#is this anything or has the lack of sleep and the grief actually gotten to me

[lotus-pear]

thinking about how the last time dazai wore all black was because of his position in the mafia.........now he will have to wear all black once more, but this time at kunikida's funeral

[munsonsmixtapes]

He’s Back! (From the Dead)

Eddie x fem!reader

Summary: you mourn the loss of your boyfriend, Eddie who died fighting in the Upside Down. Or did he?

word count: 2.8k

cw: mentions of death and grief and reader’s deteriorating mental heath, hurt/comfort

You stood in your bathroom, wondering why you were even applying makeup when you knew you were just going to cry it all off. You brushed through your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror. You had dark circles from lack of sleep and had lost some weight since you didn’t have it in you to eat anything.

Just over a week ago, your boyfriend, Eddie had gone missing. After looking for him for what felt like ages, Hawkins police had declared him dead when they found his body, covered in bat bites as the coroner had declared.

You had been in disbelief. Even after seeing the body for yourself, you just couldn’t believe that he was gone. You had seen him the night before and despite being freaked out by everything that had happened to Chrissy, he seemed like his normal self.

And then the next day, he was found dead, in front of his trailer covered in bites from bats? Where has the bats come from and why had Eddie been their target? The whole thing has just seemed to suspicious to you.

You hadn’t been able to sleep since you got the news. Horrible nightmares of Eddie being eaten by the bats were the only thing you were able to see when you closed your eyes so you decided to just not sleep at all.

You had been taking pills to keep you awake had spent sleepless nights on your computer heavily researching the case, trying to figure out what exactly had happened. You were still determined to figure out what had actually happened to him since you nothing seemed to be adding up.

Once your hair was brushed, you smoothed out your dress and exited the bathroom, ready physically but not mentally to head to the graveyard where Eddie’s service would be held. It almost didn’t seem real. You were about to head to your boyfriend’s funeral.

You pulled up to the graveyard after crying the whole thing, playing nothing but Eddie’s favorite songs on the way there. The whole drive, you imagined Eddie in the passenger seat, singing along to the songs playing from your tape with his hand on your thigh where it always was.

The whole thing made you cry even more so you made sure to fix your smudged makeup before meeting everyone at Eddie’s burial sight. The whole gang was there, the members of the Hellfire Club and Eddie’s uncle Wayne. It was a very small turnout, but those were the exact people you were expecting to see.

You made a beeline for a group and were quick to pull Wayne in a hug. You felt like out of everyone, he needed it most. He had lost the only family he had and to make matters even worse, everyone had hated Eddie. So much so that he had to have the service a few towns over since he didn’t want anyone crashing it with their metaphorical pitch forks, telling him that the boy didn’t deserve a funeral because of the evil thing he did to Chrissy.

You caught sight of Dustin over Wayne’s shoulder and your eyes locked on his. You could see that they were filled with tears and that his nose was bright red and you knew that it wasn’t from the wind that was swirling around all of you.

Once Wayne had pulled away, you made a beeline for Dustin, pulling him into your arms, letting him cry into your chest. You both let out soft sobs and you felt your heart shatter, knowing just how much Eddie had meant to the kid. He had been his mentor and most importantly, his friend. They had gotten super close over the past year and almost seemed like brothers.

You pulled away after giving his back a light rub the moved onto the other club members, giving them all the hugs before you stood next to Wayne, resting a hand on his back as the pastor started to speak.

“We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Edward Munson.” You felt yourself start to zone out as he continued to speak, every single memory you had with Eddie replaying in your head. The entire timeline of your year-long relationship went through your mind from beginning to end and you hadn’t even been aware of your soft sobs until Wayne had rested a hand on your back. The whole thing was just too much for you to take.

You looked around at all of the people in attendance, the pastor’s words still not getting through to you and your heart absolutely crumbled, watching everyone cry. It broke you knowing that none of you would ever be able to speak to Eddie ever again. He was gone.

You felt Wayne pat your back and you turned to him. He pointed to the pastor who you turned to. The man was gesturing toward you and you realized that it had finally gotten to the part when you were supposed to read your letter.

You couldn’t. You could barely speak in general, especially not read your very personal letter out loud. Reading it would make it real and as far as you were concerned, none of what you were currently experiencing was real.

You slowly pulled the letter out of your pocket and opened it, taking a deep breath. Wayne rubbed your back with encouragement as you read what you had written. You could still see the tear stains that littered it and now there were more as you let them fall from your eyes onto the page.

You got choked up, resisting the urge to sob, trying your best to hold it back. After everyone read all their letters, the pastor wrapped things up and the casket was lowered into the grave. Watching Eddie’s body actually be lowered into the grave was your breaking point. It was as if his death was actually real, finalized.

You dropped to the grass and broke down, the sobs not being able to contained anymore. You let out a loud sob as you tried to grab onto the casket to get one more look at Eddie, but Wayne grabbed you before you could get to it.

He pulled you to his chest and you cried into it as he shushed you, trying his best to calm down. The others crowded around you and you had never felt more loved in you who life, grateful that there were people who actually understood what you were going through.

“Come back to the house,” Wayne urged. “I’m inviting everyone for lunch.”

“That’s really nice of you, Wayne, and I appreciate the invitation, but I think I just want to be alone.” Lunch with everyone sounded nice, but you just didn’t have it in you. You just wanted to curl up in your bed and cry yourself to sleep.

“Well, at least let me take you home. You’re not in a place to drive.” You agreed with that. Watching Eddie be lowered into the ground made you realize just how real everything was and you seemed to have let out everything you had bottled up for the past week. Wayne lead you to his car and you made sure to give the others hugs before you went.

The car ride was silent, the only thing that could be heard was the radio playing the rock station very quietly. You looked out the window as you entered Hawkins, watching the buildings pass by, remembering all of Eddie’s favorite places: the comic book store, the arcade, and the ice cream place that you both frequented. Eventually you were going to have to go back to them, not letting your grief taint how good they made you feel.

Wayne pulled up to your house before you knew it and you thanked him for the ride alone with a hug and got out of the car, rushing onto your house. You ran up the stairs, neither of your parents bothering to get up from the couch to check on you.

They never liked Eddie because of his reputation and had waved his death off with a “good riddance” then moved on with their day as if your life hadn’t completely fallen apart. There hadn’t been a single “I’m sorry for your loss.” or “We’re here for you.” Just a pat on the back then they never talked about it again.

You got to your room and threw yourself onto your bed, tears falling as more sobs escaped your throat. He was gone. He was really gone. And no one else seemed to care. In fact, you could have sworn that you had heard people celebrating when the news broke out. They had finally gotten rid of the devil worshiper so maybe all of that would be put to an end no that he was six feet underground.

You were so caught up in your thoughts about Eddie that you could have heard the little taps he did on your window so you’d let him in. You turned to face the window, so sure that no one was going to be there, but right on your balcony was your boyfriend you had just watched be buried into the ground. You clearly weren’t in your right mind, very sure that it was just an hallucination.

You slowly moved your way to the window, practically falling over yourself as you did so. As you got closer, you could clearly see Eddie’s face, his face lighting up as he saw you. You had to have been crazy because there was no fucking way that he was actually there. You hesitantly opened the window, your curiosity getting the best of you, falling to the floor as you took in the man before you. He looked so real that it had to have been someone playing a very cruel trick on you.

This wasn’t Eddie. Whoever it was, was covered in blood, their shirt ripped to pieces, their wounds completely on display. You felt sick, thinking about Eddie looking like that, bile practically climbing your throat.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said, making a beeline for you and you crawled backwards, feeling around the floor for anything you could use as a weapon. You didn’t know how they were able to nail Eddie’s voice, but they had it down. Why they were doing this whole thing, you didn’t know. In fact, you thought it was pretty fucked up.

You grabbed onto the magazine that had slid under your bed and rolled it up as you stood up. You then repeatedly hit the stranger, wanting to get out all of your anger that you had been holding in for over a week. They out a bunch of yelps as you hit them, backing up as they fell onto the bed. You kept hitting them until your anger had turned into your tears.

“Honey, honey, it’s me.” The stranger grabbed onto your wrists so you’d stop, but you just wriggled out of their grasp and hit them a few more times until they took the magazine from you, throwing it to the side. They reached for you and you just backed away until you hit your desk, fear evident on your face.

“I don’t know why you think it’s okay to impersonate a dead person, but it’s really not funny,” you told them, your anger outweighing your fear. You reached behind you, feeling for something you could use as a weapon since you didn’t have your magazine. “Get back,” you demanded as you pointed the pencil you had grabbed onto at them. They put their hands up in defense and did as you instructed, confusion clear on their face.

“Honey, what is going on? It’s me, Eddie. Your boyfriend.” How much of an idiot did they think you were?

“That’s impossible. You’re dead.” If Eddie was alive, then who had they just buried? None of it made any sense and the whole thing was starting to give you a headache.

Dead? Eddie wasn’t sure why you would have thought that considering the fact that he was standing right in front of you, very much alive. Sure, he didn’t look like it since he was covered in blood and definitely could have used a shower, but after fixing up his wounds as best he could with random stuff he had found around the Upside Down, he was (almost) good as new.

