. He wasn’t like this three years ago. Three years ago, he would’ve gladly accepted her hand in his. Three years ago, he would’ve scooped up her hand claiming that he doesn’t want her catching cold even though they stood in the summer heat.

Richie twirled his fingers around the end of his shirt. Old times. But the old times were different.

Richie Tozier was thirteen years old when he finally got his own bike to ride. He no longer had to ride double on Silver or walk to any of the functions that the Losers had planned. It wasn’t embarrassing, but no boy wanted to show up to the quarry or Aladdin Theatre riding on the back of Bill Denbrough’s bike, his arms actually wrapped around him. Especially if y/n would be seeing him.

So, he requested his parents buy him a bicycle of his own. Preferably green with a large bell so everyone knows when Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was coming. Pretty please.

And after a few months, his parents finally complied. It was green but it, however, did not come with a bell.

“You’ll just have to come up with the money for that one on your own, son.” His dad told him. But that was fine by Richie. And he excitedly pedaled off to the Aladdin where his friends would be soon, in hopes to impress a certain somebody.

“W-w-wow, Ruh-Ruh-Richie. You got a bike?” Bill asked. He wondered why his friend never gave him a call, asking to come pick and him up—he just assumed he was walking today.

“Yeppers.” Richie proudly rode circles around his friends with his new ET Kuwahara. He couldn’t wait until y/n saw him on it.

“Wh-wh-when?” Bill was the most curious out of the group. He would miss hitching Richie rides, but he wouldn’t miss how tight his arms seemed to wind against his chest.

“Like, yesterday.” Richie shrugged and he was the last one to park his bike. He kept riding circles around the empty Sunday street until y/n and Bev showed up. y/n didn’t have a bike and Bev always walked with her out of courtesy.

“Hey, wide ride!” Beverly called while Richie tried to pop a wheelie.

“Stop it,” y/n giggled but Richie was too lost in his own world to hear her. Eventually, he parked it; carelessly setting it down with Silver and Stan’s, Eddie’s, Ben’s, and Mike’s bike. “You got a bike?” y/n asked, coming up from behind him. Richie grinned.

“Yeah, do ya like?” y/n nodded wordlessly.

“Green’s not my color, though… Why’d you get a bike?”

“’Cause riding double is lame.” He shrugged and they entered the movie theatre together while the rest of their friends waited for them. “Anywho, how ‘bout I take you home tonight?”

“I thought you said riding double was lame,” y/n repeated his words even though she didn’t think that.

“Well—you see… What I meant was—”

“Just kidding, Tozier. Only you think riding double is lame anyway.” y/n found herself giggling while paying for her small popcorn which Richie would end up sticking his fingers into later on.

So, Richie took her home that night (and the rest of the nights the Losers met up). Her arms wrapped around his torso in the way he used to wrap his around Bill’s. At first, it felt like he couldn’t breathe, but that could’ve been because there was a pretty girl sitting behind him and he would be responsible if they got hurt.

After a while, though, he got used to it. And the arms slung around his chest were like a seatbelt. Once in awhile, y/n would rest her chin against her shoulder. And if she were tuckered out from swimming or any of the other adventures the Losers were up against that day, he would find her dozing on his back. The breeze from his ET Kuwahara ripping through the hot air felt nice and a kind of superiority swelled in Richie’s chest for being the cause of that breeze.

The same breeze swept over y/n and Richie. The group was now long gone from their eye line, but they would’ve been anyway because of the path Richie and y/n would take to get home.

Richie had been oddly silent until they reached their houses; side by side, just like how the two friends stood. y/n took it upon herself to break that silence, but his jitters were contagious.

“We’re meeting up at the quarry tomorrow.” She turned to face him as she stood on the highest step of her doorstep. He was still taller than her.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Richie tried his best to avoid her steady watch that followed him, but it was hard. He so desperately wanted to see the twinkle in her ambitious, yet caring eyes which he missed. It wasn’t looking at her that was wrong, it was his thoughts—and Richie knew that—he just couldn’t bring himself to look at her while thinking those thoughts.

“You’re coming right?” Insecurity wavered in her voice. Richie was being weird. Richie was always weird, but something was… wrong. He didn’t greet her the first day she came home. y/n eventually concluded that she was just being selfish and that Richie was probably busy that day. But now Richie was being distant. Richie was never distant.

“’Ve been thinkin’ about it. You know I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to see Bev in her swimsuit—”

“Beep beep.” y/n wanted to laugh. She wanted to assume he was joking and think nothing more of it because that’s who Richie is. A jokester. Her heart couldn’t help but pang at the words and instantaneously the palms of her hands felt clammy. “Can you meet me beforehand? I thought we could go together?”

“Together?” Richie’s voice cracked.

“Yeah, goofball.” Again, her eyes searched for his under his mess of brown hair and coke bottle glasses, but they were playing a serious game of hide-and-seek. “I mean, it only makes sense.” She thought fast. “We live next door to each other.” And Richie realized this was only an act of convenience.

“Shore, shore, senhorritaa.” Richie couldn’t find the courage in himself—only in one of his Voices and y/n smiled, suddenly remembering how often he’d do impressions when they were kids.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” y/n said curtly.

“Tomorrow,” Richie replied cooly when he was anything but. Especially when he paced his own room, the same way he did in Stan’s, when he should’ve been at her door already.

He was only wearing the swim trunks (he had since he was fifteen and hadn’t bothered to replace) that resembled the shirts he wore, and he was debating on if he should put on a shirt or leave as he is. Or leave at all. It was going to be hot today. The weather forecast predicted to be in the nineties. Richie didn’t want to show up indecent, but he also didn’t want to sweat the whole walk there.

Two—that somehow felt like ten—aggravating minutes later, Richie stood at y/n’s door wearing a yellow shirt over his dark blue, tropical swim shorts. His forefinger hovered over the doorbell for a few seconds until he finally bit the bullet and took the bait. You’re gonna do it eventually, just do it now.

It swung open excitedly, revealing his favorite girl who stood behind it. “Come in!” She said and wasted no time to lead him up to her room.

Richie took a moment to catch his breath and take in his new surroundings. Her room seemed unchanged at first and he laughed at the grey, Victorian-style wallpaper that neither y/n nor her parents had taken down yet. But the longer he stood there, the more he noticed how bare it was. The room was stripped of any decorations she once had (except for her bed and desk)—replaced by brown moving boxes. It became apparent to Richie how much time she had spent away from the group. Even though she was here with them now, she had fabricated a life outside of the Losers Club. That fact hurt him, but a sort of curiosity burned inside of him. He wanted to know the new her, but they also had to get to the quarry at a certain time.

“When do we gotta be there by?” Richie asked. He was drawn out of his daydream by his own words and noticed y/n who was turned around in front of him. She was wearing a black, ruffled bikini that complimented her skin beautifully but barely covered the parts that should.

“Two-thirty… but I don’t think they’d mind if we show up early or late.” y/n shrugged as her fingers fumbled with the bikini strings that tied the top. “Can you help me with this?” She turned to him. If Richie picked any time to finally meet her eyes, he picked the worst timing. y/n’s neck craned to the side whilst she still struggled with her top. He knew this wouldn’t end well for him.

“Why’re you asking me?” Richie feigned a chuckle but walked over to her regardless. She angled her body dangerously close to his causing Richie to bite his lip, imprisoning the sharp gasp that threatened to depart from his lips. Cautiously, his hands took the strings from her and tied them into a sloppy bow with a double knot so it wouldn’t come undone anytime soon.

“’Cause you’re here, Tozier.” He made eye contact with her. “What’s been up with you lately?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You’ve been distant… really distant.” y/n’s honesty made it hard for Richie to catch a break. “Do you think I haven’t noticed when you pulled away from me yesterday and…”

“And what?” Richie probed. His hands rested on either sides of his hips. He tried to hide any sign of nervousness in his voice, but it was hard to fake what you were.

“It’s stupid.” Obviously, y/n didn’t want to drop the topic of conversation. She didn’t want to coerce the boy into something either.

“Nothing you say, think, or do is stupid, y/n/n.” Richie chuckled once more though this time y/n could tell he wasn’t faking anything.

“You didn’t greet me when I first came home.” She mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. But he did. “Why was that?”

“I dunno… Bill told me something.” Richie wanted to drop a brick over his head because honestly, how stupid did he sound right now? y/n didn’t have to say anything. The skepticism in her eyes and her bottom lip between her teeth was enough to prompt him further. “He said you have a boyfriend and I just—”

“You just what?” Her words were mysterious. Richie couldn’t seem to read her anymore because the only telling expression she had was a raised eyebrow and cocked head. But that could mean anything.

“I really like you, okay? And how are you supposed to greet someone you’re in love with after not seeing them for three years when you can’t hug them or-or kiss them cos they went off and got a stinkin’ high and mighty boyfriend in New York? New York, for Christ’s sake. It was hard enough to look at you before but now—” Richie’s rambling was quickly cut off when y/n’s arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed against his. Her fingers tangled in the loops of his hair and his glasses pushed up against her face. “What was that for?” Richie asked, completely dumbfounded.

“Stop listening to Bill,” y/n instructed. She was amused by the boy in front of her.

“What?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She brushed a strand of hair from out of his eyes and adjusted his now crooked glasses.

“But Bill said—”

“Bill’s stupid.” Her lips met his again. The kiss was longer this time. y/n’s were soft and tasted like the artificial cherry flavoring from her chapstick she had applied prior; a contradiction to the faint scent of tangerines that clung to her bare skin and the spicy bite of peppermint on her tongue.

His wet tongue traced the inside of her mouth, lingering on the inside of her cheek. y/n bit down on the fullest part of Richie’s bottom lip tentatively, making sure not to hurt him. She could feel his smile lines against her thumb when she removed her left hand from his hair, using it to cup his cheek. y/n pulled from him abruptly, leaving Richie floored and panting.

“You don’t think the crew would care if we showed up late?” Richie asked, his eyebrows wiggling with the new burst of confidence that kiss had given him.

y/n shook her head. A grin bestowed itself upon her swollen lips. Her arms re-enveloped themselves around his figure that towered over her. Richie copied her actions. Except his hands ghosted across the back of her naked torso covered in goosebumps from the spur of the moment. They created an invisible trail to her clothed butt, cueing y/n to jump up.

She did and Richie’s large hands supported her legs that wound around his waist. “Do you wanna…?”

“Yes,” y/n whispered into his ear. At that, a shiver crawled down Richie’s spine.

It became harder for Richie to contain his excitement as he walked the two of them over to y/n’s bed. He was gentle when he set her down on the mattress covered in grey sheets and stuffed pillows. The feeling of the cotton bed sleeves cooled her hot skin although she would need an icepack to completely bring her temperature down.

Richie was on top of her. His lips tickled face that he left quick, unperceivable marks on. When she got the chance, y/n took in his appearance thoughtfully. It was evident that his unruly hair was thrown in all different directions due to y/n’s hands that were knotted in it. There was a blush on his freckled cheeks that resembled a sunburn and he wore a look. It was soft and welcoming like he was an astrologist who had just found out she was responsible for putting the stars in the sky.

But the stars were her eyes as they held the same sparkle from yesterday at the theatre.

“Have you…have you?” Richie’s eyes hesitantly raked down her half nude body from behind his glasses, still held together with adhesive tape. They couldn’t help but slide down the slope of his long nose and y/n pushed them up for him.

“No,” y/n said bashfully. She ducked her head down only for it to be lifted back up with Richie’s thumb and forefinger.

“Do you want this?” He tried not to pose the question awkwardly, but how can you make a question like that not awkward?

“Of course.” y/n’s hand, still playing with the hairs on the back of his head, guided his face towards hers. The two met in a sweet kiss for a sweet second. “As long as it’s with you.” Her tone was confident and assuring, leaving Richie with no extra questions.

“You really know how to flatter a guy, y/n/n.” Richie still marveled at the sight splayed out before him and a melodious sound filled his ears. It was her laugh, but all of his senses seemed to be amplified to the max during this moment.

Both of her hands coasted down to the hem of his stupid, banana-colored shirt that served as a barrier between the two. Her light touches made his breath catch in his throat, released in a throaty gasp, and his once loose shorts now felt strained and uncomfortable. Ignoring the occasional breaths that left Richie’s perfect mouth, y/n’s fingers tugged on the end of his shirt; a signal for him to take the damn thing off.

Instantly, his shirt was off and thrown on her floor. In his head, he thanked that her room wasn’t fully unpacked yet but another part of him thought he and y/n wouldn’t even make it to the quarry. y/n ran two fingers down his smooth chest; the tips of her fingers sent a tingling sensation throughout his being. Richie seized them once they reached his abdomen, his grasp firm but tender. Slowly, he led her fingers with his to the crotch of her bikini. The black material was soaked through. Richie smirked to himself, she’d have to change again before they left for the quarry. Or they could just not go at all.

Her own touch had elicited a moan from y/n. Her head fell back on the grey cushions, exposing her pure neck that begged to be marked. The sighs of pleasure coming from the girl beneath him while he directed her hand that was now slipping into the bottoms of her bikini felt straight from one of his fantasies. He could only hope he wasn’t dreaming, and if he were, he’d just have to remember it for another lonely night in the sheets.

y/n’s fingers danced over her clit. She inhaled sharply at the teasing feeling. Richie’s hand moved to tightly hold her wrist, the contact burned against her already hot skin. His mind was drawing a blank again; lost in the moment. Lost in her. Another moan left her mouth, her breath hit his face, and Richie imagined how she touched herself when she was away at school. Did she think about him the same way he thought about her? Did she wonder what lied behind his pants like how he had on multiple occasions?

For the time being, Richie’s questions would have to be left unanswered. He felt her hand leave her bathing suit and his hand detached itself from her wrist. A blotchy red handprint was left in its place from his harsh grip and before Richie could ask if she was okay, y/n was kicking off the at once restricting clothing. Her lower half was now completely revealed, all for him. Vulnerability, a feeling y/n had only felt on the plane ride alone to New York and on her first date with Trevor, took its rightful place in her chest that lifted and fell at a rapid speed. Her thighs instinctively rubbed together, part out of insecurity, and also to relieve herself, but Richie stopped them before they could make another move.

His right palm had settled on her left thigh, gently separating it from its counterpart while his left palm kept busy as it laid flat on her mattress and held him up. Richie’s index finger toyed with her clit, much like she had done before, and then probed her entrance. Her walls generously coated his first finger with the same nucleus that slicked her now tainted swimsuit. His middle finger entered with the same proficiency and care. Richie’s fingers were long and slender, and they did well to effortlessly curl into the spot that y/n could never seem to find on her own. Richie grunted at the sound of another pretty sound leaving y/n’s pretty lips. But this sound was different.

“Richie,” she moaned breathlessly. Richie, again, came painfully aware of the tent in his shorts. But this time was for y/n, not him.

In and out. In and out. His fingers moved at the relatively same, slow, and predictable pace that didn’t fail to evoke the dirty noises coming from y/n which might suggest otherwise. He continued these movements until her pulse picked up and a coil inside snapped.

Richie Tozier was y/n’s first orgasm.

And second, as he withdrew his hand from her, swapping his fingers for him. He stripped himself of his shorts so that the two now pressed together, even—this excluded the upper half of y/n that was still covered.

Richie hovered over the girl. The girl who moved next door at the ripe age of five, not knowing the impact she’d have on his life. The girl who crafted him and the Losers Club individual friendship bracelets that were tied around his wrist to this day. The girl who moved away too soon. The girl who’d share his first time with him. The girl he loved.

“Can I?” He asked timidly. The thumb and index finger of his right hand pinched at the black strap which prevented her top from falling down—which, ironically, was exactly what Richie wanted. y/n nodded. Her eyes were still shut from the intense euphoria she was still recovering from. First, Richie unclipped the back strap. Then, his hands moved to the thinner strap he’d tied earlier. His knees were holding him up, straddling over y/n’s waist. A wave of frustration overcame him when his fingers clumsily messed with the frocking double-knotted bow. A quiet mutter, “gotcha”, unintentionally rolled off of Richie’s tongue.

y/n giggled at his antics—not to make fun of him, but because he was cute.

The constrictive article of clothing fell from her bodice, uncovering her hardened nipples and flawless breasts.

Richie ducked his head down. Instead of meeting her lips, his mouth wrapped around the still perky bud. Licking, and sucking until breaths turned to whines and whines turned to his name.

Richie. Richie. Richie.

After giving both the same amount of attention, he kissed her. His lips brushed against hers and time felt like it had somehow stopped when y/n felt him enter her.

It was daunting at first. And Richie thumbed away a tear that raced down y/n’s cheek when she had finally taken his whole length.

“Tell me when you want me to move,” Richie murmured—his nose brushing against her cheekbone as he did so.

“Rich…Richie.”

“Yes, gorgeous?” y/n could melt at the nickname, but she didn’t; the rest of her senses too carried away in his intoxicating scent of Spice… Something… and the stimulation of him filling her.

“Can you move?” y/n asked in quiet, broken words.

Richie didn’t say anything. He just slipped out from her only to push back in. The sensation of her tight walls around him was enough to be the reason of his gasps and the resounding echoes of her name that pleasantly escaped his parted lips. His thrusts were steady and gradual—much like his fingers from earlier but… different.

y/n’s back arched into Richie’s front. Both of their pants quickened, and y/n didn’t have to ask to know what this meant.

“Richie,” y/n mewled. Richie’s pace accelerated, pulling them both to their highs. y/n’s eyes rolled back from under her heavy lids. On the other hand, the boy above her had frantically removed himself from her. She would finish on his fingers like once before and he didn’t need any more ushering to find his end.

“y/n.” The moan belonged to Richie this time, and he collapsed onto the newly soiled sheets next to the girl whose name he just spoke. “I love you.” Richie didn’t intend for the words to come out. They just did. He suspected y/n was none the wiser, still trying to catch her breath from when she came.

“What?”

Richie was wrong.

“I love you,” Richie repeated, but he hadn’t intended to say it again either. He was running on autopilot now. His eyes squeezed closed, preparing for y/n to yell at him. Why would you drop the bomb like this? To kick him out.

But she didn’t.

“I love you, too.” She wasn’t facing him, so he had to trust she meant the words. He had to trust she wasn’t actually repulsed at the thought of the guy who’d just stolen her virginity and would never talk to him afterward.

“You…you do?” Richie realized he was laying butt-naked on top of y/n’s sheets and he wouldn’t be shocked if his face were mistaken for a tomato right about now.

“Yeah.” The bed shifted under her turning weight because she was now laying on her side, facing him. Her eyes roamed his milky skin and her fingers apprehensively traced an outline on his arm. Richie didn’t think he would ever get used to her silk skin and feather fingertips. “You’re supposed to lose it to the person you love, right?”

Richie’s heart was already digging its grave. “Yeah.” He swallowed dryly. His hand found hers—the one that was inking an invisible fence on his skin—and weaved his fingers with hers. He didn’t know what else to say but he didn’t have to.

“You still wear this?” y/n was incredulous and judging by the tone of her voice, Richie figured she found the friendship bracelet he still wore. Treasured.

“It’d make me a monster to trash it.” Richie faced her now and y/n laughed whilst her pink lips grazed his knuckles.

“I still have mine.” She raised her eyebrow. Was this a challenge?

“Pish, posh, dahhling. Proof or it’s not real,” he said in his god-awful British-man Voice.

y/n let go of his hand, leaving it for the coldness to slowly eat away. She leapt off her bed and dashed to her desk. She opened one of the side drawers and fished around for a dinky little yarn bracelet that would match his, only she used red and yellow string rather than blue and green.