“Dead?” The stranger patted the spot where their heart was with a little chuckle. “I seem very alive to me.” You had to applaud them for nailing Eddie’s mannerisms. You were so out of your mind that with just a little more convincing, you might have actually believed him.

“I just watched them bury you, Eddie.” Your eyes started to water again and you felt that pit forming in your stomach that you had tried your hardest to ignore it.

“Well, I don’t know who they buried, but clearly it wasn’t me.” If they hadn’t buried him, then who had they buried? The thought haunted you.

“Why should I believe you?” You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning further away as he stepped closer.

“Come here.” He opened his arms and you moved away, backing yourself towards the window.

“Not a chance.” You were afraid to get close in case it really was him. You weren’t sure how you would have felt if it was.

“It’s me, honey.” He looked pained and he was. How could you not believe him? You always believed him no matter what and now there you were…afraid of him. He never thought that would have been possible. You always thought he was sweet and kind, a real gentleman despite how “scary” he looked to other people.

“Prove it.” He should have known that was coming, but how was there a way to prove it?

“What?” He stepped closer and you just moved back.

“Prove it.” You pointed the pencil at him again and he fought back a laugh at your sad weapon.

“How?” Eddie had no fucking clue how he was going to prove it you, but he was going to damn well try. He wanted so badly for you believe him n

“Tell me something that only Eddie would know about me.” You didn’t seem impressed and he hated the disappointed look on your face, noticing the bags that had formed under yours eyes. When was the last time you had slept?

“Like what?” He would have answered anything you asked, told you anything you wanted to know. He just wanted his girl back.

“What’s my favorite color?” He would have at least thought you’d give him a harder question.

“Blue.” Anyone could have guessed that it was a popular color.

“Lucky guess,” you grumbled and lowered your pencil. “Where did we go on our first date?” He remembered it like it was yesterday, so that, he could answer so easily.

“We got ice cream.” You were about to ask what flavor you had gotten, but he answered before you could. “You got mint chocolate chip.”

Your eyes widened at his answer and you gulped, realization washing over you. It was him! Of course it was him, how could it not have been? You were suddenly feeling so stupid to have thought that it was a cruel joke.

“And what else did we do?” You didn’t know why you were asking when he had given you the exact answer you had wanted.

“We went to the arcade and you kissed me outside it after I won you that teddy bear.” He pointed to the one that had been sitting on your bed. “It’s your little Eddie bear.”

“Oh my god. It’s really is you.” You threw yourself into his arms, burying your face into his neck, your sobs now happy ones. It didn’t seem real, almost as if you had dreamed it up.

“Always was, honey. I’m so sorry that I didn’t come to you sooner.” You pulled back to look at him, noticing that his eyes were misty. Tears eventually ran down his cheeks and you both reached up to wipe each other’s tears away.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I just missed you.” You pressed your lips to his and he was quick to return your kiss, it being soft and sweet, but filled with longing from you both being separated so long.

“I missed you too,” he reached up and brushed your hair away from your face. “You have no idea. Now, do you think you could clean me up?”

“That I can do.” You pulled him for another lingering kiss then took him by the hand so you both could take a much needed shower.

[fandom-lover2]

The Hound

Chapter One - A-hunting We Go

Word Count - 1246

My eyes slipped closed again, and I fought to open them.

God, how much longer was this stupid lesson?

The teacher droned on, monotonously, about a topic I can’t remember. Despite the annoying shrill of her voice, the lack of change in pitch was lulling me to sleep.

My eyes closed, my head too heavy for my neck, and I jerk awake just in time to save my forehead slamming into my desk from where it slipped off my raised fist. I checked the time again. Still 20 minutes, and it was barely even 10am yet.

I needed out, an interference from God to free me from this prison.

And then it came. The intercom went off, I was needed in the office with my bags.

I packed up silently and slipped away from the class, heading to the office.

I hadn’t done anything wrong, right? My grades were good and I hadn’t been acting out in class. Why was I being called in?

I walked through the halls of the school, private obviously. Mycroft had insisted I attend, saying that if I was staying with his brother, I needed a proper education. He’d gotten me into the school all the politician’s children went to, so that I was protected. Surrounded by armed special forces security teams, no one could even look at the school without being surrounded and hauled off for interrogation.

I got to the office and waited with the headmaster’s assistant for a few minutes before being allowed in. When I was, he sat me down and looked at me very sadly.

“Your father phoned. There has been a death in the family.”

There were two things wrong with this scenario. First, my father didn’t even know I was in London. In fact, last I knew he was either a prisoner to the Iranian government or he was working for them.

Secondly, ‘death in the family’ was a code. Something that would guarantee my release from school.

“Your father is busy booking the flights for you.” The headmaster continued, pulling a slip of paper from his desk and beginning to full it in. “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

He didn’t mean it, it was just something people said to one another when tragedy struck. You weren’t actually going to drop all you were doing and help somebody just shy of the title ‘stranger’ because they were mourning. Humans are weird.

The headmaster handed me the release slip and offered getting one of the agents to drive me home, but I told him I’d prefer the walk. It’d give me time to message loved ones and work through my grief.

Making my way out the school, I handed my release form to the guards at the gate and was then on my way.

I didn’t hurry. “Death in the family” was to come home, not any concern. “Mother in hospital” was an emergency, needed to be home immediately. “Brother broke his arm” was it wasn’t safe to go to the flat, and I needed to hightail it to Mycroft’s office. That, or Mycroft would have someone fetch me from school.

Taking the 45 minute walk, I tried putting my deduction skills to work.

Last time Sherlock had used this excuse he’d taken me to a case. Lestrade had questioned why I was there, and Sherlock had lied about me having a sick day. Sherlock had of course solved the case in 5 minutes. But he remained silent, standing by and watching me as I moved around the body, the scene, trying to see what he was seeing.

Took 2 hours for me to finally admit defeat. Sherlock then walked me through the steps I had taken again, then patiently pointed out what he had seen that I hadn’t, which lead to the revelation of domestic abuse gone too far. In the end, it wasn’t really worth missing my last few periods of school, but we’d bonded and I’d learnt a lot. John was furious when he realized Sherlock had pulled me from school, and for a case no less.

Today was John’s day off, so that meant he was home. Sherlock wouldn’t risk having me home if that meant John would find out, so that meant it involved both of them.

Sherlock had been having a dry spell of cases lately, and desperation had led to him leaving late last night to go “hunting” was all he said, taking a harpoon with him. If the school got a call from my ‘father’, then he must have finished up with that and be home now.

Unless… unless something had happened to Sherlock and John had called the school, needing me home.

My gut twisted tightly. Maybe it’d be best if I did hurry home. Speeding up my walk from a stroll to mildly contained jogging, I rushed down Baker Street and unlocked the door, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

I realized I didn’t need to worry, because Sherlock was looking at me in concern when I made it to our floor.

“You’re not dead.” I greeted.

“Should I be?” he quired, looking me up and down.

“I’m fine.” I reassured. “I just thought the code might mean something happened to you last night.”

 He nodded in understanding, before turning and going down the hall to his bedroom.

I followed after, surprised to see two suitcases on his bed, in the process of being packed. “Going somewhere?”

“We all are.” he confirmed, reaching into the shelves of my closet and pulling out some folded shirts.

I realized that one of the suitcases was full of my things. “Where?”

“I thought we agreed we weren’t pulling her from school?” John spoke, appearing in the kitchen and calling down the hall. He had a suitcase in hand.

“You talked, I listened. That doesn’t count as agreeing.” Sherlock then moved passed me to go into the bathroom, grabbing our toothbrushes and the toothpaste. “Besides, it’s only 2 days. We’ll be back before the weekend’s over.”

“Back from where?” I tried again to get an answer.

“Baskerville.”

I frowned, racking my brain through the United Kingdom geography I knew. Nothing came up.

“Up north, deep countryside.” John supplied, walking into the living room.

Sherlock followed him, breezing into the room and picking up both our laptops.

“For a case?” In all the time I’d known them, there had never once been a discussion on vacations.

 “Man’s father was mauled by a hound a few years ago.”

I frowned at Sherlock, and he moved down the hall again, back to our bags. “We’re investigating a dog attack?”

“We are proving the dog is there.” John corrected.

We were gonna go and prove a dog, which attacked a man years ago, was actually there to attack a man? Wouldn’t seeing the body prove that there was a dog?

“Not dog.” Sherlock called and he headed back towards us. “Hound.”

“And the difference between ‘dog’ and ‘hound’ is?” I asked, looking around at the mess of papers that were all over the place. Like someone had been looking for something.

“Difference between a Blood Hound and a Pomeranian?” Sherlock fired back.

“Size.” I guessed.

Sherlock smiled, patting me on the head as he passed.

Ok, this guy had seen a big dog attack his father. What was the fascination with a big dog?

“Was it not maybe a wolf?”

“There aren’t wolves out that way.” John answered, checking his watch. “In fact, there aren’t wolves anywhere near here.”

“There’s wolves in almost most houses in the world.” I corrected. “Many were just bred down to the size of a Chihuahua.”

My ears perked up at the sound of Sherlock grabbing a glass jar from on top of the fridge and opening it, removing one red lollipop and holding it out to me.

That meant I’d said something useful, something relating to the case, an important fact. I knew what he was doing too, putting Pavlov to the test.

He would reward me when I contributed something useful, studying how rewards promote the desired behavior.

John hadn’t seemed to catch on yet, and it’s not that I minded, I was getting a lollipop.

“Get changed, we have a long train ride ahead.”

Then, he spun and went back to the bedroom, followed by the sound of zippers closing.

I looked around at the mess again. “Cigarettes?”

John sighed in response, moving to head downstairs and hail a cab.

So ‘Cold Turkey’ was going well.

[duskspring]

What Once Was - Dewdrop Angst Fic

Summary: Dewdrop mourns the things and people that were, Mountain comforts him.

Content: Angst, grief, guilt, hurt/comfort, description of death and murder. (And if I forgot anything, please do let me know!)

Word count: ~1.8k words

[Read it on AO3]

Rumors always go around faster than the truth. At least, that's what Dewdrop tries telling himself.

It can’t be true. It can’t be true.

It’s the dead of night. The ministry has significantly cooled down since the afternoon and it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Ghouls have little need for sleep, however, so most of them are hanging out together, watching a movie.

All except Dew.

He watches his ceiling like it’s a movie, his mind filling in the blanks. He continuously moves his fingers as if he’s playing a guitar, needing to fidget in some kind of way. How could he face his bandmates in his current state?

It can’t be true. It can’t be true.

There were talks, speculations, people looking to shock others…

What if Papa III could come back?

Dew loves the idea of reuniting with the one who summoned him for all but a second before realizing what must come of the current Papa in that case.

Sweet, dear Copia. Someone he has been working for way longer than he ever knew the third papa. And yet, the bond of a summoning is something unbreakable.

But will Terzo come back and cause something to befall Copia or will Terzo only return if something happens to Copia?

Maybe all it took was one little accident-

He shoots up from his bed.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Memories he so desperately wishes he could bury rush back to the surface of his mind:

He’s done it before.

It’s a secret he fully intends to take back into the pit with him. But someone had to take care of the first three Papa��s. It’s not like he had chosen to do it. He had gotten clear orders. He hadn't wanted to. He'd had no choice.

And now his head plays it all back again for him like it has so often before. A movie made in his mind to do nothing but torment him: stabbing the syringe into his summoner's neck, remembering the man falling head first onto the table and later dragging him away. He had looked down at Terzo’s lifeless body as he carried it. He’d been so fixated on the lack of his facial movements, how he was so uncharacteristically quiet for once. It hardly felt like Papa anymore. Now he was just a body. A has been.

Dew doubts he would ever be forgiven, even if Papa were to come back. Though there is a chance of Terzo not having realized it was him who killed him, he would never be able to act like all was well knowing he would force the man to stand next to his own killer.

There is simply no going back. Even if it is possible, it’s not something Dew should actually want.

But…

This isn’t just about Papa. The fire ghoul never really admits it to anyone, but there are times he misses his original bandmates.

Against his better judgment, he reaches under his bed. With shaky hands he retrieves the framed picture that he hides there.

It shows him at the first ritual he ever played at, him and all the others lined up to take a bow.

He sees Terzo, Mountain and himself, but more importantly his focus lands on Ifrit, Zephyr and Aether.

He now only has Mountain left. But Mountain doesn’t feel the same. He seems to have moved on immediately, getting close to especially Rain and the ghoulettes, but really everyone.

And it isn’t like Dew doesn’t care about his new band. They are family, he loves them. But Mountain appears to not even spare a single thought to those who came before.

In the past he would’ve shared these feelings with Aether. They often reminisced together, but the quintessence ghoul always managed to spin it in a positive light. Something about processing grief in a healthy way.

Aether.

That very second, a teardrop lands right over Aether’s face on the frame. It’s the first time Dew becomes aware that he’s started crying.

He tosses the frame to the ground, where it miraculously doesn’t shatter, and changes the way he sits to furiously punch into his pillow, attempting to get his rage out without being too loud.

Internally he damns Phantom to the deepest reaches of the pit. A replacement, that’s all he is. A poor copy.

He doesn’t even dislike the new ghoul. In fact, the two have hit it off quite nicely. None of that matters at this moment, though. Right now, Dew would give him up in a heartbeat to have Aether back. He would sacrifice each and every last person and ghoul in the whole wide ministry.

His tears flow even more freely now, his chest spasming with his uneven gasps for air. He attempts to keep it down, especially with the footsteps that are now slowly approaching his door.

Then a knock, “Dewdrop?” His ears perk up at the name. It stings knowing it's a water ghoul name, more than it usually did. It’s enough to freeze him up, end the sobbing and catch the breath in his throat.

After a second or two he comes back to his senses, “Fuck off, Mountain.” His voice cracks at his attempt to yell back to the one person left who has known him as his previous element.

Nonetheless, the door opens against his wishes. Dew refuses to turn around, not wanting for his bandmate to see his twisted, devastated face.

“We finished the movie, but we’re starting another soon. It’s your turn to pick.” Mountain briefs.

The fire ghoul doesn’t respond, hoping his silence will make his friend leave. Of course, it doesn’t work like that. Especially when his shoulders are still jerking with silenced sobs.

The door softly clicks shut, “What’s going through your head?” The mattress dips beneath the drummer’s weight.

The question is only met with more silence. It hangs in the air like a thick wall between the two. Alas, Mountain seems determined to burn said wall to the ground, getting a good guess in once he sees the discarded picture on the middle of the floor.

“Is it Aether?” The question comes out oh so carefully. He is a sensitive topic for all that have known him but especially Dew, everyone knows that.

He tries everything to suppress his reaction. He unsuccessfully attempts to think of something else, he clenches his jaw and fails to take steady breaths.

But soon his facade breaks. And so does he.

Wordless cries stutter from his chest, still turned away from Mountain as if that would conceal his reaction. He falls forward on his bed, pouring his agony into the pillow which he clutches between his fingers, clinging on for dear life.

The drummer wants to help, but has also miserably failed in the past.

He puts a careful hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Dew-“

“Don’t call me that!” The fire ghoul lashes out, finally turning around. The look in his eyes would scare any human away in an instant but Mountain sees right through it. He sees so much pain, “I’m not a water ghoul anymore! I don’t work for the third anymore! And I certainly don’t work with those ghouls anymore…” His words trail off into more sobs as he goes on. The gig is up. He’s given himself away and at this point he is too far gone to care.

“You miss them.” It isn’t a question.

“Don’t you?!” Dew feels more and more like he is losing his mind, “Did they mean nothing to you?! Zephyr, Ifrit, Aether-“

“They were my everything.” Mountain’s voice is stern but not unkind or scolding.

Dew doesn’t say anything, only crying further and letting out the occasional hiccup. He looks expectantly up at the other.

The earth ghoul inhales shakily, trying not to cry himself, “I don’t care if you believe me, but they were the first family I had ever known. When I lost that I didn’t think I’d ever come back from it,” He laughs humorlessly, “And in a way, I didn’t! That grief never left and I highly doubt it ever will. But instead of waiting for it to shrink, I simply grew bigger around it. And I was only able to do so because of our new family. Even if it’s not the same, that doesn’t make it bad.” Tears start escaping his eyes as well, despite his efforts. Anyone can tell in a second that he is being sincere.

Dew wants so desperately to take in all the words and never worry about any of this again. However, there’s one thing still hanging heavily over him like a storm cloud;

“Something’s gonna happen.” He states, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, blurrily staring off past Mountain and into nothing, “We all know it. Some kind of change is coming and I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it. What if we lose more ghouls? What if we lose Papa? What if I disappear this time?” These are fears he hadn’t even expressed to Aether before, let alone anyone else.

Mountain finally makes another move to come closer. His long arms envelope his bandmate in one of the tightest hugs the two had ever shared. Dew allows himself to return it, desperately clinging to any sense of the here and now.

“It’s like Papa said,” Mountain says without letting go, “‘Nothing ever lasts forever’. All the more reason to enjoy what we have, while we have it, right?”

Dew doesn’t verbally respond, only buries his face into the other ghoul’s neck.

“How about that movie?” The drummer whispers after a silent minute, thinking perhaps the distraction would help, “It’s not good to let your mind spiral on your own. Let yourself feel the emotions, yes, but not like this. Not on your own.”

Satan, he sounds so much like Aether when he says that.

After a few semi-even breaths, the fire ghoul makes a sound of affirmation.

He gets carried to the common room, still cradled so closely to Mountain’s chest like he weighs nothing.

“Took you long enou…gh.“ Swiss' words die out at the sight of his friend in such a seemingly vulnerable position, Dew usually being way more stoic.

The other ghouls all scatter away to the sides of their fully cushioned conversation pit. Mountain sits down in the middle of it, the fire ghoul now more on his lap.