She skipped over to him, not caring that she was undressed or that they had to be somewhere. A braided bracelet, similar to his, dangled in front of Richie’s tired face and he smiled. Unlike Richie’s, y/n’s bracelet was in perfect condition—just like it had looked from when they were ten.

“I can make you another one,” y/n said, noticing how worn Richie’s was. It was almost falling apart.

“Nah. I like the rugged look.” Richie bared his teeth to her. It must’ve been the fifth time she laughed that day.

“Do you still wanna go?” y/n asked. She didn’t meet his gaze; too focused on slipping the bracelet over her hand. It seemed she had outgrown the thing.

“Go where?” Richie hummed and snaked his arms around her once more.

“The quarry.” His eyes widened and suddenly Richie didn’t feel tired anymore.

“Do we have to?” He whined as if he were still a child.

“I guess not.” y/n gave in; relaxing into his arms. “You can help me unpack.”

“Or…” Richie’s lips pecked her forehead.

“I guess there’s a reason why they call you Trashmouth.” y/n nuzzled into the crook of his neck. His fingers drew lazy shapes on her bare back in attempts to convince her. But y/n didn’t need convincing. Now that she found a home in his arms, she would never leave.

[chaoticallysapphic]

the great trial part two

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: thank you to @medeliadracon​ for beta reading this and @ladyxffandoms​ for looking it over <3 

word count: 3k

Kuvira already hates this. She hates how the both of you are seated on the couch yet are on opposite ends while some middle-aged woman with a notepad on her lap is seated across from the both of you. She hates the question at hand, despite it being the first one. “How did it start?” 

The only problem is she has to go along with this because she just heard you say her name for the first time in weeks when introducing the both of you to Dr. Hanika. Because you spoke to her directly just a few days ago when telling her about this visit after your mother left. So she has to suck it up, for you. 

It. This wasn’t an It, this is a relationship. It was delicate and warm and the fact that this stranger expects both of you to just pour yourself into this, sharing every little thing, pisses her off. 

“Oh…” Your eyes flit across the contents on the coffee table as you try to make sense of your memories. 

“This relationship started almost four years ago” Kuvira replies. “We met at Suyin’s dance studio, she asked me for help.” Dr. Hanika clicks her pen and begins to write something across her notepad. Kuvira leans over a little to try and peek, but she’s too far away to see what’s being written. 

Your shoulders slump, wetting your lips. You don’t want to talk about this, you want to talk about how to get over the cheating. “When are we going to talk about… everything else?” 

“Y/n what can you tell me about the start of your relationship with Kuvira?” 

Kuvira looks away, frowning. She knows what you're referring to. Dr. Hanika sets her pen down and sighs “We will get to the root of your problems soon, but I think the best way I can help the both of you is if I know how it started.” 

And so you tell her, despite not wanting to, about meeting Kuvira and practicing after class with her for weeks before she finally kissed you. You keep out how she kissed you in other places, deciding to keep that between the two of you. And then you tell her about the recital, about wanting to introduce her to your parents but didn’t because Baatar was there with his arm wrapped around her. 

Hearing your point of view on things leaves a sour taste in Kuvira’s mouth. She didn’t know you wanted her to meet your parents that night. After she watched you race out of the room she had quietly scolded Baatar for not waiting like they originally planned.

“And you never told her about the relationship you had with Baatar?” You scoff at his name, turning your gaze out the window, not wanting to see her reaction to the question. 

“No… I didn’t want to hurt he-” 

“That’s rich coming from you,” you spit out, Kuvira turns to face you, her brows pinching together as she tries to keep her temper in check. “It’s the truth!” 

“If you didn’t want to hurt me you would have ended it with him!” You twist around, finally meeting her eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. Whatever words were on the tip of Kuvira’s tongue died the minute you do. “But you didn’t, instead you made me keep us a secret for three years!” 

“Alright, let’s calm down” Dr. Hanika looks between the both of you. But you ignore her, tired of keeping your mouth shut to keep her happy. 

“You cheated on me as some sick form of punishment over the smallest of things, fuck, I’m pretty sure you liked crawling into his bed those nights with how many times you chose to do it!” You grip the couch so tight your knuckles begin to turn white. 

The look in your eyes is like nothing she’s seen before and her heart begins to pound. She doesn’t know this version of you and it scares her. “How about you do us both a favor and go crawling back to him instead of staying here!”  

Tick, the clock mounted on the wall is all that’s heard as silence descends upon the room. 

Scratch, Dr. Hanika begins to write on her notepad, and the sound of pen meeting paper mixes with the ticking. 

Chirp, a bird in the tree by your living room window is giving its babies lunch and the excited chirping from the babies blends with the other two sounds.

The fourth sound to join the makeshift symphony is the whimper that leaves Kuvira’s lips before she storms away to your bedroom where she slams the door so hard the bookshelf next to it shakes, a book falls off. 

“Maybe we should start with individual sessions and then work our way up into group sessions,” she says calmly. You nod, thickly swallowing as you slowly let go of the back of the couch, your knuckles cramp a bit from how hard you held the cushion. 

And so you tell her the rest, all of it including every lonely night and every fight. She aggressively writes away on her notepad as you stare at the vase of light pink flowers. At some point, you grab a pillow from beside you and clutch it close to your chest as you get to the engagement. Tears are freely falling from your eyes now and you don’t move to wipe them away. 

“I think this will take a long time and there’s no guarantee on what will come of this, but we can only hope it’s something positive. For now, I think both of you should try to find interests separate from one another since it seems like there are some codependency issues we’ll need to work on.” 

You nod, trying to think up what you can do in this small apartment as you wipe the last of your tears away. “Okay, I can do that.” 

“What you're feeling right now is valid, Y/n, and I want you to know it’s good that you are seeking therapy to help resolve these issues,” she sets her pen down on the pad and sighs. “I think I’d like to speak to Kuvira alone, then I’ll take my leave for the day.” 

Biting your lip you set the pillow down beside you and look at the bedroom door. “I’ll go get her, maybe you should stay in the bedroom once she comes out.” Dr. Hanika stands up and gently knocks on the door. Kuvira, who feels like a knife has been driven through her heart, is sitting on the edge of your bed with her head in her hands. 

She hates herself and hates this. All of the arrogance she carried just a few weeks ago has vanished as she’s left with this warped version of you. Kuvira knows she deserves this but fuck does it hurt to hear. 

The knock has her head tilting up, hoping it’s you and that this tense tightrope you're making her walk has finally come to an end. But it’s Dr. Hanika saying something Kuvira only half hears. It feels like her head is underwater, like her words are distorted.

You hear her talking to Kuvira through the door, but she’s being too quiet to understand what's transpiring. Slowly the lock clicks and the door opens up, revealing a red-eyed Kuvira who won’t look at you.

She walks over to the other side of the room so you can lock yourself in the bedroom, suddenly she wishes she had put up a fight about doing this. Kuvira wishes she could take it back, so she never had to hear you talk like that. 

When she sits down on the couch she doesn’t know what to do, so she ends up sitting with her elbows propped up on her knees with her chin resting in the palm of her hands as she tries to keep calm. Her whole body feels like it’s buzzing and her world feels off-center. Maybe she should deal with your silence, seeming to prefer it over your malicious words. 

“Kuvira?” The young woman snaps out of her thoughts and looks up at Dr. Hanika with a quirked brow. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a few minutes now.” 

“Oh.”

“How did Y/n’s words make you feel?”

“Awful,” Kuvira doesn't want to talk to her but what's the alternative? “Like she doesn't love me anymore.” Like no one loves me, not even her. 

“Do you think she would go through with this if she didn’t love you?” Dr. Hanika tilts her head in question, her hands delicately placed over each other as they rest on her pen and notepad. “Do you think she would put in all this effort if she didn’t want to be with you?” 

Kuvira frowns, she never looked at it like that. “Don’t you think she would have requested to be sent to her parents?” 

“I guess so…” Kuvira trails off as she leans back and looks down at her hands. Why would someone still live with someone they didn’t love? It was obvious you no longer tiptoed around her feelings so it can’t be just to appease her. “But if she still loves me, how do I fix this?” 

“This is something you both will need to work on, not just you. It will take a lot of time, and we will have to talk about your feelings but also your past to help you, do you think you can do that for me?” 

It took her months to give you a nugget of her childhood and even longer to finally talk about her feelings with you, it’s something she still isn’t good at. Both are something she has difficulty with, but for you? Well, she’d traverse the whole world for you, give it all to you if asked. 

“Okay,” Kuvira breathes, “Okay I can do that.”

And so you take up gardening, your father brings you supplies along with a shelf to place in front of one of the windows to place different pots so you have more to work with. He teaches you the basics and smiles when he sees you get lost in thought while gently patting the dirt around the newly placed Mint Plant. 

It’s not as easy for Kuvira, her hobbies consist of sparring, dancing, and at times she liked to silently geek out over Varrick and Baatar’s inventions. The apartment is too small to practice fighting stances or to dance, and there isn’t an invention insight to focus on. So one day when your dad is about to leave, Kuvira asks him to help her find something she might like. 

He offers a smile and nods. A few days later he comes over with a basket full of things for her to try, when he places the ball of yarn along with a handbook on the basics of knitting, Kuvira scrunches her nose up at the idea. 

Then he places a cookbook down and a beginners' origami kit down before placing a medium-sized package that has ‘Embroidery’ scrawled across it in chicken scratch writing. Lastly, he carefully sets down a blank sketchbook with three different types of ways to fill it in. 

“If you don’t like any of these I can bring more,” he says with a smile. Kuvira feels so grateful for your father, the few times your mom has stopped by since that fateful day she’s never acknowledged her existence. But your father always asks about her day and tries to spend some time with her before leaving. It’s surprising, but not unwelcome. 

“Thank you, hopefully, one of these works out,” she smiles back and goes to pick up the cookbook to flick through the pages. He walks away to go check on you as he always does and as always you’re in the garden lovingly tending to your plants. You seem to put more care and affection into your work than you do with Kuvira. How can she be jealous of plants?

The cookbook has some decent looking recipes inside, to be honest, the only cooking Kuvira has ever really done was that night with the dumplings. She grew up on the Beifong estate where they had a chef and when she moved into the barracks after becoming a guard they had a team of men and women who cooked meals for them. She even hired someone to cook for them on the train. 

It would probably be best for her to learn, especially once your year on house arrest is up, so she carefully sets it back down to use later before shifting through the other items with a curious eye. 

The next few weeks she tries them all out, knitting lasts two days before she throws the damn yarn and needles into the trash with disdain and Kuvira accidentally breaks the embroidery hoop fifteen minutes into trying it out. She’s okay at origami but it’s boring, she finishes all the different designs quickly and stares at the collection of stars and swans with a dull expression. 

She kind of likes cooking, with the book in hand she ends up making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, much to your surprise. The eggs are a bit overdone, so she’ll have to work on that and lunch has a bit of a char to one side of it which she sees you try to scrape off. But dinner is decent and to her, that’s a win. It could use more salt and the soup probably would be better if she let it cook for longer, but she’ll take this small victory and wear it like a badge of honor. 

Lastly is the sketchbook, she stares at the blank page in frustration as nothing comes to mind, what is she meant to do with this? Your father brought a beginner's water coloring kit, a set of charcoal pencils, and colored pencils. She bits her lip as her eyes flit between the three and she grabs the charcoal, that seems good to begin with. 

She spends the whole day trying to draw a panda lily that never turns out quite right which drives her mad. The first attempt just looks like a blob, the second a slightly nicer looking blob and the third finally has a hint of the shape she's going for if you stare at it hard enough. So she works with that and tries to remind herself that when she picked up sparring she could barely throw a punch, everything takes time and practice. 

When you enter to fill up your watering can you sneakily peek over her shoulder, surprised to see her drawing, before walking back out of the house. It’s good she’s picking up a new hobby, part of you is proud of her, not that you’ll tell her though. 

The sessions with Dr. Hanika continue and with each one, Kuvira forces herself to open up a bit more with the motivation that maybe you’ll finally start to talk to her like Dr. Hanika says you will. 

When she tells Dr. Hanika about her pursuit of drawing, she tries to play it off by saying “I’m only doing it because I don’t like being bad at things.” They both know that's a lie, drawing has pleasantly consumed her time as she strives to draw beautiful things to one day give to you. 

Nights are spent the same, you go to bed and when Kuvira enters an hour later you’re passed out with two pillows placed at the center of the bed to block her from touching you. Her heart breaks as she takes a chance to look at you, the first time that day. There’s a small smile on your lips, you have the blanket tucked up to your neck with one hand resting under your head. You're having a good dream and she silently hopes that she’s part of it. 

She knows she can’t sleep in the living room like that first night, even if neither of you touches one another the heat of her body still comforts you, the slight dip that lets you know you aren’t alone. So she changes into her pajamas and slides onto her side of the bed with a sigh. One day those pillows will be gone, she tells herself. 

Your routine is broken in the third week of the second month on house arrest. Kuvira is getting lunch ready when there’s a knock at the door, breaking the peaceful silence that lulls through the air. 

You place your dirty gardening gloves on the table which has Kuvira letting out a sigh, knowing one of you will have to clean that up before eating, as you walk towards the front door. Your father just barges in at this point with a cheerful hello to announce his presence whilst your mom knocks three times every single time. This is one knock, which means it's someone new. 

You don’t know who you expect on the other side of the door, but the avatar was far down on your list of prospects. “Oh, hello,” you say, your voice laced with confusion. 

“Is Kuvira here?” She asks and then seems to realize her mistake. “Oh yeah, can I speak to her?” By now Kuvira is done making lunch and heads over to the front door upon hearing her name. She tries not to show her shock at seeing Korra here, but she must be doing a bad job because the younger woman continues. “I need to talk to you about Commander Guan.” 

You both let the avatar in, neither of you thinking this conversation should take place in the hallway of your apartment complex. The times you’ve spotted your neighbors they send a hateful glare your way. Talking about an old Empire commander will not help ease the anger they hold towards you. 

She slowly walks into your home, looking around with furrowed brows as she takes in the walls, the furniture, and the over-abundance of plants. Whatever Kuvira just made smells delicious and the scent wafts through the living space, confusing her further. 

She knows it’s stupid, but Korra expected Kuvira’s apartment to be a lot less homey and a lot more cold and lifeless. She sits down in the cream armchair, whilst the two of you sit down on opposite ends of the couch. That action confuses her more than the apartment does, last time she saw the two of you, you seemed attached at the hip. 

This placement reminds Kuvira too much of the first therapy session, she has to bite her tongue and will herself to stay put instead of walking away to brood in the bedroom. “What do you need to know about Commander Guan?” you ask. You sound so calm that it drives Kuvira mad, doesn’t this make you uncomfortable, doesn’t it remind you of that day as well? 

“Were you aware his troops never surrendered?” You let out a gasp of surprise as Kuvira balks. Was this another one of her secrets? Another grand plan up her sleeve, just wait and stay quiet with you, playing some form of pretend until he came to get her? 

“I swear, Kuvir-” 

“No I was not aware,” she says in that all too familiar tone she uses when trying to hide her anger. She side-eyes you, looking hurt at your accusation. Do you really think so little of her now?

None of this goes unnoticed by Korra as she looks between the two of you for any kind of clue that she may be lying. Kuvira forces herself to speak, “Guan is a cunning strategist with a keen mind. I put him in charge of the southern forces because I knew he could keep that region in line.” 

“If Guan hasn’t surrendered by now then that means he’s plotting something. I’d treat him like a barrel of blasting jelly with a very short fuse.” You’ve only met Guan a handful of times, each time as unpleasant as the last. He was an asshole who treated everyone that wasn’t Kuvira or Baatar like shit, including yourself. At one point Kuvira had to calmly put him in his place when he tried to demand you go fetch him a glass of whiskey. 

“If you were in my position, how would you deal with him?” 

“I’d take someone with me who Guan respects. Someone who can reason with him and bring him into line.” Your eyes widen, fully turning to look at Kuvira now. You know what she’s hinting at and you hate the idea with every fiber of your being. 

“No,” is all you manage to say. 

“You want me to bring you?” Korra leans back in surprise, an incredulous look taking over her features as she stares Kuvira down. 

“Guan’s not going to roll over just because the avatar asks him to. But if I meet with him face to face I guarantee I could convince him to concede defeat.” You might not be able to stomach the sight of Kuvira for too long without thinking of her betrayal or manage to talk to her but the idea of her leaving frightens you. What if she escapes and never comes back? 

Korra stands with her fists clenched as she walks over to the door, “Thanks for the info but I think I can handle Guan without you.” The door slams behind her and the instant she’s out you’re storming over to the table to grab your gloves. You want to scream at her but you know it won’t do any good. 

Kuvira turns to you, she has this desperate kind of look on her face as she tries to scoot closer to you. “I can be of help to them, Y/n.” You ignore her as you walk away, back to your little sanctuary. 

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Before Dawn: Bonus Chapter (1)

Helloooooo, alright listen, I re read a choice with no regrets and uhm here is this, a little insight on what has happened a little while before our story began, I'm sure you'll want to see some nice bonding with Isabel

Warnings: just a few teeny little mentions of intercourse

@hidehaskak of course here's your tag❤️

Turtleneck

"Yehawhaww" The moment you appeared at the entrance to the roof Isabel screamed at the top of her lungs in great enthusiasm. You stood silent after you spared her a smuggling nod pacing your eyes between the two men that accompanied her, awaiting for a signal of approval. "I knew I could get you to come! You guys don't mind her hanging out with us right? She's a friend."

At that sound the males finally gave in, letting Isabel close the distance between the both of you. Her significantly smaller arms wrapped around your frame in a pure hearted childish manner and seeing that you towered over her you placed your hands on the small of her back, almost too reassuringly to the males' liking. Their unforgiving gazes burned holes in your whole body with much rage built in for ruining their fun for the night.

You knew you were practically unwanted, but it was for Isabel that you stepped foot on this rooftop to begin with. Tired of her never ending pleas to join her and her so called bros as they looked at the stars and talked about everything and anything you had decided to violate curfew and join her, not them, just her, because you wanted to share some more moments with her. This young little redhead was growing on you in the best way possible, you thought she kind of reminded you of yourself in times where you needed salvage or just a friend with whom you could share your piece of mind and heart.

She wasn't like that at first. Isabel probably resembled a rose, it occurred to you, with her godly youthful looks and her thorn like personality. It was a result from growing up in a trashhole like the underground, among thugs, being forced to build a rough personality if she wanted to survive, it was merciless for her and any other girl down there. But the bubbly side of her personality assured you she was much more than a badass teen who could hand you your ass in any fight, she had a pure heart and you longed to help her feel like she deserved post childhood experiences. But for now, it felt as if your roles had reversed. Sure, you were -if not just as her- bubbly and kind but sometimes you were frustratingly unresponsive and ill faced that it worried her until she got to know you. You hadn't put yourself in a place to talk about you trauma to her; she had her own demons and there was no point in burdening her with your abusive background, but you managed to explain to her that most of your weird and uptight behaviors, most things you could dispose of to become a better person, were curved into you in ways you could share yet. And Isabel, as respectful as ever had assured you it was fine not to be able to share.

Most girls would shut her out due to her formal nature as a thug, much like your friends who at first were adamant about discouraging you to befriend her. They had assumed she wouldn't be able to be nice and kind or to talk like them, but you were against any pretentious act behind her back. Maybe it was due to egoistical motives that you wanted to salvage this little girl, because she reminded her of you, and Nanaba, the only person who fully knew about your situation was taking a stand against this at first. She didn't want you to hurt yourself or the redhead in the process of trying to project your condition on her. But you didn't give up. With Isabel as your new bunkmate you had many chances of getting it right.