Then the others all come back, wordlessly coordinating into position; Rain curls into Mountain’s, and by extension Dew’s, left side. Swiss comes down on the right. Cirrus moves her tail around Dew’s left leg and snuggles into it, with Cumulus holding onto her. And Aurora holds the right, Phantom behind her.

All at once, the fire ghoul is overwhelmed by the scents and purring of his bandmates. His family.

Maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe it will all end in the blink of an eye. But for now he gets to be there, surrounded by those he cares about most. There is only them, not another worry in mind.

[My masterlist]

[ramblingvents]

Therapy ramble (discussion of suicidal ideation and aborted suicide attempt but ends with me talking about how I'm feeling more safe in treatment)

Man so I have the worst seasonal depression - it always starts in like September and goes on till roughly February. And I always have dissociation and suicidal ideation every single year so bad I genuinely don't remember a lot of it unless I read my journals from that time.

This has been happening since I was 10 and this year when I started therapy I decided that I was going to find someone trained in DBT (since that's one of the therapies that works for suicidal thoughts) and not lie or omit anything as much as possible.

And I've actually stuck to that pretty well. I have told my therapist when I feel suicidal, how much it escalates, any plans my brain comes up with, etc, when last year I was unwilling to even talk about it enough to make a safety plan.

It literally got to the point where I made an AITA for making a safety plan (in February) and telling my friends I'm suicidal (which I did tell one friend as a result even though I largely ignored the 99% of people telling me expressly to tell people).

I aborted an attempt last April when I was in a particularly dark place due to grief and life stuff.

I didn't tell anyone for 4 months and lied about any evidence of it and everyone close to me believed me. It was giving me serious PTSD flashbacks, especially when I was pretty isolated this summer, and also especially with my living arrangement as I'm in the same on-campus apartment, in the same room.

I forced myself to ask my therapist if it was something she could treat in the first session. Tried to make progress with ADHD, it didn't work out super well because the combo of meds making it so I couldn't sleep and lack of good habits. I missed assignments and got so overwhelmed I couldn't focus on them. So it got to mid-semester and ideation started again. And I contacted the crisis line and told my therapist. And I answered in detail when she asked what plans I had considered. So I've been talking to her about things that can help and letting her know when it's been worsening these past couple weeks. Wednesday I told her all I can remember of the previous aborted attempt.

Also this week, I talked to my doctor and she suggested starting Wellbutrin for ADHD because Adderall does help me focus but I have insomnia and the mood swings are pretty bad. Unfortunately one of the side effects of Wellbutrin is also suicidal thoughts (primarily because it gives you energy before giving you an elevated mood). So I tell my therapist this and she's like "okay you can give it a shot but I will do regular checkups for the next week". So that's what I've been doing now, while also trying to get energy to catch up on assignments and talking to both my academic affairs person and accomodations person.

And it's just really weird?!? I'm not used to being honest about it, I've spent half of my life finding ways to self-soothe and avoid telling my friends or parents. But I feel like talking about it and just reporting everything I feel with honesty is helping a lot. And having her be like "okay so here's stuff you should do, and you know this is situational/you've been through this before and gotten out of it" is also very helpful because it feels less like death is an objective truth I'm trying to deny and more like I'm trying to treat a chronic illness.

It's not "I'm suicidal and I'm awful for feeling that way and if I say anything I'll get hospitalized and worry people unnecessarily and I'm gonna feel like this for the rest of my life, so I need to either cope better or die right now" like it has been in the past it's more like "my brain very much wants to escape the current situation and I'm having a hard time finding a way through it/conceptualizing next steps. I haven't slept a lot and I've spent a lot of time alone this semester because my friends graduated and are now in another city which has worsened my mental health/ability to focus and emotionally regulate. There are things I can try that might help me feel better and improve the situation. I might not be able to do all of them and they may not all help but there are actions I can take and there are people I can go to for help, and trying to do that matters even if I don't end up liking the outcome."

I'm just really grateful to be able to be honest about it and actually get help. It feels like the first time I haven't been trying to deal with it alone.

[runwithwolvcs]

Right Where You Left Me

Part Two: Invisible String Warnings: Mentions of Death

My head aches from the lack of sleep I got the night before. Delta had decided at the last minute to start her science project and I had been roped in to glueing little glow in the dark stars to a black bristol board until the morning sun shone bright through the dining room window.

Resting my head on my forearms, closing my eyes to subside the burning sensation. Maybe I can just take a small nap…

“Look alive, Saskia!”

 I grimace at his choice of words but sit up anyways, picking my pencil back up and rereading the questions in front of me for the millionth time as if the answer would just magically pop into my head.

“I hate to be that friend, but Paul Lahote has been staring at the back of your head for almost the entire period,” Tessa said, scribbling an answer down on her worksheet. He’s been doing that ever since I’ve gotten back to school. They gave me two weeks to ‘grieve’, before handing me all the work I’d missed, with a small goodluck catching up. If only Paul could grow the balls to say something to me, anything. So I'd finally have an excuse to yell at him, throw a massive fit over the fact that I trusted him with a secret and when that secret blew up in my face unexpectedly, he just watched from the sidelines. Not saying a word.

I roll my eyes, “What’s the answer for question four?”

“Um, hello? You’re the one that gives me the answers, remember?” 

“I didn’t read the chapter.” Ignoring the look of concern she shot at me, I wrote down what I think the answer could be before setting my pencil down, completely giving up on the assignment.

“Maybe you should go back to fucking, Lahote. I’m sure he’s still down, even if he is into all that gang stuff. You're still a smokeshow.” Tessa suggests before going back to chewing on the end of her pen, 

“I’d rather sit through another one of Mrs. Bear’s grief counselling sessions.” I say in a harsh tone, before mimicking the counsellor's voice, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her attempt to counsel me, so I left and I haven't been back. I felt as though grief counselling would just prolong the process anyways. I don’t need to talk about my problems, I lived with them and that was hard enough as it was.

“I can’t believe she said that to you, as if her stupid hallmark quotes would actually help you grieve.” 

I shrug and lean my head in my hands, “As long as Delta is doing well, nothing else matters.”

“Is she still doing that baking class over at the Clearwaters bakery?”

I nod, “yeah, Leahs mom has helped out a lot. Keeping Delta busy and whatever.”

Sue Clearwater was like a second mother. She helped a lot during my mom's chemo treatment, being a volunteer nurse at the hospital in Forks, the neighbouring town. Sue and her sister owned a small bakery that taught kids how to bake every wednesdays and Fridays, which Delta was fond of. I made sure she got the chance to go whenever she asked, even if it meant sitting in the parking lot doing my homework while I waited.

“Now you just need to keep busy, preferably in someone's bed. What about Cal?”

I got to tell her that, that is the most ridiculous idea she has ever had, and she's had many but the bell rings. I never told her about what Paul had said to me, and what Shiloh had said to him. My anger simmers at the fact that even Shiloh had the decency to express his condolences.

“Mr. Lahote stay after class please, the rest of you hand in your questions and you're free to go.” Mr Faire announces and everyone begins to pack up and head on with their days.

I slowly gather my things, losing the battle I had been winning with my mind all class long, glancing back at the boy who disappeared from every inch of my life. His window is no longer an escape for me to use as I please. He’s talking to Jared Cameron, another one of Sam’s groupies, and his girlfriend Kim. I look away before he can catch me staring and shove the rest of my things in my bag. 

Walking up to the teachers desk, I’m the last to hand in my worksheet besides the three lingerers. It's like they can’t do anything independently, always stuck to each other like magnets.

I handed the teacher my paper, knowing that the grade for it was not ideal. I’ve stopped caring, it’s not like I’m going to college anytime soon. Not while my sister still needs me here.

“A lot of these are still unanswered” He notes disapprovingly.

“I didn’t have time to read the chapter last night.” I tell him honestly, between my other three classes and Delta needing help with her own homework, I couldn’t even find the time to take the book out of my bag.

He sighs, “I get that with your mom passing recently, life might be a bit hectic for you, but it’s no excuse for not fulfilling your responsibilities in school. I expect more from you.”

“Well maybe if you actually taught us something inside of just forcing us to read sixty pages of worthless material every night, I would have been more prepared.” I snapped at him before turning on my heel, and walking straight into what felt like a brick wall. Paul's hands steadied me from tripping over my own two feet, his unusually hot hands scorching my skin causing me to jerk away from him. I can’t look at him, the frustrated tears in my eyes blur my vision as I push past him and head for the door.

--

I am an idiot. 

I took Tessa's advice and invited Calian over, as if in the year that we had broken up, he had somehow learned how to please a woman. With Delta at a friend's house for a sleepover, and my dad working the night shift, I didn’t want to be alone in our house. It would be the first time since she was gone, and I couldn’t stomach it.

I sat in his lap, my clothes discarded long ago, in just my  bra and panties. His shirt is lost on the floor with mine as he kisses at my neck and I try to build some kind of friction, rocking my hips against his. He doesn’t get the message.

My phone rings and I look at the caller ID from where I’m seated. Paul Lahote.

I let it ring, sending it voicemail. I sigh in content as the thought of him trying to contact me fades from my mind.

It rings again.

I snatch my phone off of my bedside table and harshly hit answer.

“What do you want?” I ask, Calian doesn’t stop his assault on my neck. I have to chew on the inside of my cheek as palms my breast, roughly tweaking the hard nub.

“I’m locked out, can you climb through my window and let me in?” Paul's voice sounded desperate. 

“No, I’m busy.”

“It’s raining.” He tried and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s always raining.” I remind him. We live in the wettest state in America, the constant cover of clouds was depressing, but home.

“Please, Saskia.” he says, his tone laced with annoyance. Fuck this, I think before hanging up on him.

I grab Calians discarded tshirt and throw it on, “I'll be right back, my neighbours locked out.”

 I opened my window to see that it was partially open, as if he meant to open it and then changed his mind. I raise it further, giving me enough space to get into his room before climbing in.

His room looked the exact same as it did when I last visited him in the middle of the night. I glare at the halfnaked woman in a fancy car, still the only poster left in his room before bounding down the stairs and unlocking the door, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as I open it.

“Thanks, I owe you.” Paul says relieved and I roll my eyes.  Looking at him with an annoyed gaze before saying, “Whatever.”

His eyes connected with mine, and it was like time stopped around us. I couldn't breathe. His hard, angry eyes softened and the look of knowing crossed his face.  The man in front of me looked completely and utterly captivated, he’s never looked at me like this before, not even when I was sprawled out naked in his sheets. His usual dark, rage infused eyes held the peace that I had been searching looking for in the past few years. The solace I had so desperately tried to find in him through our late night escapades. I felt as though there was suddenly an invisible string connecting myself to him, pulled as tight as could be causing me pain if i were to try and pull away. I’ve never felt this feeling before, like a gold rush.

Gasping softly, I take a step back from him. My hand pressed against my chest as if to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

His eyes roamed my barely clothed body, like I was a shiny new toy just for him.

Paul's eyes hardened at the realisation of who’s shirt I was wearing, and it wasn’t his, “Where's your clothes?”

“Like I said, I’m busy. So if you’ll excuse me.” I mutter, trying to squeeze past his hulking figure. I avoid his gaze, afraid that I’ll grovel for him. He didn’t deserve it, not after all that he’s done, more so hasn’t done.

But his hair was damp, and dishevelled from the rain. His t-shirt slick to his body, extenuating his muscles.

I bite my lip. Would it be so bad?

Stop it, Saskia. You’re just tired, that's it, I try to convince myself.

He blocks my exit, “With who?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. We just, we have sex so, I would like to know what diseases you’re getting and  from where.” he spits out, his tone drowning in jealousy before adding, “To be safe.”

“We haven’t hooked up in months, Paul. So, no, it’s none of your business who I hang out with, especially considering your new friends.” I remind him, before sarcastically saying, “Consider yourself safe.”

He scoffed, “I’ve been dealing with stuff, that doesn’t mean I wanted our deal to end.”

He’s been dealing with stuff. His excuse was laughable. Paul didn’t even have the decency to check in when my mom died and now he wants me to sympathise about how hard his life has been?

 No chance.

“Well it did. It's over. Done. Goodbye.” Pushing past him, I only make it down the first two steps of his porch before he's grabbing ahold of my arm.

“Sask, wait.”

Looking back at him, annoyed beyond belief, I ask, “What, Paul?”

“Everything alright man?” The voice sounds from my porch and I look from Paul to see Calian, shirtless in just his soccer shorts, standing on my porch. Great timing, I think to myself.

“Yeah, Cal. Just got locked out.” He says, before looking back at me. I can’t read his emotions, but he doesn’t look happy as he says, “Thanks, again, Saskia.”

I scoff in annoyance, taking my arm back from his grip and crossing the lawn that separates the two properties and back inside my house. Cal's hand on my lower back as he guides me back to my room feels wrong and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake.

---

I rush to my locker in between periods to switch out my textbooks. It's routine at this point. I feel a warm hand on my arm, pulling me into the nearest classroom before I can even get my combination into the lock. I look at who has a grip on my arm to see Paul. He shuts the door behind us and stands in front of it, his face unreadable. When did he get so good at hiding his emotions? The boy was as short fused as they come, you know when he was in a good mood and when he was not. As he stands in front of me, I have no idea what I’m in for.

“Did you do the reading for Mr.Faires class?” his voice was rigid.

Bad mood.

“No, I didn’t have time.”

“You had time to fuck Calian.” he gritted. His eyes gave me a once over, looking for evidence of the night before. Though he wasn’t going to find anything. Calian and I had settled for a movie after I shot down his advances after my altercation with Paul. Thats it.

“I didn’t fuck him.” he stays in my way and my patience is wearing thin, “Move.”

“Jared said there's going to be a pop quiz on last night's reading,” he offers, his body language completely changing at the knowledge that I didn’t fuck my exboyfriend.

“And you’re telling me this, why exactly?” I am confused, why is this information that I would need?

“So he doesn’t rip on you again.”

“His opinion of me means nothing.” I make a move to go around him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders, stopping me.

“He made you cry.” So he did see me. 

“Fuck you, Paul.” I grit.

“Ask nicely.” he grinned, bringing his hand up to play with the end of my braid as his eyebrow furrowed, a look of inner turmoil, “You don’t sleep well, do you? Your lights are always on..”

I cross my arms over my chest, “Why do you care?”

But he was right, I don’t sleep, too many things to do and not enough time in the day. The nightmares I keep to myself don’t help. Though I would never tell anyone, they wouldn’t understand. My mom died of cancer, a slow and nondramatic death. She wasn’t murdered, she didn’t have a freak accident, or swerve from hitting a deer. She knew death was coming, I knew her death was coming.

So why the nightmares?

She haunts me, I’m convinced. Or maybe it's the guilt of knowing my dad was cheating on her and letting her die thinking she was in a monogamous marriage. Was it wrong? Maybe. But I wanted her to be happy, I didn’t want her to question her life and the people in its loyalty as the bright, white light came for her.

When I close my eyes, all I see is her, pulling me through the dark forest. She hands me a piece of paper and  tells me to run to them and get help, that she’ll distract it. I don't ever see what it is, because everytime I turn around to look I jolt awake in a panic.  I don’t know who I was supposed to look for, or how they could help. It feels so real, her fear seeps into my mind even when I’m awake. Sleep is not worth it.

“I care about you, Sask. I’m not the best at showing it, but I do.”

I scoff, “No, you don’t.”

Paul opens his mouth to refute but I don’t let him. Whatever he has to say is bullshit, it always has been., “My mom died, and you couldn’t have cared less. You didn’t even reach out, nothing!”

“I wanted to, I just…” he starts, but I’m not done.

“What? Sam didn’t let you.” I ask loudly.

“Saskia.” It sounds like a warning and he takes a step back from.

“I didn’t peg you as being the type of guy to be someone's bitch.” The malice in my tone makes him flinch, and I almost feel guilty.

“Stop.” Paul nearly growls, taking another step back. He can’t even look at me.

I shake my head at him, “You’re pathetic. Just stay away from me!”

I roughly yank the door open and on the other side is Jared Cameron. Great, I think to myself, the other bitch.

“Hey Saskia,” he says with a warm smile, “Paul in there?”

“No idea who the fuck that is.” I say as I push past him. Pulling out my phone and calling the one person who would understand what I’m going through. 

Leah Clearwater.

[smallraindrops-blog]

To Have and To hold

Hypnos x female!reader

Word count: 900

Summary: Power can drive even a god to maddess.

Warning:War, dead people and children, Ares ( let be real, that guy is a warning all on his own) kissing and sexual themes, no beta

A/N: This is a part of the Marriage AU. You can find the first arc in the tags.

This is a time skip, Persephone has returned. Hypnos and y/n are still not fully together, like early stage dating If that makes sense. Next part is in the works. It will take longer since I am also working on requests as well.

I hope you enjoy it!

The war had turned into some ugly and brutal nightmare as it neared the end. The few talks between Hypnos and Thanatos that you were able to eavesdrop on made your gut twisted.

You rolled the scroll up with a sigh, not able to focus. Your eyes went back to the bag of melomakarona or honey cookies as Hypnos called them. Attached to the bag, a note from your husband with apologies for not being able to stop by or even really talk to you for the last few weeks.

And with the amount of new dead to care for, Hypnos had been busy. You wondered if he was even able to work on his godly duties in the meantime.

You felt so foolish. You had requested Hypnos to let you and him have a courting period, even if you were already married. You had wanted to take it slow, to really know the god who was your husband.

Now what has seemed like in matters of months, the world above you had gone mad. It truly felt like they were trying to send everyone and everything to their doom.

And you felt like a silly little girl who wanted flowers.

You rubbed your eyes, and with guilt weighing on your shoulders, called it a night (or morning, it was impossible to tell.). You picked up your things, including the bag of cookies and was about to leave when the door opened to reveal Hypnos, exhausted and sullen.