"Did you bring what I asked you to?" Isabel hurriedly asked, reaching her hands to make a quest inside the tote bag that you carried. You showed no sign of holding back as you let her peak into the cream colored bind, but only managed to cover your ear as her squeks got louder. "Thank you thank you thank you! Sit down, show me!

Isabel shooed Levi and Furlan apart, placing herself right next to the blond man while tapping her hand on her left side. You followed her smile hesitantly and proceeded to sit down to where her hand was rested a few seconds ago, next to Levi. You felt his eyes ravaging your whole form, up and down as if you were some dirty pig that seeked to rub its mud onto him. When seated neatly enough as to not touch him you proceeded to pry open your tote bag and toss a share of it insides to Isabel.

With a determined face she got a strong hold of the grey colored yarn and the pair of slightly thick needles you had managed to recover for her. "Okay show me, show me!"

"Oh what's that?" Furlan peeked his head over Isabel's shoulder to inspect of the situation.

"It's yarn and needles."

"Ahh, Furlan don't interrupt, (y/n) show me how to cast on!"

"See that's the easiest part, sweetheart." You watched Isabel coo at the support in your tone while she puckered her lips to a cute kid like pout. She followed your slow movements as if you were a goddess, showing her how to create new wolds with her strained hands.

Levi, even though he was suspicious of you, a member of Erwin's team who tried to coax her way into Isabel's life, felt somehow relieved to see that beloved expression on Isabel's face. He had overheard her once, taking to her self in the mirror, wishing she had a lady friend to spend time with and it pained him that she had a feeling of such lack inside her. Therefore your presence was a little soothing in their company. He would be lying if he said he personally didn't like it. After all he had thought you were a beautiful company to Erwin in one of the many times he had come across him in the Underground, silently watching him from the shadows. Not that he was a creep to begin with, it was just his lack and a response to the question of whether you can ever see a stranger twice, that you were actually a scout.

"Where did you learn to do this (y/n?)" Furlan was set to break off Levi's thoughts for one too many times tonight.

"Old mothers are adamant about these things, you know, good girl stuff and all."

"Oh." He began with a flirtatious tone that made both Levi and Isabel turn to him wide eyed "Good girl huh? Every Bad boys dream, including min- ah shit Isabel, ouch!"

The squint in Isabel's eyes was something that you couldn't see and you even ignored it as a matter of fact. Isabel was aware of your teeny crush on Levi, she had gotten it out of you one day during training after she had caught you gawking and drooling at him for doing the bare minimum. It was simply natural for her to get overly excited at the fact. Ever since then she had been convinced that him and you would be a perfect match, that you wouldn't have to be so uptight with him after all but you would always brush her off. It didn't torment you just get, even if his cold gaze somehow tickled your heart at certain times you were perfectly fine with hanging out around him. But there was no point in trying to convince Isabel to give up, not when she practically lived off of you and the male duo. Perhaps that was why she had squinted her eyes so hard at Farlan, she didn't want the couple in her head to be broken apart before it even started.

For the rest of your time with them you barely speak. You were fine with standing there and knitting away your project, a grey ribbed sweater that you had accidentally managed to make huge up to a certain point when you didn't find a purpose in casting off and undoing. You wondered if Isabel really wanted to knit or if it was her excuse to have you hang out with the ravenette since she had seemed to long forget about her needles and was fixated on a bottle of booze, talking away about some merchants in the underground flee market. You figured you should take your leave being to alienated to break their usual trio, you couldn't even keep up with their conversations, not that they cared to include you.

"So if you're all about playing housewife what are you doing here?" Farlan's voice calls out to you almost strained from any actual purpose, he probably knew it was kind of rude on the part to not include you after Isabel had invited you.

You remained silent for a few moments, tilting your head back to stare at the jewel decorated dark sky. Finding the right words for your purpose seemed unbelievably difficult and suffocating but it perhaps was nothing compared to their previous lifestyle.

"I didn't want to die." Two of the three almost fall to instant, bubbling laughter the moment your thoughts longer in the air as actual words.

"And you came here out of all places?" Levi sternly inquired without ever initiating some sort of eye contact.

"I wasn't top of my class, but even if I was I wouldn't go in the MP. I don't want to live a full life as a bastard you know and Garrison, let's say I have my reasons as to not going there."

Something about that bastard themed sentence caused curiosity to twitch inside Levi's chest but he didn't quest on it, oversharing wasn't in his plans to do so with a practical stranger, even if deep down you didn't exactly feel like one. He couldn't be explain that feeling but he could certainly understand what it was that made Isabel so attached to you. Something about your aura was like fresh, dripping honey, unprocessed yet sweet and endearing and overpoweringly strong to the flavor.

"You're not a bastard you had parents right? You just talked about your old mother."

Conveniently, Farlan's words allowed you to shut up and look away, further away from the former thug trio and into the vast horizon that laid before you. You contemplated what was it that enamored everyone outside the walls. With all that death, the scouts corpses that rot every where, you didn't have anything against the walls or life inside, taking down Titans and following orders was therapeutic enough to you as long as you came back to an eventual cup of milk tea and your knitting and embroidering projects. You couldn't bring yourself to give a damn about your future, but you liked fighting for the future of others, maybe somewhere there was a child, just like you, who wanted to get away from an abusive household and start a new life or pick up on experiences they had never lived. These people deserved not to feel caged inside the walls and plus, the nature of the Titans was very much appealing to you due to Erwin and his constant pep talks.

"Wait so how did you end up in Erwin's squad if you're mediocre?" Farlan pushed again, not wanting to let you stay silent for what's worth it.

"Don't forget I'm a veteran. I've outpassed the years a scout is expected to live so Erwin decided to move me to his squad, Mike insisted since we were from the same district."

"Oh so you fucked your way up huh?"

With the corner of his eye Levi watched as your eyes widened in shock. He couldn't possible know about your past, but you didn't seem the tyoe to go around and fuck your superiors so you could earn a higher rank. You were too ignorant to anything, it was prominent that you didn't care about even receiving your own room for serving well all these years.

"How dare you! As if it's something to open your legs for!" There it was, sweet confirmation that you indeed were ignorant.

"Good girl and all huh?"

"Sure."

There was something tense in the air as Farlan flirted, the subtle roll in your eyes, the unusual monotony of Isabel's voice, even Levi has seemed to bring his shoulders towards his collarbones in any attempt to distance his mind off of the unrequited nature of scenery. You weren't flirting back, momentarily he wondered if you even knew how since the sheer blush on your face betrayed your otherwise distinctive spitfire. You acted more childish than Isabel, in a way that you probably didn't realise caught Levi's attention because he didn't mind to spare you a glare, he'd rather keep it to himself.

____

Next time, it was supposed to be Farlan who approached to help you get your foot out of the muddy hole it was stuck to, Isabel squealed profanities at him, but it was Levi who had managed to push past him and the redhead, exposing his self to the cold pouring rain to run towards you. Just how stupid of your team was to leave you in the pouring rain to make your foot in your own?

His mind was at gaze as he sprint, random thoughts filling empty apathetic species that begged for overthinking to take over them. He knew Farlan didn't really like you, he was just trying to such to their plan and keeping you close was in sole purpose of getting closer to Erwin but for Isabel is want like that. She really liked your company, even he enjoyed some of your company at times and they weren't taking any chances with using you.

Moreover and much to his despise, he found himself in a very murky situation with each extension of his foot to your location. Fuck did you really have to look like that? With one leg stretched, toned bottom swaying in the air, strong veiny hands gripping on your knee, mud on the tips of your fingers and hair wet, making wild moves as you flipped your head upwards to get it out of your face. He twitched at the way a small tress stuck to your chapped lips, almost as if you were a goddess of water, a Nereid, as if you were made to be in this drenched state. Small droplets traveled from your chin down your exposed neck, hiding inside the base of your soft grey turtleneck, it was indeed a magnetising scenery, an alluring unraveling play to his eyes but he dared to rip his eyes away. He wondered if anyone could perceive this scene the way that only he did.

"Tch, try not to get that filth on me." He spoke as his sleek palms wrapped around your torso in delicate force, fitting almost perfectly. He closed his eyes. What the fuck was he even thinking? He wasn't even going to stay here for long.

"Wouldn't dream of it, but I beg of you to help before I get sick"

From a distance Isabel watched with teary eyes. A soft feeling of happiness engulfed her whole, not letting her give some form of attention to Farlan who clicked his tongue.

"Whatever Farlan, Levi is finally going to get some action for once. It's not like it's interfering with our mission!" Her brows forrowed at his sight. "He likes her, can't you see?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that if you don't actually tell him"

Her eyes harded at what Farlan had said. Of course, she knew Levi would deny ever laying his eyes on anyone but she wanted to be there to watch him experience falling in love, hell even falling out of it. Farlan should plainly accept that Levi is not always going to be hang up from their group. Sticking together even after their time at the military was a given, but wanting to have lovers and relationships now that they could enjoy their lives? Isabel was eagerly excited for it.

She watched you and Levi as you freed your leg from the muddy puddle, flying over by the force you had both been laboring and falling on too of each other, Levi's face was contorted in anger, fumingly red as he tried not to tell at you and she was definite about his feelings towards you.

Outside and laid with his back in the mud, Levi felt startled in a way he hadn't experienced before. He could faintly feel the tips of your breasts on his chest and he guessed you were using cloth binds since the impact wasn't enough to get him beyond a little flustered, but he could admit that this was embarrassing. He was angry, for being muddy that is, god knows just how much he despised mud and the smell of filthy rain but there was something about the way you straddled him and it touched a little flicker inside of him that told him it was alright to be muddy for a few more seconds, as long as he was underneath you. Despite his lack of experience in romantic or tense moments, he only had had sex a few times that he could count on one hand and he had despised each one for being disgustingly filthy, he definitely could sense the electric field in the air around you.

But as soon as the moment occured and you took your glistering eyes off of his, you pushed strength into your arms, digging your palms in the dirt to lift your self up and he was once again his normal self. With a click if his tongue he slipped from underneath you, denying your open hand that seeked to offer him a little help. He wasn't here for a sappy little romantic adventure, he was here to find those documents and kill Erwin, you were merely getting in the way of his brain functioning properly.

[archadianskies]

trying my best; trying to find happiness

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Wednesday Day 3: Past & Future • Separation; post-revolution Daniel/Leo 

A missing scene from [heavy with hoping]

He remembers going to Greektown specifically to visit Bellini Paints when he first moved to Detroit. It had been a small detail he remembered from an interview with Carl he watched in school; Carl Manfred had pure pigments imported via Bellini Paints and mixed his own paints by hand when he couldn’t find the right premade tubes. 

Sixteen year old Leo had treated it almost like a pilgrimage, visiting the store his father relied on to create his masterpieces. Sixteen year old Leo had been so full of hope, so full of yearning to connect with his biological father. What an idiot he’d been, that sixteen year old boy desperate for approval from a man who’d been more than happy to keep their relationship purely monetary. 

Bellini Paints is no less beautiful thirteen years on. The walls are lined with jars of pigments and illuminated with soft ambient lighting. All the cherry lacquer cabinetry has a pleasing rosy hue to the wood, and the polished brass knobs and handles aid in the stately, regal aesthetic of the brand. It feels old and timeless, an institution that will remain even when he is long gone. 

He’s no longer that naive, hopeful teen and though he’s left that Leo in the past where he belongs, he feels no anger or frustration towards him. How could he? All that Leo had wanted was to connect with his father and be loved; surely seeking love and approval from a parent isn’t asking for the world?

Not that it matters now, anyway, not when Leo’s got a brother now- a Manfred that matters in a meaningful, healing way, and it’s for that Manfred that he makes the trip to Bellini Paints. Which is now closed.

“Ah shit,” Leo swears, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he stands in front of the locked store.

 *~*

He remembers going to Greektown as chaperone for Emma and her friends one weekend to watch a movie at James & Carter cinemas. There were four children in total, including Emma, and one other domestic android, an AX400 accompanying them. Daniel paid no attention to the movie, but what he does remember was Emma’s fascination with Bellini Paints. 

The children had been chattering away avidly after leaving the cinema, discussing what they’d just watched, but they’d fallen into a hush when they passed the store. He remembers Emma’s delighted gasp, remembers her walking to the window and peering inside at the rows of pigments on the shelves. 

“Hey Daniel, which one matches my eyes?” She’d asked, and he’d pointed at one of the jars in the top right hand corner. She’d laughed so brightly, and then her attention turned elsewhere and the moment was over, the moment lived on only in his perfect memory. 

They’d gone to Essie’s Bakery afterward because Caroline specifically did not like the place but Emma loved the buttercream cupcakes there and she knew her mother would say no, but Daniel would always say yes. Even that Daniel in the past had been well on his way to deviancy because even a direct order from Caroline became meaningless when Emma pleaded for leniency.

He wonders if someday Emma will visit Essie’s Bakery of her own volition, and buy one of his buttercream cupcakes, because that’s where he works now, now that he is alive and free and has been given a second chance. He loves it here because he can hide out in the back and just create food to be consumed, and no one can eat baked goods unhappily. That he can somehow contribute to someone’s happiness is enough for Daniel, more than enough, and certainly far more than he ever deserves. 

The workday ends and he packs up, cleans up and locks up. Daniel wraps a scarf around his neck made of chunky blue yarn that Simon knitted for him because Simon is good, and kind, and all the things Daniel used to be but isn’t now. He’s trying, though, he’s trying very hard because Simon believes in him and Daniel loves him too much to disappoint him. 

He makes his way towards the bus stop only to bump into someone outside of Bellini Paints.

“Oh, sorry-!” The young man looks familiar, and Daniel recognises him from a few days ago.

“Leo?”

“Danny?”

“It’s Daniel, I told you that,” he corrects automatically, bristling. “What are you doing here? Bellini’s closes at 6pm.”

“Ugh, I thought I’d have enough time after my therapy session to swing by and grab Markus’ pastels order,” the young man groans, jamming his hands in his pockets. Leo Manfred, human brother to Markus Manfred, leader of Jericho and object of Simon’s unrequited affection. Daniel’s interacted with Markus several times now and doesn’t care much for him despite the whole ‘saviour’ thing. He’s grateful, no doubt about it, but anyone who Simon fixates on and loves so openly only to fail to return such affections isn’t so great in Daniel’s eyes. 

“They’ll open at 9am again tomorrow, though if you’re in a rush, Vincent’s here by 8:30am,” Daniel points out, thinking fondly of the genial EM400. 

“Uh, no, I value my sleep,” Leo rolls his eyes. “But I’ll swing by around lunch probably. You heading home now?”

“Yes, if I catch the next bus it should line up with when he leaves your place and we can take it home together,” Daniel nods and Leo shrugs. 

“I’ll call you a cab- that way I can go home and Simon can continue on with you,” he takes out his phone and opens an app. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on the house card. The old man’s got plenty to spare and he’d be more than happy to pay for Simon to get home safely.”

“Simon, but not us,” Daniel drawls as Leo snorts back a laugh.

“I mean, we’re all in agreement here though aren’t we?”

“Yes, Simon is always the priority,” Daniel replies without hesitation.

A taxi pulls up and Daniel climbs inside as Leo takes a seat opposite him. He generally avoids interacting with humans but for some reason Leo is the exception. He’s so stubbornly blasé about Daniel, so readily casual with his invitation of friendship that he can’t help but accept. It’s as if Leo’s willing to pester him into becoming friends and truth be told, Daniel wants it, Daniel wants someone to want him. Simon does, and that’s why he loves him, because Simon has a way of stubbornly killing him with kindness when everyone else loathes him. 

“So, the other day Simon was telling me he was at the DPD for some important meeting or other,” Leo begins, hands gesturing animatedly, “and all he could focus on were the shitty store bought muffins on the meeting table. Which got me thinking of how you could make some of your amazing pastries to totally wow them, and give Simon the perfect window he needs to talk to the Anderson brothers.” 

“You want me to bribe the DPD into silence so we can set up my brother to not be with yours?” It’s so stupid it makes Daniel want to laugh. Stupid, but plausible, and really, it’s for Simon and they’d both do anything for happiness. “I’m in.”

He’ll do it for Simon, but who knows, maybe there’s a little scrap of happiness held in store for him in the future too.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

You aren’t alone - we are alone together.

Hi, @autophobiaxx - guess what, I had been your secret snowflake🤗. Believe me when I say I had absolutely no idea what awaited me on this project, but i am really happy I got paired up with you and it turned out this way.  

Your answers had always been so helpful and I might just want to pet myself on the shoulder with some lucky guesses I made. Hopefully this project had been for you as fun as for me, because I really enjoyed it. I actually found myself giddy through some days, not able to wait to ask you my next questions.

I do hope you like the first part of your present, the other two will follow soon - you get one on each Christmas holiday day. (That’s the reason why I had asked you to pick a number - you started with number 2. So, 3 will follow tomorrow and 1 after that.)

But now, I wish you a lot of fun - if a bit of my grammar isn’t as well as it should be, feel free to point it out - but please spare me a bit. English sadly isn’t my native language.  

Greetings and definitely until tomorrow😘

Word count ( note not included) : 7. 380 words

________________________________________________________________

It was so long. 

So long since she last saw the Shadowsinger - her heart longing to see him once again as she looked out into the endless sea of stars above of Velaris.  

No glittering light left alone, always a close neighbour that shone with them close by. It was an endless chain so it seemed.  

One that smiled down upon the fae of Velaris, her sister and her mate and even down to her - the lonely seer. That sat with a longing heart night for night, wrapped in a blanket, in front of her wide-open window. Hoping to hear even a silent beat of his mighty wings, hoping to see even a whisp of him seek comfort in the endless sea of dreams and light in the dead of night.  

Perhaps he had always known she was watching, was too shy to show up in the sky which she could see so clearly. Not even the bright light of the always shining city able to taint the dark dome that was stretched above their heads.  

It unsettled her. The seer's guts twisting and churning inside her as her heart made leap for leap, leaving a heavy rumble as it landed each time with the same wish: I want to see Azriel again.  

Elain knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts, but he was her friend. One that had been by her side since she first stumbled into this new life, showing her how to embrace this new part of the world she hated for so long, explained to her that it was completely fine to not be immediately ok with the ways of this world, but that it was also good to try those new possibilities it gave her from time to time.  

And that she did, the Shadowsinger always an arm's reach away when she did so. A kind reassuring smile a constant companion when she looked up at him, those shining hazel eyes of his seemingly having never strayed from her.  

He was there - always.  

There was no way he would suddenly be gone. Her aching heart not able to believe even a crumb of this thought as she shook her head in disapproval at the night. Standing up on numb legs - for the twentieths evening in a row - from the chunky armchair. Hurt flooding her entire body as this aching wave of hurt crashed down from her heart.  

He would not be there, she felt it, would not be there for Solstice.  

Perhaps she should have asked Feyre of his stay, maybe even Rhys, but then again - these two loved to cloak themselves in silence. Everything that needed to be spoken  only between the two of them, far away from the worried ears of the seer.  

Feyre’s older sister - that was treated like a child.  

A child, perhaps that was who she was, a selfish stubborn, weak child that waited for its friend to arrive, only to be disappointed that he would not attain, would not be there the next morning to celebrate the Solstice with her - leaving her alone in the shadows of  a giant estate, that would this year not brim with happiness during the festivities.  

If she would have wanted to ask Feyre or Rhys it was too late anyway. They were all off already - celebrating Feyre’s birthday and the longest night of the year, under the stars of Winter.  

A great feast that was hosted by Vivianne and Kallias in order to acclaim Viviannes rise to the High lady of the Winter Court, though it was more going to be of a friendly gathering - that Elain had seen, in a vision, and with that she did not want to interfere.  

Her absence could be considered as rude, but her presence wasn’t of any meaning - Nesta was the emissary of the Night Court and she would be there. So, there was no need for the defender of Velaris, to go with them and abandon her duty. Though Feyre had given that title to her out of pity - to make Elain feel more useful.  

Allowing her to go to bed early as the stars continued to shine down in protection on the city, leaving her window wide open this night. The hope, that he would perhaps see her open window and come home, was all she needed to endure the cruel ripping of the cold harsh wind on her curtains in her chamber as she piled blanket for blanket atop of her.  

Trying to let sleep claim her with its soothing blanket.  

Though its blanket was nothing but wild and untamed tonight. Pictures of death and shadows, of chaos and blood infiltrating her mind. In her worry the seer was not able to part these pictures of violence into a vision or simply a nightmare.  

She hoped for the last one – begged for it to be the last one. As she awoke screaming, cold sweat coating her skin like an old friend. It happened so often already in the past, she had hoped these fears would have gone away with the years of peace.  

Yet it left her soaring, her eyes tearing in the darkness as she buried her face into her shacking palms. Letting the impressions behind her inner eye suffocate her - battle screams, bones breaking, cries of hurt heard among the heavy rain that poured down on the battlefield in the woods. Mud coating the already fallen warriors as hundreds of wing pairs peeked up from the carpet of death – Azriel's body lay dead and cold as a yarn of death weaved, among the other fallen warriors, into this endless rug of blood and rotting bodies.  

A silent scream escaping Elain's shivering body as his eyes flooded her mind. Those soft warm eyes, that reminded her so much of the forests she had wandered upon, that never seemed to stray from her and knew when she was upset or needed a shoulder to cry on - were looking lifeless and cold into the face of an enemy he had taken to death with.  

No!  

This could not be the truth!  

Azriel had offered so much in the last few centuries, had shed too much blood and fought too many battles throughout the years. It couldn’t be that the only thing the mother deemed for him as right was bloodshed and war and death.  

Azriel, too, had a loving family with which he deserved to spend time with.  

So, Elain begged the mother, that it simply was a nightmare that ripped sleep away from her. Her uneasiness making it impossible to just fall back asleep again.  

She needed a distraction, something that could bring her thoughts far away from blood and cold lonely nights, in which she feared Azriel would never return.  

‘Stop thinking like that!’ she tried to convince herself ‘Azriel is strong. Very strong - there is no way that he is suddenly going to die in battle. Is there?’

 It was a childish thought; she knew that as she threw a blanket over her shivering shoulders. Elain knew how sudden death could bite someone, no matter how strong the one it chose to claim - after all, even a High Lord can find death in a battle. Rhys had proven that and even though he came back - letting the vibrating song of the living envelop him a lot longer- there were still nights in which she heard Feyre scream.  

Some nights it was the scream from the battlefield Elain had heard. Other nights it was the same screams that ripped from her lungs, whenever she awoke from a nightmare.

Death had sought out her family too many times already. Feyre, Rhysand, her father, Nesta and she herself. Though it had been a human life that would have ceased -for the fae- in the blink of an eye anyway, it was Nesta’s and her life that had been thrown into the cauldron and was ripped away from them.

 Leaving them dead empty in a new world.

In a new world, in which hope had been a rare asset, once they were made. Though Feyre had it, just like Rhys and Cassian, Morrigan and Amren and Azriel. Along with thousands of others that believed in the good and hoped for it to win.

And so, Elain realized, she could hope too - would hope - that he is going to return. Safe and sound.

The snow on the streets and rooftops of Velaris twinkling under the many streetlights like a thousand fallen stars, leading the lost warrior home. The billowing curtains -hopefully- beckoning him to come closer as the two heavy sheets of fabric waved at the night.  

Beckoning him to come closer to his family.  

Any part of his family.

 Elain didn’t care to whom he would find his way, she just hoped he could find this way. Perhaps he already flew towards winter, having long crossed Day and Dawn on his way as he was now to spend some time with his brothers, friends and the female he so loved. Maybe his wings had flown him home to his mother, that awaited him with open arms and a warm smile on her threshold.  

Though there was a selfish wish inside Elain’s worried chest as she moved on silent feet down the winged staircase. Her long cosy gown swishing past her naked feet, like a fluffy cloud of dawn. The cosy cream white blanket atop of her long peachy gown, the last sunrays of the day that caressed the fluffy clouds a last time for the day.  

Sunshine incarnate.

That was what Azriel had once called her - by accident. His cheeks having taken on the same peachy colour as her gown, as she remembered this day with a smile on her lips. How he had rambled apology for apology silently under his breath.  

This selfish wish inside her growing with each minute, as she searched for a distraction from the bloodshed she had seen, only minutes ago.  

Elain Archeron, seer of the Night Court and defender of Velaris, wished for the shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, her friend, to come home and see her sunshine glow in the darkness of night.  

She wished for him to be here. Left her window wide open in the hopes of this selfish wish.  

Wandering with a heavy heart, a soft hand placed atop of this traitorous thing as she walked circle for circle in the foyer. Her naked feet silently swashing step for step over the cold marble as a grandfather clock, in the far away corner of the sitting room, called her out of her endless wandering and wondering. Announcing to her the begin of the new day - Solstice - as it struck twelve.  

Finally woken from her trance she saw nothing.

Nothing that came even close to a Solstice decorated house. Garlands - along with the other decorations- stored safely away in the far back of a closet.  

With a huff did Elain start her hunt for the almost exploding cardboard box - the faerie lights all around the house turned on as she dug into closet for closet. 

Only in a little chamber, where she needed to dive through thousands of papers and weapons she found it. Her nightgown and the blanket covered in a veil of dust as she wanted to lift the box triumphally up but let it fall instead, her petite arms not able to hold up all of the heavy weight. Fir branches, garlands, mistletoes, little wooden figures as well as a heavy little wooden box - raining down on her.  

All far older than the things that were normally used, so it seemed, as cobwebs danced down on her. Covering her honey golden hair under a hat of grey nets. A cough escaping her lungs, just before a sneezing fit took over – the whirling dust having played a bit too much with her nose trills.  

With a, for her unlikely, groan did she bent down to pick everything up. Her form slightly shivering in the coldness of the small chamber, even with the heavy blanket around her.  

how could she always be that clumsy? It was a wonder that she hadn’t suddenly tripped in her garden yet. Accidently ripping out all the plants she had planted with such careful hands - that were now dust covered. As she loaded garland for garland, figure for figure into the cardboard box.  

Until she saw a little wooden case - engraved with twines and flowers, so it seemed. A heavy layer of dust hiding the once shiny wood underneath it.  

Who had forgotten it here?

It looked really old and somehow bits of the wood seemed to be worn out - along with the clank on the backside of the musical box. The once shiny metal having taken on the colour of a deep grey.  

Somehow this little box was fascinating her the little rusty lock, that kept the music box tightly shut, seemingly calling for her to open it. A lullaby on its own as she listened into the silence. Her eyes straying ever so often from the little box in her petite hands, searching for the little key that would fit the lock. 

But no matter how hard she searched for it - it was nowhere to be found.  

No paper hid it underneath, no layer of dust cloaked it, the cardboard box also never having swallowed a key. A sigh escaped her lips as she stood up on wobbly feet, tugging the little wooden box carefully away beneath all the fir branches in the carton.  

The way towards the door a fight on its own again as swords, arrows, bows, daggers and papers cluttered her way. Cold steel meeting Elain’s naked feet more than once as her eyes could not see what was underneath the large box in her hands.  

But somehow she managed to move across the room and finally leave it again - no blade having cut her. A dusty hell which she would probably clean later throughout the week. She needed to get the time over anyway.

And with this thought in mind, bloodshed and war long forgotten, she started her magic. Transforming this cold lonely house - within only one hour- into a glittering sea of Solstice decorations.  

She might have been alone and would be for the rest of the week, but that did not mean she couldn’t decorate the house. No one would take the decorations and the cosy feeling of Solstice from her, as she lightened the fireplace. the happy crackling of the fire suddenly reminding her of snaping bones.  

Bones of the Spymaster that ... . No!

She would not go there, would not let her mind wander into these dark parts of her mind again as she tried her hardest to overcome these blood-filled thoughts within the last hour.  

The seer simply needed to distract herself further. There would still be a later time in which she could enjoy watching the flames lick happily at the wood it feasted on -letting warmth embrace her instead of fear.  

And just in case fear wanted to overwhelm her again - she needed some nerve food. The plenty of cookies she wanted to bake this year, somewhere abandoned in the back of her mind. But the thought of searching in her endless messy cook books for a cookie recipe unmotivated her, so Elain decided to go for something easy.  

A recipe she already baked with her mother in the innocent days of her childhood. The smell of freshly baked butter cookies always connected to the cosiest time of the year. Stitched into her mind - just like the recipe itself.  

Already on giddy feet hurrying into the large kitchen, she made a mental list of supplies she needed: butter, sugar, vanilla sugar, flour, an egg, a bowl, a rolling pin ... of course, a baking trey with baking paper and some cookie cutters. 

Perhaps she could find some old chocolate too.

 Even though they tasted - for her at least- almost better without gloss and sprinkles than with them, but Feyre liked those with chocolate gloss - so doing a bit of glazing won't hurt.  

With a giggle on her lips and a grandfather clock in the corner that struck two, she hurriedly turned off all the lights in the house. Baking those divine smelling cookies only under the cosy light of some candles. The scent of cinnamon, oranges, fir trees and freshly baked butter cookies soon enveloping the lonely quiet house. A cold wind from upstairs occasionally getting lost in the kitchen, letting the fire of the candles dance in the dark - deep shadows running along the walls whenever wind and fire danced.  

It made Elain only smile more as she baked trey for trey - tiredness not even a whisper in her body as her thoughts were preoccupied.  

‘I wonder what Az and the others are doing right now.’  

A humourless chuckle escaped her as she rolled the rolling pin further through the next dough. It was past two, either way they were drinking or sleeping.  

And what did she do? Baking butter cookies in the middle of the night, because a wave of nostalgia crashed down on her, a nightmare kept her awake and she felt lonely!

 Just how she always wanted to spent the Solstice, a family festivity without the family she thought she had.  

It hurt to know that. Hurt to know that they were all laughing and celebrating, exchanging presents - while she was stuck here. Perhaps she should have asked if she could come along, but then again - she would have probably ruined it for them.  

Her family seemed to think that they could never speak on normal terms with her. They never knew that she, too, could speak like a normal fae being - not like one that was always stuck in the meeting of some lords or ladies, a stick shoved up her ass.

“Holly mother!” she groaned as Elain rubbed tiredly at her eyes, maybe she just wanted to get rid of the tears that started to whelm up there. Her heart having finally taken enough hurt and damage as she crumbled - just like the butter cookie she shoved into her mouth.  

Alone - that was what she was. Always meant to be left behind - protected- like they liked to call it, but the seer couldn’t take the isolation anymore. Each tear that ran down her cheeks, a butter cookie she ate.

 Some were still too hot, but she didn’t feel it as she stood at the floured kitchen counter and stole cookie for cookie from the treys. Those sweet little stars, hearts and smiley cookies the only things that comforted her, as she braced her arms next to a half-eaten trey. Her streaming tears luckily only hitting the empty part of the counter top - she didn’t want the cookies to become mushy, but then again - next to her - who would eat them?  

‘Snap out of it!’ was all Elain could repeat over and over again in her mind. Deep shivering breaths shattering her lungs while she did so. This wave of hurt from perhaps, two, three hours ago, burying her deep in the tides once again.  

She had overcome this already once she could do it again, tried Elain to convince herself, but there was this dark feeling inside her - that mocked her, laughed at her, pulled her always back down into the raging tides of her mind - each time a bit deeper.  

It was this dark mocking voice inside her that spoke as she opened her tightly shut eyes again, those emotionless eyes having once again returned to her as she eyed one of the butter cookies “What am I doing here?”  

And just as she thought the bells of the grandfather clock had drowned her out, there was this deep voice that rumbled along the dark gongs.  

“That I’d like to know too.” it was a mere whisper of silence, but never would her pointed ears overhear his raven voice. Her head snapping immediately up to meet his confused hazel eyes. They looked paler, but at the same time more awake than ever as they found her widened ones.

 A breathless choke escaping her as she saw him standing there in the doorway - wings tightly closed behind him, a black tunic stretching over his broad chest and shadows dancing behind him. 

Completely unharmed -just a bit dishevelled- his hair more tousled and a light stubble spread over his sculpted cheeks, but he was fine.  

Completely unharmed.

The seer couldn’t contain her happiness as Azriel voice had pulled her out of her trance - a wave of relief flooding her as she stormed around the kitchen counters and jumped right into his arms. 

One of her cookie crumble smeared cheeks was pressed against his warm chest, spreading crumbs on the clean black fabric while her ears listened to the calm thrumming of his heartbeat - a sniffle escaping her as she looked, through a tear cloaked vision, up at him. 

A genuine wide smile stretching across her cheeks, as he looked down on her.  

Azriel looked baffled at first, but a shy little smile spread on his lips too, once he heard Elain’s hoarse voice. “You are finally home again.” “I am finally home again, yes and thank you very much for the open window.” The seer couldn’t contain herself, couldn’t think about any consequences as she hugged him even tighter.  

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

Her mind chanted his name over and over again. A warm feeling sprouting once again in her heart as he softly whipped away cookie crumb for cookie crumb on her cheeks - those scarred hands of his as gentle as any feather - as she silently laughed at him through streaming tears; “Please, Az, never do that again. Promise me, please.”  

“What shall I never do again?” a puzzled look crossed his features as his thumb stopped abruptly its whipping, before realization dawned on him - though it was the wrong one as he tried to pull his hands away - already searching for an apology. 

But Elain wouldn’t have this tonight. And so, she lifted her own hands and laid them carefully atop of his - pressing these warm palms of him back onto her salty cheeks, a fierce look in her teared eyes as his searched hers for answers.  

“Please, Az, never again - you hear me - never again stay away from me for almost a whole month without at least a little note. Please, I was worried sick.”  

He nodded, even though there was confusion written across his face as his brows furrowed, before he spoke. The ravenous sound of his voice finally caressing her ears again “I had left you a message though.”  

“Really?” The Spymaster nodded curtly as his face turned firm. 

Those sinful lips of his pressed into a thin line while he held onto her petite body. His shadows turning slightly wilder as they seemed to roll off of him in waves - a sign that he was trying to hide his rage. Elain had noticed that a long time ago, that he seemed to hide in his shadows once he was close to showing too many emotions - it was a way to keep him safe.

 But worry still piled in the seers' stomach as she looked up at him - had a mission gone wrong that he needed to report? 

“Where are the others?” he suddenly asked, his voice pressed, as this cold voice hissed in laughter at her again.  

Wasn’t it obvious that he came for them? Not for a crippled thing like you! It hissed at her, eating up all her hope and what was left of her to make her happy - the smile she put on now not the genuine one she shared with him. 

It was the same emotionless grimace she put on when she first tried to be fae. Her voice sounding even to her empty.  

“They are in Winter. I’d thought you already knew that they were going to celebrate Solstice and Feyre’s birthday this year there. Vivianne and Kallias are also going to celebrate Viviannes rise to the High Lady of the Winter Court with them.”  

Hurt suddenly flashed through Azriel’s eyes - most likely at the sound of her voice. He needed to swallow hard. It looked like he had trouble to deal with the information's - while Elain had trouble to deal with all the questions swirling around in her mind.  

“I am so sorry Elain.” “For what?”  

Azriel breathed in deep through his nose, before he pulled her - in the flash of a second- into the soothing veil of shadows around him. Crashing her face once more into his chest as quiet whispers surrounded her - one of them was his voice; “I left a message to Rhys, Feyre, Mor and Cassian - I even left a letter, that said I would be gone for at least the next month -perhaps even longer- at both of their desks.”  

Betrayal, hurt, it all clashed through her as she heard these words. He trusted them all - just not her! He -  

“El, please hear me out before you judge.”  

A firm nod was all she could give him.  

“I had asked them to tell you, that you don’t need to worry. I just wanted to clear my head off a bit, ...” Long silence enveloped them before he - for once- broke the silence, the shadows almost drowning out his whispered words “... I wouldn’t have been able to go once I would have seen your worry, your sadness, but I couldn’t stay either. Couldn’t endure to be around her when I hadn’t figured out yet what she is to me. So, I had asked them to tell you -had hoped they would- but apparently ...”  

The rumble she felt in his chest as he growled the last part could have competed with one of the heaviest thunderstorms in the mortal realms - he would surely leave just as much damage in his rage.

He trusted them and they -somehow-  betrayed this trust of his. Hopefully they would have a good excuse for this, she thought as Elain hugged her Shadowsinger tighter. This wonderful, insane driving scent of his coating and enveloping her like a coat again -the cosiest cloak she ever wore.  

“It’s fine now. You are home again. Safe and sound – that is what matters.”  

This time he was the one that could only nod. His eyes hidden somewhere above of her as she was still pressed into his warmth. “Do you perhaps need help with those cookies of yours?”

Elain's giggle -that washed through his body like a wildfire- was all he needed to smile. Her shining eyes finding him once she had wrestled herself free. “With eating them, yes. But I can do the cleaning alone, maybe you could search for a blanket. Feyre always seems to hide the cosiest ones mother knows where.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through the house as they both began their tasks in silence. “Are you sure that it’s Feyre who hides them and not Amren?” “I could bet a cookie trey on that!”  

Needless to say - she lost that cookie trey.  

The kitchen starting to look normal again, while Azriel had found a cosy blanket - large enough for the two of them - hers from before abandoned somewhere on the couch.

 A silky short black hair peeking out from the folds of the blanket. This victorious smirk on his lips so insufferable and yet beautiful, that she could not help herself as to groan silently – while he placed two glasses of wine on the small side table. Already tugged in under the blanket.  

Azriel laughed as he saw how Elain balanced ten fully packed boxes of butter cookies into the room - handing one to him: “Your won trey of cookies.”, letting the others practically fall onto the wooden table as she grabbed her glass of wine and snuggled under the blanket too.  

His warmth, the warmth of the fire and the blanket enveloping her as he carefully lay one wing over the sofa lean - pulling Elain in tighter ever so softly.  

A feeling of peace washing through her while they watched the flames dance. The shadows to their feet occasionally twitching up to them, to inform their master of the safety they were in – never leaving before brushing the cheek of the seer, that stuffed herself with butter cookies again.  

Nursing already the second glass of wine, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier – her spinning head slowly sliding from his shoulder – sleep finally seemed to claim her.

Those golden curls of hers soon spilling in his lap, as she fell onto it sleepily – the glass somehow still safely in her hand, before it was taken from her.  

A soft feeling suddenly stroking her head in lazy movements - making her want to purr like a cat. She didn’t precisely start to purr, but she couldn’t resist to nuzzle closer into the soft touch of his hands.  

Azriel’s soft hands that were always in reach for her, that always were so gentle with her. His touch  -even if it just was a whisper of it- leaving her skin, her blood, her heart alight. This wildfire burning and yet somehow saving her. 

Elain was never sure of what to think of this wildfire inside her  whenever he was near, but never too close. Now she thought she knew what it was, this burning flame longing for him.  

Longing for his attention, his words, his touch – his love.  

And somehow, she thought, she had found it all tonight as she was nuzzled into him. This burning untamed and twisting fire suddenly turning into a cosy little ball of sunshine that warmed her skin and her heart, like the sun rays in the days of Spring and Summer did.

It was like coming home – or in her case having home come to her.  