You dropped everything on the table and hurried to him. He floated in and met you in a hug.

You buried your face in his shoulder, and just held on. For several minutes, neither one of you said anything.

He gave you a small squeeze before he pulled away. "I cannot tell you how badly I needed that." He smiled and your heart twisted.

You reached up and held his face between your hands to study him. His permanent dark circles had gotten worse and his normally bright eyes had become dull with the lack of rest. "Oh Hypnos." You muttered, your thumbs rubbing his face.

Hypnos closed his eyes and sighed. "I wish I was coming to tell you that it is finally over but it looks like it might be ongoing for a little longer."

You shook your head. "Goodness. Are they finally giving you a break?" You asked hopefully. You could get him to get some sleep and food in him before he had to start again.

"No, love. I'm afraid not." Hypnos covered your hands with his own. "I just came to check on you. Are you heading to your chambers?"

"I was but nevermind, I can still get some work done." You replied, some tea should wake you up.

"No. I want you to get some rest. Darkness knows we will need someone who still has energy afterwards to get the house back in order because it isn't going to be me."

Hypnos pulled your hands down and held them in his own hands. He pressed a kiss on both and you blushed at how carefully he held your hands.

"Gather your things, I can take you to your chambers before I am needed back." Hypnos all but ordered. You thought about arguing back but the exhaustion in his face held your tongue.

"Have a cookie." You shoved the bag to his face. He blinked before laughing, "Didn't I give these cookies to you?"

You smiled, "Yes and you should have some." Hypnos opened the bag as you closed up the library. He hummed happily as he chewed, and immediately popped another one in.

"Have you received any more news?" You asked hopefully, walking down the hallway while he floated next to you.

"Just the normal horrible stuff that humans are doing to each other." Hypnos said. "I know I've joked about having them all die so I don't have to keep working but now they actually seem trying."

You raised a brow, "Wouldn't that mean you won't be able to do the thing you like? Helping humans sleep?"

"That right, no one else will bother me ever again and I can just sleep. Forever." His happy tone made you laugh despite yourself.

He chewed another cookie, "You know it's nothing to worry about right? This stuff just happens sometimes."

You gave him a doubtful look, you knew he was holding back the more ugly details. "I know but the amount of people coming, that's unusual isn't it?" You bit your lip, "Isn't there anything I can help with?"

You sighed when Hypnos shook his head.

"It is unusual but enough about that horrible stuff, I need my mind taken off of it for a bit. Tell me about your day." Hypnos held out a cookie for you.

You took the cookie, pouting little a bit at least you could help him forget a bit.

💤

*Hypnos' pov*

He should have expected the line waiting for him to get back but he still groaned at the amount of shades waiting for him.

The only reason Hades hadn't ripped his head off for leaving his post was because of Queen Persephone. Both of their heads were bent close, looking over the scroll Charon delivered for Hermes.

Hypnos pulled his quills out and gestured to a shade to step forward.

Even with Dusa and some of the worker shades' help, there were still far too many humans waiting.

He could hear some of the children crying, some with their families but more without. Normally, he and Dusa didn't talk or even like the other that much, Hypnos admitted to himself, but the grimaces they shared made him soften just a bit.

This just made him more sure in his decision not to have Y/N help with this mess that Ares created. She was already too kind for her own good and the crying children and grief-sick humans would break her heart.

The farther he could keep Y/N away from this, the better.

[with-paint]

Breaking the Glass

Part 2 of 2 of Whatever the Outcome Series

Rating: Teen and up

Pairing: Lip Gallagher x fem!reader

Word Count: 5,204

Summary: The hearing of Lip Gallagher and Professor Helene Runyon is today. You watch it all unfold, it seems, with your hands clasped tightly over your eyes.

Warnings: swearing everywhere, some violence, smoking and drinking of course, slut shaming

A/N: this is the best fucking thing I have ever written and I just want to say ahhhhh. I used the word “fuck” 64 times in this. Set in 6x06. Part 1

It was the day of the hearing and to say Lip was freaking out, was an understatement.

You watched in both horror and amazement as he tore open his third pack of cigarettes. It was a thing you noticed he did when he completely lost it. He chained smoked like a motherfucker. The ashtray you slid his way a couple hours ago was completely filled with stubs and you were pretty sure you could hold the thick smoke in your hands.

You hauled him into your dorm room after his classes were done, wanting him to have company that wasn’t destructive before the board meeting. He sat on your coffee table, and you on the edge of your bed. No one was talking. You let him wallow in his anger and his grief, and you offered him anything you thought could help him. A safe space to freak out and a friend that wouldn’t judge him as he spiraled. He didn’t have to pretend to be strong. Not to you.

You cleared your throat and ran a hand over your mouth as you stared at him. He hadn’t spoken in hours. Hadn’t done anything in hours. Just stared at the floor and smoked.

“Alright champ, I think that’s enough. No need to get lung cancer any faster.” You attempted to tease as you nudged his leg with your foot. You knew your voice gave away your panic, and you felt your face burn as you looked away from him. He leaned back on the table and puffed out more smoke. With a sigh, he threw the barley smoked cigarette onto the giant pile and looked out the window in your dorm room.

You’d always liked that your room faced the giant quad most people walked through. You liked that you could witness everyone just living their lives. It seemed that’s what you did best. Watch as people lived their lives. Make their mistakes. Get back up again.

You tugged a cigarette from one of the packs and lit it quickly. Taking a drag, you felt some of the nerves leave your body.

“We are so fucked.” He swore, staring out at the expanse of the campus. You glanced at him, wondering if he thought this was the last time he would see the campus as a student. You didn’t get along with a lot of people. You were one of a few that didn’t grow up with a silver spoon stuck in your mouth. Your bad temper and lack of manners didn’t help you much. Sure, you liked Joaquin fine, but he was always trying to get into your pants.

Lip was different. You two met a few weeks into Freshman year. You were taking a smoke break when he raged into the alleyway and beat the shit out of a dumpster. You’d been attached to the hip ever since.

You stayed with him over the summer and helped him deal with his little brother and his family anyway you could. Lip was like family to you now, and he might go away. You were terrified he would be expelled. You didn’t know what you would do if he walked out and went to his dorm to pack his bags. Just the thought alone made your blood freeze in your veins. “She’s never going to want to see me again.”

You blinked a few times.

Oh right.

Helene.

He wasn’t scared that he would leave the school. Leave all this hard work and the money he’d been given, especially by that man who paid for this all making Lip fucking owe that man to at least finish. Or his own room which he deserved after sharing a space with three other boys back at home, not that you’d think he minded at the time, but once you get a taste of freedom it’s so hard to go back. Or a place where he actually belonged, a place he could let his mind grow and you’ve seen him teaching, he had a gift, a talent, and he was going to waste it all.

You tried to rack your brain for more reasons, but the one true reason was screaming at you. He couldn’t leave. Leave, fuck, you couldn’t do this, leave you. Your chest heaved as you admitted that to yourself. You were afraid he was going to leave you. Fuck. You couldn’t do this right now. You stared at him and let out a bitter laugh.

No, he was worried that Professor Runyon would be fired because she was sleeping with a student when she knew damn well the risks of doing so. Worried that her fourty year old cougar ass wouldn’t want to see him anymore. That’s what he was so stressed about.

You pushed off your bed and crossed over to the window, taking another deep drag of your cigarette.

“Maybe. You sure know how to pick ‘em.” You said bitterly. Wanting to cause a sting in return for the way his comment hurt you. Lip turned to you and raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, what first was Karen? I don’t even need to explain that one. Then Mandy. I actually really liked her. That one was your fault. Then Amanda, fucking bitch. And now Professor Runyon. Face it Lip, you have bad taste in women.” You took another drag. “And also a thing for blondes.”

Lip flicked his cigarette out as his jaw dropped. “I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.”

“Why the fuck should I have to?!” You snapped, all that anger finally bubbling over and exploding. You threw your cigarette onto the floor and stomped it out. “What ‘cause I’m the only one left? Only one you haven’t fucked so that means I haven’t gotten screwed over by the bullshit logic you use, all orchestrated by your dick?! Are you fucking kidding me Lip? Are you actually this dense? You think she would want to see you after all of this? You ruined her career her fucking livelihood. She has a family she wouldn’t choose you over them you fucking moron!” You laughed again and turned around. The sudden urge to slap him welled up inside you, but you choked it down. You were not going to be another jealous girl. Not you. Fucking no way.

Lip’s nostrils flared as he got progressively angrier at your words.

“You don’t know how she feels about me! She loves me, I-I love her!” He got in your face and you set your jaw as you stared at him.

You leaned into him and jabbed a finger into his chest. Your noses inches apart.

“Lip you love getting your dick wet. You don’t know shit about real feelings you fucking manwhore. All you’ve ever done is fuck girls over for your own agenda. And that’s all you’ll ever do. You’ll die alone because all you know is how to fuck people over and push the ones who care away.” You shoved him out of your face and stormed over to your door.