Her mind finally catching up to her heart, to finally understand those feelings. Those softly blooming feelings, that would stay in an eternal Spring.  

“Az?” she suddenly asked. Her eyes closed softly as her smiling face was turned to him, his hands – thank the mother- still buried in her mass of hair. “Hm?”  

“Can I ask you something personal?”  

He hesitated for a moment, before he nodded. Though her heart ached and her throat was desert dry, she needed to ask him, needed to know. “Who did you mean when you said you couldn’t be around her?”  

“Morrigan.”  

“Why that? Has she done something bad, did she hurt you?”  

“Not really El, it’s just – somehow she helped me realize something and I wasn’t able to deal with it as well as I thought.”  

To say Elain was never more curious than now would have been a lie. She was always curious when it came to the shadowsinger, but as the tension flooded her  – curiosity never felt heavier than now. 

Her wondering eyes opening slowly to see his far away gaze fixed on a strand of fire that danced along a log.  

Tension resting on his shoulders as he looked stiff like a stone. The silence pushing down on them as neither dared to speak, the heavy gong of the grandfather clock suddenly awakening them from their daydreams.

A yelp escaped Elain as she flinched at the sound, an uneasy feeling waking up her entire body again. Gravity pulling at her gown as soon as she was fully woken and struggled to get a hold on the warrior. The soft rug in front of the couch luckily cushioning the fall a bit, though it didn’t prevent the cookie boxes to fall down on her.  

A silent,almost drowned out clicking landing next to her ear.  

For a moment she sat there, lay there, with baffled eyes between the small space of couch and table. A loud laugh erupting from her as soon as she realized her situation, the heavy rumble of Azriel’s ravenous chuckle joining hers until he noticed the small high-pitched noise – that played to his feet.  

A furrow settling between his thick eyebrows. 

“El, are you alright?” With a huff she took the scarred hand of the shadowsinger-her love- and pulled herself up again.  

The tasty baked goods laying forgotten and cracked in the boxes on the floor. Just not the little music box – which the shadowsinger picked up with great interest as something dawned in his eyes.

Recognition – Elain realized with wonderous eyes. Her petite curious form taking up the space next to him again

It was his music box!  

“Azriel are you alright?”  

He could only turn his  -so incredibly- happy face to her. Those hazel eyes of his almost drowning in tears as he looked like a little kid on Solstice that had received the present of his dreams. Holding it in his shaking scarred hands like a sacred treasure.  

Elain always knew Azriel was never a male of many words, but as he lay the delicate box in his lap and crashed her entire being with one hug – she was never more amazed than now.  Warmth spreading through her. Elains bones and her very blood singing of the feelings that were weaved into her being.

Home.  

She thought again. Azriel was her home – even though he might not have realized it yet, she would gladly wait for him to see -perhaps- home in her one-day too. But maybe he already did that.  

The fire his body gave over to hers, more than just his body heat. There was so much in this hug, as his face was buried in her shoulder. Tears dripping down on the pale skin of her shoulder as she carefully hugged him too. 

Those soft feelings of her’s hopefuly showing him everything her heart could offer. 

A sniffle of him, pulling them apart. The question of why he hugged her, of why he cried – lost on the tip of her tongue as he beat her to it.  

“This music box, it belonged to my mother.”he fumbled for something around his neck, pulling at a long black bond – to which a little rusted key was attached. Fitting perfectly inside the lock.  

A beautiful little melody beginning to play as soon as he turned the crank a few times, soft petals of a delicate Violet opening as it took slow turns - amazement written across Elain’s face.  

Azriel only smiled at it. The story behind the little music box wrestling itself free.  

“It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me when I was dropped into Windhaven – it was next to the clothes I had on me the only thing I possessed. She gave it to me, telling me: ‘As long as this melody plays, there is hope that we will live one day in freedom.’  And I believed her – turning the crank each night before I went to bed and each morning before I went to training.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him “When Rhysand’s mother picked me up and gave most of her attention to me, instead of Rhys and Cass – they weren’t the fondest of me. And when they found out about the music box - they took it from me. 

Rhys words echoed still for many months in my head: ‘Isn’t the attention of my mother good enough for you or why are you always listening to this baby toy?’. Back then, when they took it, I had not let a single word slip from my lips for the next two months as I plotted out how I could make them give it back to me, but soon after these months of silence did my mother come free.  

She had earned her freedom again, while I still fought for mine. But I was so incredibly happy, that I had lost thought to the music box. Only when my mother had asked me four centuries ago if I still had it – I remembered it again. Guilt had filled my guts as I told her I had lost it, but she only smiled and told me, once I had it I should not keep it.”

Azriel’s eyes never strayed from the frayed wood as a deep chuckle erupted from him, a barely audible whisper following “I hadn’t known what she meant back then, but now I do.” Before he turned to Elain. 

Telling her the last parts of this story with such sincerity, that the pure look of his eyes into hers, had her warm and cosy. Her insides carving to be with him, to just hug him, but she wanted to see him tell this story. Did not want to miss one of his loving gazes, so this had to do – her hands softly cupping his as they held and listened to the music together.  

“Even though it confused me that I should give it away - I still asked Rhys where they hid it, but he didn’t remember. I remember that all three of us Cassian, Rhys and I, had turned the hut in the mountains, in Windhaven and the town house in Velaris upside down. No one of us even heard a tiny tone of the melody and eventually gave up on it – they did at least. Somehow, I was never able to lose hope –probably an echo of the melody that still played in my ears.”

Soft chuckles escaped him a final time before he closed the lid, put the tiny key with the black leather bond atop of it and carefully lay it into Elain’s hands, wonder lacing her gaze as she looked down at it.  

Azriel’s next innocent words held so much meaning, yet he only whispered them. Shy hazel eyes boring into her tearing doe ones.  

“Elain Archeron, I am so incredibly thankful you found it for me. Though it doesn't come close to the feeling of happiness and joy that erupts inside of my chest whenever I see you. Your voice alone a lullaby to me. One that calms me, sooths me and somehow always manages to be there for me when I need you. A friend.”

A sudden pang of hurt crossed her heart, but she smiled nonetheless. If she could make Azriel  happy as a friend, she would be happy too – would take joy in seeing him happy for the rest of eternity. Even though her traitorous heart started just tonight to hope for his love. Hoped that those scarred palms of his would hold and nurse her heart for the next millennia's – until the mother decided it was time for the seer to go.  

“So, I thought.” he suddenly said. Snapping her out of her cruel train of thoughts. Capturing her eyes- her attention- once again.  

“I had always thought you were a friend, had always thought the safety, the lightness I felt around you was the same with my brothers. I had for more than five centuries believed love was supposed to be a burning thing – one that burned and feasted upon feelings until one day nothing but ashes were left, but you proved me wrong. Made me realize what love is.”  

Elain was speechless, her eyes having long brimmed over with tears as she held the little box in shaking palms.

 Her heart realizing what it meant to him, what he gave her.  

His heart. He gifted her his heart.  

Those scarred hands, having placed it shyly in her hands – while they now whipped her tears away again. Her heart beating so unbelievably fast as he placed his forehead softly atop of hers. “When Mor sought me out at the beginning of the month – I think I already started to realize that my heart had long fallen for you, that I had fallen for you. Mor came to tell me about her preferences of females and in all honesty it didn’t really hurt.”  

Elain nodded. One week after Azriel was gone the golden female had it declared officially. The seer had always respected the Morrigan, though on that evening she had been slightly angry with her – thinking she chose to tell this then when the one that effected it the most wasn’t there. The fact that Elain now found out that she had sought him out a week earlier already – made her feel guilty.  

She hadn’t known that. But she came to realize something. “You had left to get your thoughts sorted out.” Azriel only nodded.  

“These twenty days I had spent away from you made me realize the longing I felt. The longing to be close to your heart.”  

Elain only smiled at him.

 Her tear-stained vision seeing him. Seeing how the reflections of orange and red danced in those soft black hairs of his, every vein in his wings seeable as the fire shone through it. Her eyes, so it seemed, able to see his wildly beating heart when she gave him back the box.  

His form grew stiff as he held the old wood back in his hands, but Elain kept the key.  

The key to his heart.

 And he understood. A blinding smile erupting on his face as he took the box back. Elain’s sheepish voice a mere whisper when she asked him: “Is it selfish of me – to want to be the key to your heart?”  

Azriel didn’t answer that, not with words at least as his lips crashed hers. 

Joy and happiness claiming him, making him act before thinking of the consequences. Though, he thought with a smile, as Elain’s lips pillowed his: I will verry much enjoy these consequences.  

But there were no consequences. All he got was Elain’s unbelievably big heart – that beat in the same thumping rhythm as his as their chests were pressed together. 

Elain’s petite body laying atop of his as her love completely overwhelmed him. The realization of that had her giggling into the kiss, until they broke apart. Heavy breaths fanning over each other's lips as they gaped for air. Elain fully bursting out laughing once she realized what she did.  

Her bell like laugh echoing throughout the house, like a warm breeze of wind in summer as she hugged the shadowsinger – her shadowsinger.  

Those pointed ears – which she had cursed for so long- listening to the song of his heartbeat while his scarred hands – to which she gave so much admiration – drew calming circles on her back as they lay on the couch.  

The fire crackling, the cookies and the wine abandoned and the music box and the key safely put aside on the table. Their souls finally having found the way together as their hearts were finally able to embrace the other fully.  

Their heated lips finding purchase on those on the other one ever so often as they showered in silent kisses on the eyebrow, the forehead, the nose, the cheek, the hands – leaving the skin of each other alight with every wet kiss.  

Trust, love, adoration and so many other emotions weaved into the air between them as they fell asleep at the struck of five – not even the loud gong of the grandfather clock able to pull them apart from their little world.  

Perhaps, they thought, it was good that their family wasn’t home – like that there was no need to be silent.

And neither was.

The house having long brimmed over with love as each of their family members came back. Standing baffled in the foyer as they watched sunshine and shadows dance, or rather chase. A play of tag having erupted between the two, while giggles and chuckles flooded the house.

Only a coughing fit of Cassian was able to make them look at their family. Mor and Amren smirking at what they  was displayed infront of them, while Rhys and Feyre were left speechless. Nesta looked like as if she either wanted to stab Az or puke on the floor at the sweet silliness with which they chased each other.  

All of them having witnessed the shower of kisses in which Elain drowned Azriel  as she got him. Though he did not seem to mind. Her lips still pressed against his cheek as they were caught.  

But before even one of them could speak up – Azriel glared at them all and winnowed away together with his love.  

_____________________________________________________________

I hope you all enjoyed that one. Though I do admit it had hurt a bit to portray Rhys as such an a-hole. 

But I needed someone that was close to Az and could play a meaner rolle and since we all know that both, Cass and Rhys, had troubles to get along with Az at first I chose Rhys, because he could winnnow stuff away. 

Anyway, here is a small hint for tomorrows fic:Something little comes around ;)

Taglist: @heirofthrnightcourt004​

[poetic-emptiness-fanfic]

8th of May (Echoes of the Past 9: First loves)

Characters: Hande Kuura, Salma Kuura, Sargon Hakimi, Helena Kuura (mentioned), Sardar Gul (mentioned), Afsoun Gul (mentioned), Armas Vuorimaa (mentioned), Paavo Kuura (mentioned), Hugo Kuura (mentioned) & Taika Kuura (mentioned)

Content warnings: some profanities, mention of blood & death

Words: ~3 300

@arcana-echoes

[Extracts from Hande's diary – she writes alternately in Karnassian and Hongas; also letters]

17th April 828, Vesuvia

I think I'm going slightly mad... Today amme Afsoun summoned me to the shop after the post was delivered: I received a letter. Since I've only been in Vesuvia for two weeks, I was sure it was from home – not many people know I'm currently here. I don't wish everyone to know each and every move I make, so I appreciate that even Salma has kept her mouth shut. And speaking of the Devil, the letter was from her. Amme didn't want any help with the shop, so I went upstairs immediately, back to ”my” reading haunt (I just love that turquoise armchair...) to read what the Monkey had to say this time. I include the letter below:

15th April 828, Karnassos

My dearest Gorilla,

I hope you’re enjoying your time with Amme in Vesuvia. I’m still a little nettled that I got this stupid flu and couldn’t go with you - I miss Vesuvia’s marketplace and Amme. Don’t worry, I’m still happy for you; you get to see the Flower Festival and learn some awesome magic. You must show me, when you get back home!

Luckily, I no longer have a fever, but my throat is still sore and I feel tired all the time. Baba cheers me up by drawing beautiful pictures of animals and flowers - I’ve hanged the drawings on my wall! Äiti is quite busy with her clothing commissions, but in the evenings she comes to play chess with me. Otherwise I’m reading and daydreaming and listening to that music box - thank you for sending it to me! It has brought me a lot of joy!

By the way, Sargon visited here yesterday. He wanted to see you and was quite disappointed when he heard that you are visiting Amme. I bet my bottom daric he has a crush on you… ;) And don’t claim anything else, I’ve seen earlier, how he looks at you! You’d be a daft for not noticing that! He’ll be one lucky guy if you two started to date. Yeah, yeah, he’s handsome and kind and all… but we both know, which one of you is the awesome one! ;)

I’m not going to tease you anymore, I just want you to be happy, that’s all! But for now, make the most of your trip in Vesuvia! And please, write me as soon as you can.

Your oh, so darling sister,

Salma the Monkey

Yeah, she still mixes Karnassian and Hongas in one letter, but well, I find it fun – at least it'd be quite difficult for an outsider to read it. Good luck with two different alphabets, hah! But holy shit, I still can't believe that last part: Sargon has visited our home to see ME? And he was DISAPPOINTED, because I wasn't there??? Is Salma messing with me? But why would she – she may be even more mischevious than me, but she isn't mean. Oh, now I regret I told her I had fallen for a CHILDHOOD FRIEND... I'm so stupid... But what if Salma's right? What if Sargon has a crush on me? No, it can't be it... He's handsome, kind and rich... He's practically the most wanted boy of our age – many parents even try to arrange their children to get engaged with him. He's only 15, turns 16 in a couple of months... Argh, Salma, why did you make me confused?!

To be entirely honest, I still miss her. I've said it before, but I really am also nettled that she wasn't able to come with me – the carriage trip would've not been so boring if she was there keeping me company. Well, at least I got my books... Oh, speaking of books, I hope my package is delivered in time! Tomorrow is baba's birthday and I found a perfect book for him. I still hope he likes it – it's a little sad to be away during his big day, but oh well... Luckily he turns 41, so it's not anything too special... Ugh, I just can't stop thinking about Sargon, damn him! And damn me, now I hope I never get home, I'm going to be so screwed... Luckily I know a spell for invisibility so I can just avoid everyone if needed. Or I can escape to Hjalle, vaari¹ can keep me safe, heh.

Amme has already fallen asleep. I try to follow suit. Good night!

7th May 828, Karnassos

I'm really going mad! I must be imagining everything and I'll find out that I really am in a mental asylum... So much has happened after I returned back home. Äiti, baba and Salma surprised me on my birthday and brought me breakfast to bed. I also didn't have to attend agha Akhtar's lessons, he even made me a birthday card! I was really surprised he took the time – usually he just brings some sweets (and even that's so kind from him!). But that wasn't all: in the afternoon that day, Sargon came to say hi and he gave me a present! I didn't know he even remembers my birthday – he's a little absent-minded when it comes to birthdays or other important dates. He gave me a drawing set with pencils and a sketchbook with fine paper – it really felt too much... Of course the Monkey teased me THE WHOLE DAY after that so I might have hexed her... Nothing serious! She just couldn't remember where she did put her things for the rest of the day.

Yesterday wasn't any special, but today Sargon visited AGAIN. I'm a little mad at baba that he let him in... I just... Now I feel like äiti and baba also have figured out something and they have this conspiracy with Salma to try to play matchmakers for me... It feels so awkward... And now I really suspect it's just some kind of a sick joke and Sargon is plotting with them... Sargon asked me especially to go out with him – usually we go with Salma together, since they're also friends. I didn't have the courage to say no so I went. It was fun, actually: we were wondering along the bazaar, feeding stray animals and later Sargon took my to their estate to see his horse. She is beautiful, her name is Zeka – the wind. Their stablemaster even let me to ride with her. It was nice, although I was a little nervous, since I haven't ridden that much.

Well, when the sun set, Sargon walked me home (or more like offered a carriage ride – it's so strange how rich his family is, having their own carriages). When we were in front of my doorstep, he even opened the door for me! And when I said him goodbye and was going to open the door, he KISSED ME ON THE CHEEK! And he just left, without saying anything more!!! I just ran straight to my room and to my embarrassment I need to admit I screamed on one of my pillows so Salma or my parents woldn't hear me. I just can't believe it really happened... I love his smile and the way he fiddles his fingers when he's concentrated and... He can't feel the same for me, he just can't! I'm not that special (I can do magic, but that's about it)... Everyone says how Salma is the beautiful one, although she'll just turn 13 in a few days... I'm just a weirdo who happened to inherit the ”exotic” look from my äiti...

I don't think I'll get much sleep next night. Maybe I try to read or probably brew some calming potion, if I can concentrate enough... My life is a mess...

8th May 828, Karnassos

I can't believe it. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!! Me and Sargon... We are a couple now!!! I feel like I'm in a wonderful dream and at any moment I might wake up. Today, when I was at the marketplace to buy new yarns and check if our bookseller had any new additions to their collection, I met Sargon again. My hands started sweating immediately and his face just lit up and he smiled so widely after he noticed me. I thought I must overreact and that's just how a friend would react... Well, he asked me to come to their place, he was trying to find a way to catch the cool air and push the warm air out and it could be used at homes. It was really fascinating, seeing his drawings and miniatures – he understands the physics way better than I do, but I could help him with chemistry. I'm sure he's going to be an engineer when he grows up!

But yeah, he always kept touching me a little: holding my hand, putting his hand on my back, even stroking my cheek. I thought I would explode! But still, I kept on thinking that I'm just imagining and overanalyzing and that was nothing... We talked and laughed and well, I even met the mayor (he's Sargon's uncle). I was so nervous, I've never met him like this before, only Sargon's parents. He told me he had heard about me and my sister, because Sargon has talked about us a lot during these years. The mayor of Karnassos KNEW ABOUT MY EXISTENCE??? Holy shit... But back to the matter at hand (I just can't help my mind, it keeps racing...): I spent the whole day at Hakimis, I even ate dinner with them.

Then Sargon again suggested that he'd escort me on my way home. Unlike usual, our carriage trip was spent in silence. It made me a little uneasy – I feared that I had disappointed Sargon somehow and that he was mad at me... Later, about halfway through the trip he suddenly took my hand in his. Then he just said my name and then he KISSED ME. Not on the cheek, but on the LIPS!!! I thought like I was struck by a lightning and luckily I was sitting, for I'm sure my legs would've given out if I was standing... After that we just kept staring each other, until I finally mustered my courage and whispered the words I had wanted to say for a long time: ”I love you.” He answered that he loves me too... The rest of the trip he came to sit next to me and we just hugged each other. I wished that the trip would never end, but eventually it did... Sargon opened the door for me again, but before I could get home, he kissed my hand. I also felt his stare in my back, until I turned around and waved him goodbye. But well, when I finally had floated to my room, I looked out the window and he was still there! He wanted to see I got there safely – what a moron, I was at my home already. xD But yes, I still found it cute.

He loves me. He really loves me...

22nd December 828, Karnassos

My dearest Ray of light,

Words can't describe, how much I miss you right now. Still, I'm happy you get the chance to spend some time with your family from your mother's side. I actually wish we'd also celebrate Midwinter Feast, it sounds so nice. Maybe I should ask mum if we could do that too next year...

Things here are the same: baba is always working and mama tries to entertain herself with dinner parties and theatre visits. I'm working on my studies and that ”ventilation system”. I hope I get it ready soon, it would be wonderful to try to test it! How's your short story doing? I really loved the previous one, it made me laugh so much! Do you let me read your next one when you get back home?

By the way, how's your family doing? I hope they are fine and your celebrations are going like planned. Is Salma still up to mischief? Well, I can imagine you'd be her partner of crime so Hjalleans and Forestian should keep their guard up! And let's pretend I'm not interested in your antics, but please, if you make any good jokes during your stay there, you must tell me when you get back!

I'm sorry that I'm not that good at words... You're so talented with them that I get nervous when I need to answer your letters. I can't do them justice and it makes me a little sad. I still keep trying for you, I really want to make you happy by writing back to you. You have made me so happy during these months and I really miss your voice and laughter and clever remarks.

Have a great Midwinter Feast! I send you lots of hugs and kisses! Remember, that I love you more than anything!

Forever yours,

Sargon

28th December 828, Hjalle

My lovely King²,

Thank you for your last letter! You don't need to worry about your writing – your letters always bring me great joy and I'll cherish them forever! I also miss you greatly, although I'm enjoying my time in Hjalle. It's been snowing for the last few days and the view when I look out of the window is spectacular! I made a drawing about it in my sketchbook – I hope I managed to capture the atmosphere...

My family is doing fine, thank you for asking! Baba and äiti enjoy the chance to relax, and vaari as well as Paavo-eno entertain me and Salma with playing funny games and of course we've played with our cousins, too. Erkki is 12 and Marjatta is 11, but they still are fun to be with and it's also nice to see our other uncles and aunt and their children. It's a little crowded here since the whole family is here, but in a good way.

Well, my short story is still a work in progress, but I guess I can show you some parts of it when we get back to Karnassos. And hah, I won't admit anything about making mischief! How could you even think of that of us, we are just little angles (heh)? I'm also very happy for you, I'm sure you'll get your invention ready soon!

I'm sorry about your baba. It must get lonely for you and your mama if he's not home very often... I wish I could do something to help for your situation... What if I make a potion for him that makes him stay at home and you slip it into his drink or something? Well, I don't think that's really very ethical thing to do... Maybe your mama should try to talk with him? And you, as well. I know it can be hard, but maybe he'll take more time for you if he learns that both of you feel lonely...

Although I've enjoyed my time in Hjalle, I really miss you, too. To be honest, I still get a little confused sometimes, about the fact that you're really with me. It's just like from a fairytale! Well, without the wicked witch part (there are just a few magicians, and they're harmless). But yeah, I really miss your cute eyes, babbling about your inventions and our trips together... Just remember, that we come back in two weeks, so it isn't that long time anymore (although for me, it feels like eternity).

I need to stop now, Taika asked me to join the dinner. Take care, lots of hugs and kisses! I love you very much!

Forever yours,

Hande

20th June 829, Karnassos

My love,

I hope the courier delivers this to you soon. I want to warn you: stay away from the Count of Vesuvia. He's dangerous. I won't say anymore until we meet face to face, but you will hear soon, that my uncle has died. That bastard killed him, because my uncle dared to complain that he stole our city's food storages. He's going to claim that my uncle was a demon, and that's why he killed him, but I don't believe it! Well, I guess you'd have known if he was a demon for real, since you're a magician...

But please, my mama is hysterical and baba is worried as well. They fear that the Count's army is going to occupy Karnassos because of this. We don't know how the Shah reacts to this... If the Count or his soldiers are in your neighbourhood, don't go near them. I don't want to lose you, too... We're staying at home just in case, so the Count can't think we're planning an uprising...

Please, stay safe, all of you! I love you!

Forever yours,

Sargon

27th June 829, Karnassos

Salma is dead... My little sister is dead... I don't want to talk about it...

15th November 829, Karnassos

It's over. My and Sargon's story I mean. I can't believe how he can be so cruel and heartless!!! I met him today at the park. He wanted to make out, but I didn't feel like it and he started to sulk like a little brat... How can I just ignore that we were meeting at the place where me and Salma used to play together for all these years? I didn't sleep well last night, I saw nightmares again... I must've screamed, because baba came into my room and woke me up. He stayed with me until I fell asleep... But yeah, I wanted to talk about my nightmares with Sargon, but he wouldn't listen. He just told me to think of something else. Something else??? He didn't see my sister crushed under the hooves of those BEASTS and he didn't have my sister's blood on his hands AGAIN!!! IT HAUNTS ME EVERY DAY AND I GET SICK!!!

I tried to ignore it and then suggested if we walk a little. I held his hand which seemed to make him a little happier. We just walked and neither of us talked for a long time, but then Sargon opened his stupid mouth, ”Look, Hande... My love... It's been four months since Salma died. You can't be sad all the time, it's giving me the creeps. Could you give me even  a little smile?” I was shocked. How dared he?! MY SISTER HAS DIED, IT WAS THAT DICKHEAD'S FAULT, ÄITI AND BABA ARE CRYING ALL THE TIME AND I HAVE NIGHTMARES AND GET ANXIETY ATTACKS EVERY FUCKING DAY, AND I SHOULD SMILE A LITTLE BECAUSE HE'S GETTING THE CREEPS??? I yanked my hand away and just stared at him. Then something snapped in my head and I started to shout at him, everything I've been keeping in my chest for all these months. I also called him a spoiled brat who doesn't know anything about real life. I don't regret saying that, he was asking for it...

Sargon got alarmed and tried to calm me down, but I didn't want him to touch me. I told him I was not his plaything and that since he couldn't even respect my grief, he didn't earn my smile. I dumped him and told him to stay away from me or I would curse him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he looked at my face and left with tail between his legs. I just ran home and started crying when I finally got here... Shit, I'm still crying... He betrayed me... I love Sargon and he betrayed me too... I thought that he would stay by my side... Well, I guess he's just like those others, who just ditched me because I didn't play their clown anymore!!! Fucking traitors... At least Azita is still my friend... If she left me, I couldn't take it anymore...

I feel like shit... I hate myself, because I wasn't good enough for anyone... Not for Salma, not for my so-called ”friends” and now, not for Sargon... Love is just a trap to make you suffer! I was stupid to give my heart to that slimy snob... Well, like agha Akhtar, amme and Hugo have always said, I ALWAYS learn from my mistakes. I will NEVER give my heart to anyone again, mark my words!!!

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ grandpa in Hongas

² the name Sargon means ”king” in Karnassian, the inside joke between Hande and Sargon

My AO3

[lovelylogans]

the little things

oh i love the little things you say and i love the little things you do let's stay forever together this way my love, i'm so in love with you

—matt monro, "i love the little things"

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: sick mentions, food mentions, that’s about it this one’s pretty fluffy (but please let me know if i’ve missed anything!)

pairings: moxiety

words: 2,913

notes: hey, everyone. the world's kind of a Lot right now, and i figured people would probably need some fluff. i'm working on (a couple) longer pieces in this verse, including a few fluffy ones in the midst of the slightly more plot-heavy ones i was originally planning to put out next. this one was a little informal one that i could get out relatively quickly. stay safe, stay healthy (mentally and physically) and i hope that this helps brighten your day, even just a little.

virgil always gets so fussy whenever patton's sick.

even if patton's just sniffling because of allergies, for goodness' sake, virgil will ask if he's taken his allergy medicine and then, he's found it if he forgets it at home, he stashes some extra in the diner just for him, just so patton won't be sneezy when he goes off to work.

but if patton, god forbid, catches as much as a cold, then it means he's in for the mother-henning of a century. 

virgil clucks after him, asking about his symptoms, is he too warm or too cold, patton knows they could probably manage without him at the inn for the day if he needs to take a day to rest, he should take a day to rest, let virgil feel his forehead just to triple-check that he doesn't have a fever, ooh he feels a little warm maybe he should make a doctor's appointment, just to be sure that it isn't anything worse than a cold, and he could get some antibiotics if it's the flu—

even as patton groans and complains about virgil being a fusspot, really, he'll be fine, he, well. he always feels a little warm in the chest that has nothing to do with his cold or the flu.

it's just nice to be taken care of, sometimes.

⁂

patton has this really deep appreciation for food. 

he leans in and inhales the scent of his hot cocoa/coffee, even if he's acting like a sleep-deprived zombie otherwise. he makes happy humming noises whenever he tries the first bite of something. there's always this bright smile on his face whenever he tries something that virgil makes for him, especially for him, that doesn't seem to go away even if he's got his mouth closed and he's chewing. he almost always scrapes the plate with his fork, to make sure he's gotten every last morsel.

patton loves food. anyone can tell that patton loves food.

he'll never admit it, but virgil always gets this fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever he sees how much patton loves his food.

⁂

most of the time, virgil's a pretty clean-shaven fella. but sometimes, virgil lets the stubble grow out.

when he's anxious or overworked or busy, sometimes, it means that he doesn't want to spend time shaving and so just gets all five o'clock shadowy. but sometimes, it's just that he doesn't want to shave, when he's feeling a bit lazy or running late. sometimes in the winter, he lets it grow out, just because it's cold, and he tells patton that he can fool himself into believing that it's helping his face feel warmer; plus, it's what his dad does, a lot of the time, so he grew up seeing him do that and then just starting doing it himself.

when he's particularly stubbly, virgil ends up running his hand across his jaw or his cheek a lot more often than he would if he was clean-shaven. patton thinks it's about the texture, but he's never really asked. 

it looks kind of unfairly good on him? actually, no question mark, no kind of. it looks unfairly good on him.

it helps add to the whole "grr-gruff-diner-guy" thing he's got going on, with his flannels, and it just makes him look a little... rougher around the edges. 

turns out patton likes rougher around the edges.

⁂

patton always means it when he says please or you're welcome or thank you. especially thank you.

a lot of people just keep to manners because it's polite, not because they particularly mean it. and it's not like that's a bad thing—virgil is the same way, most of the time, because it's absent-minded. it's habit. he does mean it some of the time, most of the time, even, just...

it's not like the way patton is.

you can tell whenever he says "oh, excuse me!" to a person that it's real. you can tell he really, actually means it when he tells people that if they need anything, to give him a call or a text to let him know and he'll help any way he can, it's not just a nice gesture. when he thanks people, he... he means it. he really wants them to know that he's grateful, because he is grateful.

patton's genuine like that. patton's thoughtlessly good like that.

⁂

people probably wouldn't predict it at the sight of him—tall, dark-haired, scowly, sometimes-stubbly—but virgil is really great with kids.

kids of all ages, really, from babies to teenagers about to head off to college. patton wonders sometimes, how much of that is borne from practice with logan, which is a whole other huge part of why patton loves him, so he's going to get back on track here. (honestly, it probably has a lot to do with logan, and a lot to do with virgil's various nieces and nephews and cousins.)

virgil always gets this smile on his face when someone offers to hold a baby, and he holds them so carefully, always moving to support their head first and making sure that they're as secure as possible and that he's holding them textbook-perfect, surveying them to make sure they don't make any expressions of discomfort or if they start crying before he moves to start carefully rocking them, or bouncing them, this disbelieving, self-satisfied grin breaking over his face if he manages to make a baby laugh.

with toddlers, and with little kids, if he's capable of doing it, he'll always crouch down to their level, so they can look him in the eyes (or look down at him, depending on how tall the kid is) and listens to everything they have to say, asking questions that they'll be able to answer, even if he knows the answer. 

he's got a stash of kid-friendly band-aids, just in case a kid skins their knee in the town square outside before they come into the diner, and kid menus that they can color over or just plain coloring sheets if they're sick of the diner menus, and those cheap waxy four-packs of crayons. 

he's pretty decent with teenagers, too, or as good as anyone could be with a teenager—that part is probably born from him being a sulky teenager himself. he seems to know when to let kids rant, or when to let them be, or if they'll participate with gentle teasing, either of themselves or at himself.

virgil's just... really great with kids. so patton can't really help it, the way he stares at virgil with this silly smile on his face as virgil makes an overdramatically surprised face to the latest fun fact that one of his regulars' kids is telling him.

⁂

patton would tell you that he is not a great knitter, in good humor, all sheepish grin and ducked head and hand rubbing across the back of his neck.

well, not as terrible as he used to be; virgil still has the purple yarn that is still a bit tangled together that was once his first-ever homemade gift from patton, for his twenty-third birthday. at least the stuff he makes now is relatively decent at holding its shape, as long as it isn't anything too complicated. he has scarves and baby booties and hats and bags down.

but when he does try to make things that are complicated? he's absolutely hopeless. sweaters turn out lopsided. stockinette stitching is the closest virgil's ever heard to him cussing something out. socks? not a chance. 

but patton seems to survey them and then, always, always, he tries again, needles clacking away as he stares at the project in concentration, brow furrowing, his curls flopping into his eyes as he hunches himself over it. and then if it turns out slightly better, he'll get all excited, showing virgil the latest project even with its missed stitches and loops and endings, and if it doesn't turn out great, he'll sigh, and maybe get a little frustrated, but he'll unloop it and move to reuse the yarn for his next project.

he's that way about everything, really. if he doesn't succeed, he'll try, try again. 

it's just that with the knitting, virgil gets to see patton with a blanket thrown over his lap, a ball of yarn to the side, and him all focused, biting his lip and counting under his breath, even though he'll inevitably get distracted by something. it's cute. it's a cute hobby.

it fits him, since he's such a cute guy.

⁂

there's this thing virgil does when he's been on his feet for a long time, which is basically every day, since he works in a diner.

stretch his arms up over his head, then down his back. turn his head from side to side, then stretch his neck. plant his hands on his hips, leaning far to one side, then the other. stand on one leg and let the other bend at the knee, his foot close to touching his butt, then the other. if the diner isn't busy, he'll even bend to touch his toes and stretch to touch the sky.

the thing is, he almost never does his little stretching routine if he thinks anyone is watching. he'll go all red and mutter and disappear into the kitchen if anyone catches him at it. so patton always has to watch out of the corner of his eyes as virgil lets out this sigh when a stretch is particularly satisfying, or if some bone of his pops, as he does his little mini-calisthenics session.

only virgil, really, would keep that kind of practical thing secret in fears of seeming silly.

⁂

patton cries when he watches movies. not even just the sad scenes; the happy endings for some movies, too. when he watched homeward bound during a movie night with virgil and logan, when logan was about five, he was practically sobbing when shadow ran back into frame, leaving logan to confusedly pat his dad on the arm as he said "this movie is ill-o-gi-cal, daddy, you know that, right, animals don't talk," and virgil to offer his shoulder for patton to basically wipe his face off on it. well, he'd offered a hug, really, but patton had done that and also wiped his face off on virgil's hoodie.

so now virgil makes sure that there are tissues in his hoodie pocket, if they're watching a movie in theaters, or in the living room, if they're watching something at home.

⁂

virgil squints, near-suspicious, at measuring cups every time he's measuring out ingredients, to make sure that he really really has it right, even if he's been making the same food every day since he was allowed near a stove. like an i'm watching you kind of look.

⁂

patton's curls practically have their own moods. in comparison with virgil's hair, which have the three states of "unruly," "combed," and "actually styled," it feels like patton's hair has a thousand separate categories.

there's "generally unruly," which is patton's usual day-to-day look; he's clearly at least finger-combed through his hair, but it's still at least a little bit messy.

there's "i have styled my hair," which usually happens when he either has to go to his parents' house for friday night dinner or some other event in that world (chilton, charity dinners, the like) where he's made an attempt with gel, which has the bright side of taming the frizz but the dark side of taking away a lot of the lovable chaos that is patton's curls.

there's "bedhead," which is just one side of his hair flattened to his head, the rest of it frizzy and generally discombobulated.

there's a stage behind "generally unruly" and "bedhead," which virgil hasn't named, but it's when patton ruffles a hand through his hair to look at least a little bit more presentable, but really only succeeds in un-flattening his hair and making it look equally as frizzy and discombobulated as the rest of his hair. it usually makes an appearance on lazy days and in the early morning.

there's "i made an attempt with a comb or product," which usually happens on days where patton had meetings or had to go to the bank or something equally important, where the curls at least seem like they've been put into some kind of order, for the most part, with a few rebellious ones ruining the general effect.

there's "chaotically unruly," on days when patton has given up on organizing his hair for whatever reason, which meant his curls were just amok and nutty and tended to serve as a shortcut to see how frazzled patton was.

patton's curls get glimpses of reddish-auburn when he spends a lot of time in the sun in the springs or summers. it's really only easily visible when his hair catches the light. it fades away as the weather cools and the days grow longer, and virgil's almost surprised by their reappearance every year.

patton's curls grow out quick, and he isn't always the best at making sure to go get it cut, but patton looks good with his hair longer or shorter or any which way. the curls are good. the curls are great.

⁂

virgil is funny.

like, really funny. which most people wouldn't expect, because, again, he's so broody sometimes, but he is! 

he has these sly remarks that are muttered out of the corner of his mouth, usually about someone in town, which is usually about taylor, that makes patton stifle his giggles into his hand so he doesn't disrupt town meetings.

then there's his outright sarcasm, which can be in turn gentle teasing or biting commentary, which are usually more public but patton still wants to muffle his laughter by his hands, because virgil usually looked all fittingly derisive whenever he was sarcastic, and if he heard patton laughing then he'd probably crack a smile.

he even puns. he even puns specifically for patton. even if puns, a lot of the time, if it was anyone but patton telling them, makes him roll his eyes and groan. just because patton likes dumb dad jokes.

⁂

patton's an absolute gentleman.

he offers his arm for virgil to take when they're walking somewhere, almost always, either in the form of his forearm or in the form of holding hands. 

he opens doors for virgil. he pulls out chairs and helps virgil sit.

he walks between virgil and the curb, which he'd asked about just kind of mildly, since he'd never made a point of doing it back when they were just friends, and patton had rambled out some kind of explanation born the old days, like mud would splash onto him from some passing carriage or something.

he has meticulous table manners, whenever they go out to a restaurant that isn't his restaurant.

he almost always tries to pay for the check on dates, until virgil had talked him into taking turns with it, because it was getting a bit ridiculous.

if virgil's been particularly joking about patton's rich-person background, he'll start going even more overboard with it, standing when virgil enters a room and not sitting until virgil sits, taking virgil's hand and kissing his knuckles and everything. he does all of it with a teasing glint in his eyes, of course, but there's something particularly sincere and sweet in his eyes too that it makes virgil blush.

and, of course, since patton is a gentleman, he doesn't even comment on it. he just leans up to kiss virgil's cheek.

it's probably a holdover from his various etiquette lessons and the way he grew up, but virgil finds it charming regardless, tries to copy it when he can because it makes him feel nice and special when they're out on dates, so he figures it'll make patton feel nice and special when they're out on dates. even if virgil's pretty clumsy with it, patton always appreciates the gesture.

⁂

virgil has these really teeny-tiny freckles. they're basically unnoticeable unless patton's practically nose-to-nose with them. it had surprised patton, at first; virgil's so pale, he has such a creamy complexion that it seems like he shouldn't have freckles, but there they are. tiny, just-slightly-darker spots dotting his forearms, his shoulders, his cheeks. virgil had seemed surprised that patton had noticed them, then, off-handedly, mentioned that they were probably leftovers from sunburn over the years. he was pretty prone to that, being so pale.

but since patton had found them, he found himself seeking them out more and more often; there, on his shoulder blade, and here, on his knee. they're so small. like little markings on a treasure map, the treasure they led to being, of course, virgil himself.