“Out.” Your voice was steady and calm, but the murderous look on your face betrayed you. Lip let out a sarcastic laugh and picked up his bag from your floor.

“Thank you for fucking nothing then!” He called as he walked out the door. You slammed it before he could start talking again. Grabbing the ashtray off your table, you opened your window, and threw it at the ground. The amber glass shattered as the cigarette stubs scattered along with it. You let out a shaky breath as you fell backwards onto your bed.

Taking a glance at the clock, you groaned. It was an hour until the hearing. You had an hour to decide what the fuck to do.

Alright fuck, let’s go over the facts. Lip is a fucking asshole who was in a relationship with a professor when both knew their relationship would end in either expulsion or loss of a job. Alright so maybe they both got off on the secrecy of it all. You ran a hand over your face and sighed. Who were you to limit who he was with? You were just a friend. And yeah you could have a say in the sense that you could pipe up at a party, make sure he doesn’t sleep with an STD riddled sorority girl. But to say he wasn’t allowed to be with the woman he was in love with? Nah. You couldn’t be the one getting in his way. You stared up at the ceiling and felt the stress physically taking a role on the space between your shoulder blades and at the bottom of your neck.

Okay so you couldn’t be mad at him for being with Professor Runyon.

You could be mad at another thing though. The most obvious things. You couldn’t be mad at him for who he loved. But you could, you could be mad at him for who he didn’t. You pressed the palms of your hands into your eyes and let out a pitiful laugh.

You could be mad that he wasn’t in love with you.

Fuck you were in love with Lip.

“What a fucking cliché.” You spat into the static air of your dorm room. The stupid girl being head over heels for the oblivious best friend. Your mouth raised in a sneer as you thought it over.

You were in love with Lip. Lip. Love. You love Lip. Your conscious was screaming these words. Over and over.

With a shake of your head as though to clear the thoughts you flung your arms out. Okay. You loved Lip, fine. But you didn’t love how he was acting.

You didn’t love this fuckboy persona he was constantly adopting. This “big dick” player Lip. The one Helene and even Amanda fell over. No, you loved the shit talking Lip, the one that takes the L train every weekend to see and help his family. The big protective Lip that holds his baby brother at three in the morning, Liam’s small body shaking from nightmares as Lip continues to annotate his paper for English. No, you were the only person who really loved Lip Gallagher, because you were the only one that really saw him. And he needed someone who truly sees him at this hearing.

You ran a hand over your face and glanced at the clock again. You still had time to make it to this fucking hearing.

In a haste you grabbed your bag, yanked on your lanyard, and booked it out the door, sprinting to the disciplinary sector of the school. You skidded to a stop as you saw Lip pacing in front of a door on the other end of the hall.

With a deep breath, you strode over to him. He looked up in surprise upon hearing you and stopped his frantic pacing. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey you made it. Didn’t think you’d come.” Lip admitted shoving his hands into his pockets. You still wanted to slap him, but you sighed and set your bag on the metal chair sitting across from the door.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Is Youens inside?” You asked, quietly, fiddling with the lanyard around your neck. Your school ID and keys jingled softly and Lip stared at you. His expression unreadable.

You weren’t one to be shy, weren’t one to show a nervous tick so blatantly. You broke Amanda’s nose without even blinking, yelled at him not even an hour ago, and now you were being shy. Lip blinked a few times trying in vain to understand what that meant for you, what that meant for him.

He cleared his throat and kicked the ground without any real heat behind it.

“Yeah. Just nervous s’all.”

You nodded and rolled your shoulders. Lip watched as you shed away your shyness and became the fearless, trash talking, scrappy girl he knew. Watched as you shed your emotions to be what he needed from you. His heart thudded and he didn’t fucking know why.

“Fuck that. It’ll be easy.” You stepped closer to him and smiled brightly. “It’ll be fine. Professor Youens will be there with you. Just tell them whatever they want to hear. Do not loose your fucking temper. Make sure to blame it on Amanda.” You rambled smoothing the soft blue of Lip’s collar. He let out a huff of a laugh and grabbed your hands that were fidgeting all over him.

“You goin to wait out here?” He mumbled rubbing at his forehead. You sucked your teeth at him and reached up to fix the hairs he tugged down.

“Of course. You’ll get through this. We can get shit faced after, maybe I can break Amanda’s legs. It’ll be a good rest of the day.” You were grasping at straws. All you wanted was to reassure him, calm him down. Every time you spoke it seemed like you were threatening or bad mouthing Amanda, and you saw the sadness in his eyes. He was secretly hurt that she would betray him like that.

Lip nodded and with one last look at you, he walked through the door to his doom. You bit your lip and slowly sunk down on the awful metal folding chair across the hall.

All you could do now was wait.

- - -

Your leg bounced as you took a deep drag of your cigarette. You knew there was no smoking indoors, but you’d be damned if someone tried to take this one comfort away from you. It was all you fucking had left. You let the smoke fill your lungs as you exhaled and blew the white vapor into the static air of the hallway.

The clicking of heels snapped you out of your numb staring and you looked up to see Professor Runyon making her way over to you. You regarded her as you took another drag. Her expression was blank, but you could see in the set of her jaw that she was stressed. You almost smiled as she looked down at you.

“Professor,” you nodded and rested your head on the wall behind you. “I hope it all ends well. Please talk to him if you can.”

She raised an eyebrow at you and looked around nervously.

“Take care of him.” She said quietly, and with that she pushed open the door and walked inside. You blinked up at the empty space she occupied. Well what else have you been doing for the past two years? You huffed out a sarcastic laugh and adjusted your shoulders. You were in deep now weren’t you?

It felt like maybe an hour passed before your thoughts were disturbed by the door opening.

You stood up, wanting to immediately grill Lip on how it went, when instead Professor Runyon briskly walked out. Still composed and professional, but clearly running. You opened your mouth to say something, but she breezed past you, pulling on a beige coat and a scarf.

You blinked a few times and slowly sunk back into the chair before the door banged open again and Lip and Professor Youens walked out. You shot up and looked at them with wide eyes, trying to determine the verdict in their faces. Youens gave you a slight smile, but Lip was hastily tugging on his own coat and looking down the hall at the retreating Professor.

“Helene! Wait!” Lip called jogging after her, completely ignoring you as they both quickly left the building. The big glass door they walked through shining as it slammed close. You blinked a few times and looked down at your bag.

No he fucking didn’t.

You raised your eyebrows and swore openly. Cussing out that fucking bastards name. How dare he. You were the only one who gave a shit about him beside Youens and he couldn’t even look to you.

You yanked your bag and made to storm out of the hall, before Professor Youens put a hand on your shoulder. You snapped your glare to him before dimming it. Your eyes wide, staring into his soft brown ones, you felt more grounded then you did all week. Already visibly calmer he gave you a little smile.

“That boy is probably the biggest idiot I know.” He said, his calming voice washing over you. You closed your eyes for a moment and let out a huff of air.

“I kno-” you began, your anger swelling back up again for that whore you apparently loved.

“But then again so are we.” And with that he turned and left, walking the opposite way and rounding a corner. You stared after him. We’re idiots? What? You blinked a few times, staring at the empty space he used to occupy, and sat back in your pathetic little folding chair.

Youens was a college professor, granted he was a drunk who made Lip do most of his work, but he was a professor and smarter than Lip gave him credit for. And you weren’t exactly a genius, but you worked your ass off and did well, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t keep up. Neither of you were idiots. But if you’re going off academic genius, then neither was Lip. You scrunched your nose and glanced at the glass door.

Lip was an idiot because he fucking fucked everyone who looked at him and had no class, and was angry and naïve. Didn’t understand the working world and expected rewards for everything he did. Demanded credit and fell in love with the wrong people, cared too little about people’s feelings and instead what they could do for him.

And you and Youens?

You were idiots for loving him regardless.

You sucked your teeth and crossed your arms. Fuck Youens for making you feel bad, Lip was just a hurt kid in love and he really needed someone right now. You of all people could fucking relate. You let out a sigh and glanced at the glass door again.

Guess it’s time to get this asshole and lick his fucking wounds or something. You threw your bag onto your shoulder and made your way outside.

You spotted him quickly. His tan coat and blonde hair are a pretty big tell. But the biggest, was that he was the only person standing still. Just frozen in the middle of the quad, staring off into the middle distance. You sighed again and slowly made your way to him, making as much noise as possible to not scare him. You were practically stomping before you stopped right behind him.

“Lip?” You mumbled, slowly reaching out a hand. You placed it gently on his shoulder, but he started and spun around quickly, eyes wide.

He looked, uh, you cocked your head at him slightly. He looked like his heart was ripped out of his chest and his smile was thrown away and his happiness was blended up and discarded all right in front of him. He looked absolutely devastated. You pulled your hand off his shoulder and cleared your throat. Gripping and ungripping your bag’s strap, you sighed.

“C’mon. Today’s been rough. Let’s get fuckin wasted.” You said trying to conjure up a smile. It was like Lip was a vacuum and any sense of ease and lightness was destroyed in his presence. You dropped your smile and gripped your bag again. Lip looked only marginally less miserable at the suggestion of booze.