⁂

there are lots of little things that they love about each other. things that may seem small, or near-unnoticeable, or things that are just little habits or actions or movements that seem like they shouldn't serve to make them feel as fond as they do.

but they do see it. and they do love those things, big or little. and there are plenty of big things: the way patton really, whole-heartedly loves roman like he's his own, the way virgil really, whole-heartedly loves logan like he's his own, patton's kindness and strength, virgil's heart of gold and deep-seated care for others. 

but the little things matter too.

they're finding a lot of new things to fall in love with, day after day.

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 48

Waiting at The Kingdom was made worse by my little quirk of feeling when people I love are in danger. The chilly fingers of fear, death, and danger crawled up my spine. Finding me unwilling to act on that warning, they danced across my skin. Still not getting me to move forward, to rush to save and protect, it felt like they were closing around my throat. Choking off my air. Holding me hostage for my impotence.

Who? I wanted to scream. Who, of the people I loved so much, was in danger? Who do I rush to? Which person was in MORE danger? Which person could I save? They were all in danger. Every single person I loved and cared for was at the mercy of fate. A fate that they’d pushed toward. A fate that would be marred by death and blood. So, I tried to reason with the warning that was screaming through my body, WHO do I pick? Where do I rush to?

It seemed like days passed, but the truth is that it was mere hours when the news spread. I was at the laundry. I had hoped that work, menial mind numbing work would keep the fear and warning of my body at bay. It didn’t, but had moments that it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. When the call went up that the King had returned, I followed the others to see what news came with him.

He didn’t have to speak, and he wouldn’t. I could see, on his face, Carol’s, and the man who acted as his guard Jerry’s face that it wasn’t a success. Regardless of what had happened out there, these three were all that survived. And, since I couldn’t see the orange and black of the tiger peeking out, clearly the impressive cat was a casualty as well. My eyes met Carol’s and I nodded, walking away, back to her house.

Carol joined me not long after. She told me what she’d seen, what had gone wrong, how they’d been cut down by the Saviors. She told me that Ezekiel was taking the loss far harder than she’d expected. I listened, drinking in the news, but learning that she couldn’t alay any of my fears about the people I loved enough to have my skin crawling with the cold warning of the danger to their lives.

She leaves me, urging me to get some rest, and I know that she’s going back to the theater to try to talk to Ezekiel. There’s something there, between the two of them that I almost recognize. Something between what I had with Daryl and what I nearly experienced with Negan. I take her advice, laying down on the sofa to try to rest.

I wake up to shaking and I know it’s happened again. That I started screaming, that in the safety of my dreams I had allowed all the fear and uncertainty to unleash and overcome my constraints. Opening my eyes to Carol’s worried face, her hands brushing my loose hair away from my sweaty face. I’m gulping for air and I can tell that my face is awash with tears, I feel the dampness cooling.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, sitting up and looking around. It’s dark. I haven’t a clue whether she just got home or if I woke her. “I’m sorry-” She hushed me. “I have them, too.” She offers, letting me sit up and taking the seat that becomes available as my body rises. “We all do, I think.” Carol’s voice is still quiet, and I wonder if I simply scream, or if I scream their names?

“I didn’t.” I answer, swiping at my face with the blanket I’d been covered with. “I didn’t have them at all, not one.” I was thinking about the darkness and nowhere phase of my life. “It was blank and peaceful and I never wanted to wake up from it.” I could hear the yearning in my own voice. “I still don’t want to wake up.” I finally admitted it out loud. That I didn’t want to live anymore. And I couldn’t and wouldn’t take it back.

“Jessi,” Carol murmured, pulling me to lean against her, like a mother and her child. “What would your death help? If you weren’t alive, then it would be such a waste.” I felt my heart clench painfully at how close she sounded to what Negan had tried to convince me of. “I know it’s painful, I do, but you can’t give up.”

I let her comfort me and let the words finally flow free. “I’m tired of bearing witness, Carol. I don’t understand why-” I stopped and closed my eyes thinking of all the horrors we’ve seen together and separately. “I should have stood up to Dad and told him to go find you when he exiled you.” I felt her shake her head. “I’ve seen all of it. I’ve watched everyone change. Why was what you did to protect our people worse than what anyone else has done?” My fingers were fidgeting with the blanket. “I’m not strong enough for this world, Carol. I’m tired. I’m weak. And I wish I could do it-”

“No,” she pulled back so she could force my face up to look at her. “Don’t you ever even think about that. Not anymore. Do you hear me?” I looked away. “Jessica Grimes, killing yourself, removing yourself from this screwed up world isn’t going to make it better for the people you love. Any of them.” And I knew she included Negan in that group.

We sat for a while together, my head on her shoulder, and hand holding mine. The silence stretching, but not awkward, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

Eventually we tried to sleep again, Carol going to her bed, me settling back on the couch. I didn’t let my body win the fight to chase after sleep. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk ruining Carol’s chance for rest after her more difficult day.

The sun rose and so did I. I was standing on the porch when Carol joined me. Staring out at the grass swaying ever so gently, I heard her step beside me. I was expecting her to ask. I had a feeling that she knew I’d agree. And so, after a bite of fruit and some water, I was off.

I walked with purpose to the theater. I smiled at the guards, and realized that they were expecting me. Carol, I thought with a shake of my head, knew me far better than I considered. I approached the doors that kept Ezekiel closeted away from his people and knocked gently. No answer came, but I hadn’t expected one. I pushed the door open, and slipped inside. He looked incredibly broken. Sitting on his throne, holding Shiva’s chain in one hand, but staring at nothing, I wasn’t sure he’d even heard my knock, much less noticed my entrance.

“Jessica,” his voice wasn’t as powerful. It was still gentle, but it was filled with such pain that I could feel it push past the chill that was still trying to get me to pay attention to its warning.

“Ezekiel.” I offered, moving forward and sitting down in a seat in the front row. Carol had told me he was having issues with his title, so I wouldn’t use it. “I’m sorry about Shiva.” His eyes meet mine and I can see the pain I heard in his voice pooled there. “It’s terrible when you lose your hope, isn’t it?” I ask, leaning back into the theater seat to get more comfortable.

He grunts and stares at Shiva’s chain still clutched in his hand. “I’ve lost far more than hope, Jessica.” I nod, even though his eyes are no longer on me.

“It’s Jessi.” I correct, and smile when he looks back up at me. “Have you ever heard of Pandora’s box, Ezekiel?” He nods. “Well, I’ve always hated that they call it a ‘box’. It was a pithos, but one wrong translation later-” I stop, realizing I was lecturing and enjoying it. “Anyway, you know the tale, the myth. I always think of it as a precursor for Eve’s fall. Us women and our NEED for knowledge.” My smile is far more genuine than it has been in a very long time. “Do you remember what was left when she opened it, Ezekiel?”

“Hope.” He answered, and I noticed he seemed captivated by the change in me. “Hope was all that remained.”

I nodded. “Pandora, like Eve, was created by the king of the gods. In Christianity of course, God created Eve from dust and Adam’s rib, but Zeus created Pandora from clay. Clay very like the pithos that she opened.” I was watching him drink in my tale. “She was curious, I like to think, because she was still learning what was inside of HER, so she was drawn to this other clay container. Perhaps she opened it to see if it held what she held.” My eyes stayed on his. “And it did. All the darkness, all the pain and anger. All the rage and evils of the world. Because Pandora, like all women and men, wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t infallible. She wasn’t someone who never made mistakes or never regretted her decisions. Hope, I like to think, was left behind because that is the VERY last thing that a human has to lose.” I was watching him, taking in the fact that he had begun to relax into his throne at the yarn I was spinning. “If we lose hope, and I once thought I had NONE left too, then we’re not human anymore, Ezekiel.” I sighed, touching the arms of my seat. “And if we’re not human any longer, then what do we have to fight for?” Ezekiel seemed to come back to himself. Pain and grief were still there, they always would be, for all of us. He needed time. He wouldn’t be ready for whatever battle came next, but he would be prepared to live. And that meant that my job here was done.

Carol left again. And others. Off to wage more war. And I stayed behind. This time I wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t doing laundry. Instead I sat with Ezekiel and together we waited to see what would come next.

[antihero-writings]

The Empty Throne (Ch1)

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood & Manga)

Fic Summary: It's been a long time since that word died on Ed's lips...but relationships may be the only thing that can come back from the dead. || Exploring Ed and Hohenheim's relationship using the songs "Stumbling in Your Footsteps", "The Alchemist", and "Youth" as prompts.

Character focus: Edward Elric

Notes: This chapter explores Ed's view of his father more early on in the series, using the song “Stumbling in Your Footsteps” by Get Scared as a prompt.

Also, this chapter expands upon Chapter 42/Episode 20 "Father Before the Grave," and includes some lines only from the manga. (I actually highly recommend reading it, because Ed and Hohenheim talk more in it than they do in the anime). 

As always, I would absolutely love to write more about this fandom, so feel free to give me FMAB prompts!! You can drop them in my ask box!!

Chapter 1: Living Ghosts

The study door was ajar. Little Ed ran past it without a thought…but as he passed, something in the corner of his eye flickered, and he stopped.

Something. A fleeting shadow, like hope. And his heart staggered.

He backtracked to the door, something in his chest bubbling, a word fluttering to his lips:

“Dad?”

But it dissipated like smoke; there was nothing but an empty chair, and a few flies buzzing in the empty air. Disappointment tugged at his blushing face, before anger took hold, twisted in his chest, and he marched off.

That was stupid of him. How could he possibly think that man was back? It had been weeks now.

“Ed?” His mother popped her head around the corner. “Did you say something?”

“No, nothing. I just…thought I saw something,” he mumbled as he marched up to her.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this ghost.

Each time the front door creaked open; each time he saw a shadow across the lawn; each time something woke him in the night, or early in the morning, that word would rise in his chest and ripple onto his lips, and all too often he couldn’t help letting it escape.

And each time Winry came in the door, or a stray dog walked by the porch light, or he found it was just Al coming back from the bathroom… the word would flicker and die.

The hope that planted that word there slowly unwound, a ball of yarn at the center of his chest getting smaller and smaller; a plant withering and dying.

The house was full of ghosts such as these.

Over time that thing in his chest that jumped and hammed at each passing noise, and plummeted into his stomach when there was nothing there, became tamer, less excitable. But it didn’t just die… it changed.

In the fall it became something…instead of bright and warm, bubbling inside him, it was sharp, and burning; a painful heaviness sitting in the center of his chest.

After all, Icarus felt the warmth of the sun before he sank into the cold waters of despair.

And that word, so eager to flutter to his lips, he trapped in a jar.

******

Trisha felt a tug on her dress as she walked through the garden. She turned to see her son’s golden eyes shimmering up at her.

“Oh, hello Ed!” She turned to him, holding the basket at her side. “What’s going on?”

“Are you picking tomatoes?” he asked like his mind was on other things.

“Yes, I was going to make soup for us! You always loved this soup! Right?”

He scratched his head, frowning, then muttered softly;

“When’s dad coming back?”

The abruptness of this question seemed to hit Trisha.

This wasn’t the first time he’d asked this, nor the second, nor the third. Still, each time it hurt her a little more. She understood his reasons…but she knew Ed didn’t. And she’d promised Hohenheim she wouldn’t tell them…not that they could really understand at this age anyways.

She’d wait for him. But she hoped he’d come back soon, for their sons’ sakes.

Her lips curved into a smile all the same—somehow—as she knelt down in front of him.

“Oh honey.” She set the basket down, and put her hands together. “He’ll be back before you know it!”

She smiled, yes…but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s been months now.” Ed muttered.

“I know.” She petted his head. “I know its hard. You just gotta be patient Ed. I promise if you just keep waiting a little longer—”

“Yeah but…how long?”

“I don’t know honey.” The sadness tugged at her words; the sadness she was desperately trying to keep at bay. “But I know he’ll come back.”

He paused, looking at the ground, his expression twisting, like he didn’t want to speak the words festering behind his lips.

“What is it?” She asked gently.

“Why did he leave?” His voice was soft. “Were…Were we… not good enough for him?”

“Oh honey.” She put her hand on his cheek. “Have you been carrying that around this whole time? Of course not.” She pulled him into a hug. “You’re perfect. And your dad knew that. You were the world to him. He just...had something he needed to do.”

“What went wrong?” he mumbled into her shirt. “Was it something I said?”

“No, of course not!” She held him tighter. “Nothing went wrong at all!”

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to hold these words like precious jewels.

Once, he could have. Once these words had given Ed hope, made him look forward to tomorrow, be willing to wait. But she’d said them enough by now they were nothing but that; empty, flowery words.

If they were truly the world to that man, why would he leave his world behind? He’d had it all.

They were meant to be a kingdom, a fortress against any obstacle. But the king had got up and left his throne.

Adults always throw around such words when they don’t want to tell kids a painful truth, thinking they’re ignorant. Ed thought that was crueler than simply speaking said truth. Because the more they repeated those things…the more the truth behind them bled through the cracks in their smiles.

The truth that Ed could see behind her smile, the truth that made him begin to cry into her shirt today was that he knew he was never coming back.

******

Ed’s footsteps were rough against the floorboards as he walked into Pinako’s house.

Usually he would give her a pleasant hello, but his irritation was rather boundless at the moment;

“Hey I’m here. Sorry it took so long. Also a stray mutt decided to follow me home.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Hohenheim froze, peering at him over his glasses.

“Edward! You had your brother and I worried sick!” She smacked him with a dish towel. “Next time call us!”

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his head. “I got dragged off on an…unexpected detour.”

She pursed her lips. “Some top secret military mission no doubt.”

Before he could respond, her eyes landed on Hohenheim and her expression fell. She glanced between them, and her voice was gentler as she spoke;

“I see you found your father.”

“The bastard decided to materialize is more like it.” Ed put his hands on his hips

“I wanted to warn you he was here…But you didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

“You need warning before seeing me?” Hohenheim looked strangely sad at this.

“Yeah,” Ed threw over his shoulder, “a big blinking sign would have been nice.”

“Well.” Ed didn’t wait for a response before he changed the subject. “I have sand in…places, so I’m going to go take a shower, if that’s alright with you freaks.”

They didn’t have a chance to reply before he rounded the corner.

The floorboards creaked as he marched down the hall, and into the bathroom, shutting the door a little louder than necessary.

He groaned, kicking the empty trash can—(it went flying across the room, since he used his automail leg)—before pausing and leaning his head back against the door.

Closing his eyes, he let out a long sigh. Had he been holding his breath ever since he saw that man?

He hadn’t been lying about the sand…but more than anything he just needed some space to breathe.

The news about Maria Ross, what the Ishvalans said in the Xerxes ruins, the Rockbells…and now Hohenheim showed up? After ten years he picked now? Not when they were in Liore, or Central, or even when Al was there too, nooooo. It just had to be in the three seconds he alone was here.

Three seconds…A day.

…Ten years.

Was the difference negligible to Hohenheim?

That was the only explanation he could think of for why he might react the way he did today. Were all adults like that? He hoped he wouldn’t be when he grew up. Did they not realize how the years felt to a kid? Maybe ten years wasn’t much to an adult like him.

But to someone still growing up? Ten years may as well be a century. Childhood is the only time the years feel long; just a few hours to play is weeks in some fantasy world. Those moments get shorter as each year goes by, like a speeding train, and suddenly you start to see how many seconds you’ve wasted. Kids don’t have that concept. Ed was just starting to understand it himself.

None of them could ever get those years back. They couldn’t patch the memories up with the other sewn back into the gaps. Those years when they might have played together, ate together, practiced alchemy together…just been together. All that might have been was snuffed out when the door shut.

And today, now he walked back in like he left yesterday.

Who did he think he was?

Ed opened his eyes.

What was he doing again? Towels. Yes. He should probably get those.

After cleaning up the spilled trash, and putting the can back, he walked over to the cupboard above the toilet to pull one down—(…the rest fell on top of him in the process—no it wasn’t because he was short).

When Ed saw Hohenheim at the grave, he’d been sure it was a ghost. It was the right place for one, after all. Even a living one.

Over the years he’d seen far too many ghosts of Hohenheim to believe the man standing there was anything corporeal. He was too angry to allow him to return at the moment he was least needed.

After reorganizing the towels and setting his by the shower, he pulled his hair out of the messy braid he’d made, catching his reflection in the mirror as his hair fell across his shoulders.

“We have the same look.”

Ed scowled at the mirror, balling his hand into a fist.

That’s all he had to say, after ten years?

“We do not have the same look.” He muttered to the mirror.

They may not have the same style…but he couldn’t deny they had the same hair and eyes.

He was almost granted the mercy of forgetting. Made sense, considering how long it’d been since he’d seen his ugly mug.

Proceeding to the shower, he turned on the water, the faint hissing filling the room as steam rose, warming the air.

This wasn’t the first time he wished he had inherited more of his mother’s features. More than once his mom mentioned how he and Al looked like their father. That had made her happy, and once upon a time that was enough. But now that they were alone, he lamented the fact that he had his father’s features instead of hers… he’d much rather people saw her when they looked at him.

He took off his clothes, throwing them onto the floor and stepping into the hot water. The warmth spread through him, like a cure to the bitter cold piercing his chest. Sighing, he closed his eyes and put his hands on the back of his neck, letting it trickle across his face.

So long since he’d seen his ugly mug.

Ten years. It may as well have been a century.

The last time he’d seen him it was through the wide eyes of a child, looking up at this towering figure with his back turned. Those cold, gold eyes, looking down at him. Saying nothing at all as he left them to grow up on their own.

He had grown up since then. He’d done and seen things adults couldn’t bear to look at. And he’d stopped seeing Hohenheim through those eyes; those eyes that gazed up hopefully, sure the adults have all the answers, wondering why he did this, assuring himself that man had some logical explanation that he’d come back one day to give them. And they’d forgive him. Some hope he would come back and fix their future. That he wasn’t a bad man.

Now he knew he wasn’t a saint, nor a good man who had simply gone astray. It was much simpler than that;

He was just a fool.

Ed reached over and grabbed the soap.

That was all. There was no deeper reasoning. No explanation to be had. He was just a fool. Some deadbeat dad who couldn’t even be bothered take care of his sons. He chose to save himself, instead of saving them. Left them to make sense of it all on their own.

So that’s what he was doing; making sense of it all. And the sense he saw was that he was a selfish bastard, nothing more.

Their mother had once said that they were the world to that man.

If that was true, he’d had the world right at his feet…and he’d walked away. He had it all, and he stepped off the planet. He hoped he fell into a black hole.

Was it so hard for him to stay, and take responsibility for his kids, and own up to that fact that they were his own, despite the fact that he was a fool? Even a fool could try his best.

Was the look in their eyes so hard to bear?

Today, he hoped it was. Ed hoped his eyes haunted him as much as Hohenheim’s gaze had himself. He hoped he could still taste them on his tongue those ten years. That he could never truly spit them out.

That wide-eyed, shimmering gaze of yesterday had become a fire of glass no one could put out, or shatter.

He knew that no one was going to take care of him. No one was going to comfort him when he cried anymore. The only one who would look after him was himself—(well, and Al too).

—Yet… the moment he saw him, he was hit with a shrink ray. Those wandering eyes, wondering thoughts—

—Dad? I-Is that you? After all this time?—

—Why did you leave? What are you doing back?—

—(Please stay)—

And that resounding desperate plea from long ago he’d done everything to deny, to block out…

Please come home again.

The house was empty. So, unbearably empty. A hollowness that bored into his chest and made a nest there.

When the thunder rumbled outside, the house shook with it; the wind whispering through the corridors.

That word had long since died on his lips; he’d long since stopped seeing Hohenheim out of the corner of his eye; his heart had long since stopped jumping at each passing noise.

Yet, now, when he walked by the kitchen, sometimes he thought he could still smell Mom’s soup. When he strode through the garden he was sure he saw a flutter of her dress. When he lie down to sleep, sometimes he swore he heard the wind whisper “Goodnight,” and felt a kiss on his forehead.

And though that thing in his heart had hardened, the warden of his lips never pardoned, when he saw a shadow across the lawn or heard a stray noise, the image of a man with golden hair and eyes flared up to his brain.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He was never coming back. He forgot about them, left them to rot away, and for that he didn’t deserve the courtesy of these far-fetched wonderings.

But the house was so empty. And the hollowness burrowed into his chest.

So that night, after hearing his parents’ voices echoing through his dreaming head. Something in Ed broke.

He threw off the covers and stood there in his room, breath heavy on his chest.

The buzzing in his body wouldn’t let him go back to sleep, or lay there doing nothing. Something was vibrating at the frequency of everything he was made of. The resonance animated his legs, carried him through the moaning hallway, down the stairs of that big empty house, and into the yard, where the rain was pouring down.

He ran, his bare feet getting cut on pebbles and sticks.

Was he crying or screaming? All he knew was that humming in his body just kept getting louder.

He tripped on a rock and fell to the ground, his hands smeared in the mud. But he didn’t get up.

That resonance manifested in his throat. And at last he knew he was screaming.

It started with wordless sounds rending the air, like he was some wounded animal caught in a trap, until finally it manifested into words;

“Where did you go, you bastard?!” He roared. “Why did you leave?! Why did you leave us?! Leave mom?! Were we not enough for you?! Huh?! What did you have to lose?!”

His breath cut through his chest in gasps as he sobbed onto the grass, his tears mixing with the rain, the dirt and grime coating his hands and knees.

The thunder rumbled in reply.

This house had once been an illustrious kingdom. They made castles out of couch cushions, cathedrals out of books. They were lead by a perfect king and queen whom they would follow to the ends of the earth.

Until the king packed his things, and left his throne, his riches, his people too. Shut the portcullis, and was never seen again.

Until the queen lie bleeding on the checkerboard floor.

“Mom…please…” His voice was barely a drip of rain now. “Please come back, Mom.”

The kingdom lie in ruins, a crumbling echo of what it once was.

Their kingdom had lost its king, and now its queen too. Two lonely knights wandered the board alone. Who was left to lead?

The word was less than a breath:

“Dad…Dad please…”

Tears streaming down his face he sat up and yelled to the grey, grumbling air, the reverberation in his lungs louder than that thunder, “PLEASE COME HOME AGAIN!”

He fell back down, breathing heavily, shivering, finally realizing just how cold he was.

“I promise to be good.” He murmured. “Let us show you we’re good enough for you.”

The sentences ran out, and finally into the dirt there was only word breathed over and over:

“Dad…Dad…Dad…”

Until, at last, that word was gone from his lips.

He put the soap back and moved on to the shampoo.

The moment he saw Hohenheim before that grave…

He felt so small.

And he hated feeling small.

Hohenheim’s eyes hadn’t changed one bit. He may as well have walked straight back through the door that day.

That look from when he left was a scar across his mind, one that still burned when the nights were long enough, and the days were hard enough. He almost searched his body for the mark.

Even though the anger was sizzling on his tongue, bolstering him up, making him feel superior, he couldn’t help but feel so tiny.

“You were hiding the memory.”

Said so casually, reading him like a book when he’d looked at less than a page. He wanted more than anything for him to be wrong.

—(But when your house is full of ghosts, the only way to keep them from following you…is to burn it down)—

No How have you been, Edward? No I’m sorry I left, Edward. Not even a simple explanation or apology. Were those two little words so hard to say?

Ed felt so sick to his stomach.

He leaned forward, closing his eyes, resting his automail arm on the wall, the water draining through his hair.

He wanted to wash it all away, this day, the scent off his skin…erase the connections. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, the traces wouldn’t come off.

After turning off the water, he reached out from the curtain to grab the towel, ruffling his hair with it, drying off and putting his clothes back on, carrying his jacket over his shoulder.

As he passed by, the mirror taunted him;

You’ll never be free from him.

When he reached the door he hesitated, his fingers flickering before the doorknob. He bit his lip, wondering if he should go out there at all.

He didn’t want to see that man, to talk to him.

It’d been so long.

The look on his face as he left was burned into his mind. When he saw him again, before that grave, for a moment that memory was all he could see. How could that tape, so long stuck in one place, suddenly be moving again? Talking and walking like it wasn’t defective for ten years?

What could he possibly say to him? What should he say to him? What did he want to say to him?

Nothing. Said the wrath that hadn’t been put out by the water.

Everything. Said the little boy in the rain.

He took a deep breath before venturing into the hall, and a long exhale before entering the kitchen.

Pinako was standing at the sink in an apron, stirring something, while Hohenheim sat at the table cleaning his glasses—(ya know, not helping her, like the bastard he was).

Ed threw his jacket on the back of a chair, determinedly not looking at Hohenheim, and walking up to Pinako.

“Can I help you with anything, Granny?”

“Sure. Keep stirring this for me.” She pointed to the pan of the stove, then added, “You should feel right at home.”

Ed looked into the pan to see it was full of bean sprouts.

“WHADDYA TRYING TO SAY, BEAN SPROUT LADY?!”

“I MEANT WHAT I SAID, YA MIDGET!”

The house soon bounced with their indiscernible shouting match.

After they’d exhausted the topic, Ed stirred bitterly, and leaned over, whispering out of the corner of his mouth,

“So do you have any idea what the hell he’s doing back?”

“Beats me.” She muttered. “I’ve got the same information as you, kid; he just decided to show up one day.”

A few sprouts fell on the counter and sizzled as he gave him the stink eye over his shoulder.

“Who does he think he is?” he grumbled, “Showing up without so much as a warning...”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Wja—That’s different!”

“Well…Like it or not he is your father, Ed. Maybe you oughtta trying talking to him.”

“What, you mean like before he decides to jump ship again?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Hohenheim’s level voice broke through.

“Yeah well—good.” Ed grunted and stirred more vigorously, but didn’t continue the topic.

After a moment’s silence, Den clicked over to them and lay at Ed’s feet, whining slightly.

“Hey, buddy.” He switched stirring hands to pet him. “Is something wrong?”

“…Animals have never much liked me.” Hohenheim answered softly.

Ed smirked, scratching Dug behind the ears. “Good boy.”

“Alright, that should be enough, thank you.” Pinako took over. “Sit down, Ed. Supper’s just about ready.”

“Oh.” He backed up, remembering that staying for dinner entailed actually conversing with that man. “Well, on second though I…I’m actually not that hungry.”—(which wasn’t a lie).

Pinako looked at him over her glasses like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Sit. Down.” She enunciated.

Ed surveyed the room and sat in the spare chair against the wall, facing away, putting his hand on his chin.

After a moment Pinako grabbed the back of the chair and dragged him into the spot opposite Hohenheim.

“You’re strong for an old lady!”

“You’re weak for a young man.”

“Wh—I’m plenty strong!”

“Maybe if you drank more milk.” She put a glass of it in front of his plate. “You’d be stronger.”

“So we meet again ya bastard.” Ed scowled.

Hohenheim looked like he was about to speak when Pinako clarified, sitting beside him,

“He’s talking to the milk.”

“Ah!” His tone shifted. “It appears you and I have something else in common!”

Ed looked between the two like he was about to start a self destruct sequence.

He grabbed the milk and tried to chug it, but quickly failed and ended up spitting it out.

“Nope.” He coughed, milk dribbling down his chin. “Still can’t do it.”

Ed thought he saw Hohenheim’s mouth quirk up slightly, but it was quickly overshadowed by the realization that he was staring at him. Not in a you’re-talking-so-I-should-look-at-you way, but a ah-yes-a-test-subject kind of way.

“Your eyes stuck, old man?”

Rather than apologizing, or stopping—(like a normal person)—he adjusted his glasses to get a better lock on. “This is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at your automail.”

Ed looked at his own arm, realizing there was an unfortunate side effect to taking his jacket off. He looked back and forth from him to Pinako, as if she’d rescue him.

He’d never felt embarrassed about his automail before—actually, it was pretty badass, if he said so himself. But Hohenheim’s scrutinizing continued to be that shrink ray—why? He didn’t care what he thought…

“Pretty nice, handiwork, huh?” Pinako jabbed him with her elbow.

“Yes, expert craftsmanship.” Hohenheim responded absentmindedly.

“Wouldja quit examining me!”

Hohenheim finally broke his lock, resuming eating. “Pinako said it was your leg too.”

“What, you want a fashion show?” He spoke through his food.

“No, no that’s fine.” He said like it was a genuine offer. He took a bite of food before continuing. “So your leg was taken when you tried to transmute your mother, and your arm when you transmuted your brother’s soul into one of my suits of armor, yes?”

Ed swallowed roughly, turning to Pinako. “Did you tell him everything?!”

“Well…He does have a right to know.”

“Since when?! He doesn’t have a right to anything when walked out on us!”

“How old were you?” Hohenheim plowed on like he couldn’t hear them.

“Eleven.” He answered through gritted teeth.

“That’s rather impressive. You were able to bind a soul at just eleven? There’s not many who could do that at thirty.”

It was the first time someone said that that he didn’t think sounded impressed at all.

“How is your brother doing? I would have liked to have seen him.”

“As well as he can be without a body.” He muttered through his food again. He couldn’t really taste anything.

Hohenheim paused before asking softly;

“…Why did you do it Edward?”

Ed nearly choked, jerking his head up, his eyed widening. Was he really asking him this, now?

“Why do you think?!” He stabbed his food without intention of bringing it to his mouth.

“Didn’t you know the risks?”

“We didn’t care!” His voice rose, and he stood up, his chair groaning against the floor. “It’s not like we had anyone here to—oh I don’t know—give us a reason not to!” He paused, then said in a normal volume. “No offense, Granny.”

Hohenheim said nothing. Even though Ed was standing over him, as his glasses shimmered in the light, he still felt as though he was being looked down upon.

That look, that look from when he left, never leaving his face, that look that made him want to punch him—(he would have, if Pinako wasn’t there)—

“I’m going to bed.” He grunted quietly, turning around.

“But you’ve barely touched your food...” Pinako pointed out gently.

“I’ve lost my appetite!”

Ed just caught the words “He’s rather hotheaded, isn’t he?” before he slammed the bedroom door.

It was then he noticed how almost every part of his body was tense.

He leaned back against the door, this time sinking all the way to the floor, putting his hands on his face, digging his fingers in his hair, the tenseness translating to trembling.

One conversation.

One moment.

Ten years.

Once upon a time he waited weeks for him to come back. Once upon a time, he wanted more than anything to just talk to him—he’d take a mere moment. To talk about something, anything.

Now that he was back, he could barely stand to be in the same room with him.

The buzzing in his body made him want to run out into the fields and scream again, to punch him over and over until he was beaten bloody. But this time he remained in place, a creature frozen in ice, trying to break out, shaking in his crystal prison.

Now their kingdom had become more than just a ruin, or an echo of itself…it was a bone yard.

Ed said he wanted to go to bed, and he did, but apparently that translated to ‘lay awake in bed for hours.’

He didn’t know how many had transpired when Hohenheim came in. Ed didn’t directly see him, but he knew it was him. For one thing, Pinako would never be so creepy. He didn’t even do or say anything, he just came, and left. Pervert.

…And the worst part of this day wasn’t seeing him again, it wasn’t the anger broiling in his gut…

It was that as he sat up in bed, staring at the door…for the first time in close to ten years he could taste the putrefied remains of that word on his lips.

[elowyn-ffxiv]

this house is not a home.

“Will you ever stop being a child?” 

It has been rare, during this sennight spent with my parents, to be addressed or spoken to. Of course, this is nothing unusual. I grew up in silence, more often than not, unless I made the sound myself, or if there was a particularly persistent bird filtering in through open windows. 

Now, though, it’s my mother who speaks, glaring daggers at me across the carpeted floor of the parlor. Admittedly, I don’t at first understand why she’s asking me such a question. To fill in the quiet places where it has now become something odd and uncomfortable, I’ve taken to doing what I did as a little girl; I make my own noise, or at least do something to occupy my own mind. This time, I’ve focused on making socks for Gabriel. 

He likes practical gifts. At least I can make him something that’s both practical and from the heart, but...

I frown, looking down at the pile of them laying on my lap, and brush my fingertips over the little hedgehog that I’ve embroidered upon them - at what it is my mother is so vexed by. 

“It’s for a gift,” I murmur, unhappy with how meek and small my voice sounds. “It’s... I thought it added a nice, personal touch.” 

“Are you not making them for a grown man?” she snaps at me. “What makes you think he’d appreciate the little woodland animals you’re wasting your time adorning his gift with? Can you not do something more useful? I need herbs crushed for medicines, or you could be practicing your healing. What need do you have for knitting garments? Do your father and I not provide you with gil to pay for your needs and expenses?”

Each word hits me like a weighted stone - blow after blow after blow. Perhaps the digs and nagging are insignificant, and I’m simply oversensitive. 

“I am a grown woman,” I start, keeping my eyes low, “and I can choose what it is I want to do to entertain myself--”

“You are only grown,” my mother interjects, too coldly, “when you no longer feel the need to point it out to others, Elowyn. You are a foolish, useless sort of girl, aren’t you, who only knows about silly, useless things? I would have hoped your time... ‘adventuring...’ might have taught you something.” 

“I have learned plenty!” My voice cracks, but I push on. “Mother, please, this seems such a terrible overreaction to me-- to me simply wishing to put a personal touch on a gift, I don’t understand--” 

“No,” she sneers, and I recoil, like she slapped me. “No, I suppose there isn’t very much that you understand, Elowyn.” 

My hands tremble just slightly as I look at the pile of socks in my lap. I made sure to use a variety of different weights of yarn, different colors, taking every situation I could into account. There’s even a couple of pairs made with yarn enchanted to be waterproof, so that his feet aren’t soaked through if he ends up traipsing through a lake or pond or puddle. 

Isn’t it a nice thing, I wonder, as my mother rises to her feet and leaves to return to her work, to make things by hand for others? And isn’t it good, to stand up for yourself if you’re being pushed?

Why does she always succeed in so often making me feel small? 

Quiet, I put my work into the wicker basket at my feet and stand, looking around the room. It’s such a beautiful house. It’s so beautiful, and in my mind, my memories of it are not bad. Maybe things were often difficult. Maybe I struggled with an endless type of loneliness, in these marble halls and rambling gardens and handsome, dark wood furniture, but... 

I wanted to see the good. I have always wanted to see the good. This time spent with my mother after a few months of being apart, though, has admittedly been taxing. I thought it would be a good idea. Gabriel would be free to see his family and crewmates without having to worry about looking after me, too, and maybe - just maybe - my parents would be impressed at how I might have grown and matured after being in the world for a while.

My father was happy to see me, at least. 

Jareck looks up as I pass the door to the den that he has turned into his own personal armory, and I wonder if he can see the look on my face right away. He rises to meet me in the wall, and I blink as he gently grabs my arm.

“Has she been unkind again?” he asks me, softly, and I blink again, swallowing the lump in my throat. My eyes, though... I know they’re already glistening. 

Just a few words. Just a few firm, cold words is all it takes to unravel me. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I’m still a child. Maybe I still know nothing, understand nothing, that I am oversensitive and feel too much and don’t do enough for the amount that I talk about ideas and dreams. 

Maybe I am the failure that she seems to think I am. 

I don’t even say a word. Jareck simply hugs me, because he knows. He can see it in my face. He pets my hair, and I feel his chest fill as he draws in a breath, the way that he does when he’s trying not to be angry. For a moment, I feel frightened - frightened that he’s angry with me. 

“Being home is not good for you, Elo-child,” he rumbles quietly. “This is no place for sweet girls.”

“Why is she always so unkind?” I blurt out, faster than I can stop it, and the tears follow. Jareck is quiet for a moment, still petting my hair. 

“I do not know,” he sighs. “I do not know why your mother never has a civil word to spare you, little one. But I am sorry. Do not weep. It will all be alright. What did she say to you to rattle you so?” 

Leaning back, my hulking Hrothgar of an uncle figure looks at me, watches me intently with his bright eyes as I ramble and cry. When I finish, he frowns, practically crouching down so he can wipe my eyes with his large hands. 

“Your elf will love your gift,” he tells me firmly, but not unkindly. “Including your little hedgehog. He is prickly like one, no? Do no listen to your mother, Ellie. There is nothing wrong in what you do. She is...”

And then he stops, because he knows, even in the state I am in, that hearing someone speak poorly of my mother would hurt me. 

“The moon is full and bright tonight,” he says instead, smiling as I sniffle. “Enjoy it. Take a walk out into the forest. It will clear your head. And, when you come back, call your elf. That might clear your head, too.” 

But I didn’t want to call Gabe. Not because I don’t want to talk to him, but because... I am still afraid. 

I’m still afraid he’ll think that I’m as sensitive and as ridiculous as my family seems to think that I am. That I am a waste of potential. That I am silly and useless and that I know nothing at all but how to be a child. 

Even the mention of the full moon doesn’t register until I reach my old room. 

It is pretty. My father made me a glass ceiling so that I could always see the stars and the sky - my fourth nameday present. Maybe my father would understand, if I... knew how to talk to him? If we were closer. We can exchange small talk and lighthearted conversations. I can beam as he excitedly explains his inventions to me, or I used to be able to go to him when I fell and scraped my knee for a pat upon the head and a bandage. 

Other than that... I don’t know. I don’t think, at least, that he would make me feel the way that my mother does. He would listen to me. How much of me, though, would he be able to understand?

I don’t sit on my bed or a chair or the chaise. Instead, I sit upon the floor and criss-cross my legs, hugging my knitting basket to my stomach. I sit, and I gaze up through the glass ceiling to the full, glittering moon and all of her ladies-in-waiting in the form of stars... and I breathe. 

My lips part, and it’s only then that I realize that my tongue hurts.

I had bitten it so hard while my mother laid into me that it had bled.

All because of a cute little hedgehog on a few pairs of socks that I was knitting for my best friend and... lover? Boyfriend? Person? My elf? 

For my Gabriel. My sky pirate. My prickly hedgehog. 

His teasing doesn’t hurt. His criticisms used to, but he knows where the line is of what I can handle and what I cannot. He tells me what I must hear without making it hurt or making me feel small, most of the time. I know his nature is brusque. He cares, at least, if what he says hurts me. He cares if they make me cry. He apologizes, and he does better. 

For all of the hurt Gabriel himself has felt... for how different we are... 

He is still kind. He understands. He adjusts for me.

 The woman who birthed me can’t do the same - or, maybe, won’t. I can take a lot more punishment than she thinks. I can listen to her for a long time, ripping me apart, everything about me, before I let it start to hurt. 

I hope I am strong. I hope that I’m good. I want to be brave, too.

I don’t want to be like my mother. I hope I’m never like my mother, if someday I should have a child of my own.

Bowing my head, I press my forehead against the handle of my basket, and give way to fresh tears. Even then, through tightly shut eyes, I can see the way the moon glitters. Sniffling, I lift my head, watching as a star shoots through the sky.

‘Don’t be sad,’ it seems to say. ‘Do not ache so. You’re never alone as you feel.’ 

I’ll watch the sky for a while. I’ll wash my face and I will pull myself back together, just like I did when I still lived in this place, each day. I am weak, maybe. Maybe that’s true. Maybe I am weak and small and silly.

Maybe it will feel better in the morning.