He nodded slightly and you felt yourself returning it. It was going to be fine. You and Lip again, just getting wasted in your dorm rooms like a couple of reckless kids.

As the two of you made the trip back to Lip’s dorm, his shell shocked expression loosened. He wasn’t sad anymore, but fucking angry.

“A year! I met her husband and kid, I was over there all the time. I went on trips with her and kept her drunk ass company! I took care of her! And the only time she looked me in the eye was to tell me to fuck off! She said she was terminating all contact to them! Can you believe this shit?!” He turned to you, hands palm up in front of him, eyes wide and mouth snarled. You could only shake your head as you pushed open the door to his dorm building. You didn’t trust yourself in the slightest to get onto the anti Professor Runyon train. Your dislike for her ran deeper than the offense to the man next to you. Better to keep your mouth shut and not give anything away.

Lip kept cussing and ranting as you climbed the stairs in the cold stairwell. You just kept shaking your head and occasionally mumbling out an, “I know” or “What a bitch”. You weren’t listening. How could you, you were hurt and mad and stressed, worried, and happy all at the same time. You just wanted to get to his dorm so you could drink so much that your brain deteriorated. That’s all you wanted.

You pushed open the doors to his floor and he followed you, still throwing an impressive tantrum. You shook your head for good measure as the door slammed shut behind you.

You blinked back into focus when Lip turned suddenly. You stared at him with wide eyes and he made a lunge to open the just closed door.

“Lip! What the fuck?!” You yelled grabbing him by his sleeves and hauling him back. It doesn’t matter that you could break his arm with ease, he was fueled by pure anger and heartbreak. You didn’t stand a chance. His back was to you, his hand splayed large over the door. It creaked open slowly.

“I need her to fucking understand!” He spat and you couldn’t help the eyeroll that escaped from you. You planted your feet and tugged him harder. He inched backwards and the door slammed shut again.

“She doesn’t want to fucking talk to you!” You spat. You huffed out a frustrated breath and moved your entire body so you were next to him. Still pulling on him you looked at him with a harsh glare. His blue eyes; bright and wild, met yours and you sighed again. With a glance upwards in a silent prayer to whatever god, real or not, that resided above, you punched him swiftly in the dick.

He crumpled to the floor in an instant. His groans of pain and the crash his limp body made, echoed in the small hallway and you fucking sighed again.

You stood over him and glared at him.

“Now you’re going to fucking listen to me!” You spat watching him with a slight snear and his eyes squeezed shut in misery. “Helene cannot talk to you or she will lose her fucking job. This isn’t about you. This is about her money, her passions, her life. You will stay the fuck away from her or you will get her into even more trouble. I know you loved her, but you can get the fuck over it because it’s over. It’s done. The end!”

You finished your rant with a wave of your hands.

You took a few seconds to feel sick satisfaction at watching him in pain. For all the emotional misery he put you through in the last couple hours, it felt nice to return it ten-fold. You cocked your head to the side and finally, kneeled down next to him. He moaned in pain and coughed out pitifully.

“Alright come on. There's ice in your freezer. Let’s go.” Lip only coughed in response. You took that as the gracious “thank you” that it was and helped him hobble to his dorm room. You fumbled with his pockets, trying to find the keys.

“Left one.” He coughed out and you nodded in thanks at him. Swinging the door open you unceremoniously dumped him on his bed, opened the mini fridge, and threw a bag of ice next to him.

He sucked in a shaky breath and gingerly pressed the ice to himself. You smirked slightly and rooted around in his fridge for any alcohol you could find. You pulled out a bottle of vodka that was definitely stolen. You brought it to your mouth and bit the cap off. You spit it at him and he flipped you off in turn.

This was nice. This was normal. Just you and Lip, drinking and lounging around in your rooms. You could do this.

You pulled out another bottle and took that with you. Kicking the fridge closed, you handed him the second bottle.

He seemed to be doing better. His face no longer an alarming shade of red. His breathing evened out and he stared at the ceiling blankly. Better than in pure agony. You shrugged and leaned on his desk, staring at him.

“Are you going to tell me what the verdict was or do I have to punch you again?” You teased making him laugh.

“Yeah. Was uh, was that she terminate all contact. And I lose my job as a RA. Lose this room.” He shuffled back a little so he could prop himself up on his pillows and look at you. You nodded, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Well shit. I’ll drink to that.” You said and took a long, long drink. Lip followed you and you let the horrible taste wash over you.

You didn’t talk for a while after that. Just kept taking long swigs of your drinks and taking turns staring at the floor, or staring at the ceiling.

You let out a little laugh and Lip looked at you quickly. Looking almost scandalized that you would find this funny. You couldn’t help it, the fact that her nudes got leaked was funny as hell for some reason. You clutched your drink tightly and doubled over laughing. Lip stared at you for a few seconds before his own laugh of disbelief joined you. Your twin loud laughs was the only sound in the silent room as you felt tears gathering in your eyes. Lip wasn’t far behind as his face returned to that red color.

“Oh man that’s fucking delightful!” You spit out, still laughing in pure joy. Lip shook his head and let his head fall back in laughter.

“I’m fucked.” He said as he let his own laughter die down into giggles.

You nodded with a grin and you took another sip. Absolutely fucked. The silence settled over your two again. This time it was more awkward than comfortable. You cleared your throat and moved off his desk. Lip raised an eyebrow at you and you stuck your tongue out at him.

You sat on his bed as you took another swig of the cheap vodka. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and fire, but you sucked it down the same. Lip threw his own, now empty bottle at the cushions and it bounced slightly. You smiled slightly at it. Lost in your own thoughts of the events of today. You let out a sigh before you felt the hairs on your arm prick up and you turned to Lip.

He was already staring at you, blue eyes slightly bloodshot, but looking as beautiful as ever. You felt yourself smiling at him. In awe at how much of a beautiful mess he looked. The pair of your breathings was the only thing heard as slowly, so fucking slowly he leaned into you. You sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering close, as his lips covered yours.

You were kissing Lip. You were kissing Phillip fucking Gallagher. The guy you had been trailing over, loving for so fucking long. You moved your hand up to cradle his face. His slight stubble scratching your palm. You were kissing Lip Gallagher. You pressed more into him as your mind wondered like it always did.

You were kissing him immediately right after he got fucking dumped by the woman he loves.

Your mouth turned into a snarl and you jerked back. “I’m not a fucking rebound.” You hissed pushing him off you. You heart thudded in your chest and you prayed he couldn’t hear it.

“I know, I’m just really fucked up right now.” He confessed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. You narrowed your eyes, yeah fucked up emotionally you bastard. He moved his hands and let out a puff of air. You watched him as his eyes got watery and he quickly rubbed that away too.

God he was fucking wasted.

You blinked a few times as an idea came over you. Lip was fucking wasted.

Your head pounded and you stared at him. He was trashed beyond belief. His eyes closing every few seconds and the dopey smile on his face was all you needed. He was crying a second ago and now he looked like it was his birthday. This was it. Now or never. He would never remember this in the morning.

“I’ve been in love with you for years now.” You stuttered, heart thudding as you twisted the blanket through your hands nervously. Lip bobbed his head in a clumsy nod.

“I know.” He slurred. It felt like a huge weight lifted off your shoulders, as well as an even bigger one clamped down on you and suffocated you. You sucked in a breath and fell back onto Lip’s bed. Fuck he knew. This entire time. And he had the audacity to treat you like this. Fuck him. Fuck this fucking asshole. You were bubbling up to boil over, before Lip’s arm buckled and he fell half on top of you. His mouth open and soft snores emitting. You blinked a few times up at his ceiling in shock. Body stiff as you just laid there with his unconscious body cuddling up to you.

This was the moment then. You could choose to walk out forever and no one could even blame you for doing it. Or you could stay. You could pick up the pieces and help him heal from afar. After all you’ve done that up until this point. What’s a few more years. Hell, what’s the rest of his miserable life. Your nose twitched as you traced the ceiling fan with your eyes.

You had always been the one staring out the window. Even with him. You watched him date these women and fall apart. In your own fucking life you just watched the events unfold. Never did you actually make a decision for you. You thought back to the breaking of Amanda’s nose and couldn’t help but smirk. Well every decision you did make was a violent one.

But.

Where was the getting what you wanted? Where was the heart pounding moments? Where was your own dates with the people you loved?

You made your decision.

You closed your eyes and slowly let yourself relax into the queen size bed. Whatever the outcome of this all, you were breaking the glass and stepping to the otherside. You were fucking staying. You were making your own decisions and finally living. You wanted this. So you were taking it.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Away. So, so far away.

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

Warnings: fuckin' angst, arguing, alcohol.

Word count: 3,3K

2

“This is just where I draw the line, you know?”, you said to Bucky over your fifth drink. He was still sipping from that goddamn bottle of beer, as if one more drink would make him talk more. You appreciated his silence, but sometimes he was just unnecessarily quiet. You needed a friend to bitch about your in-laws and he kept staring, and staring, and —fucking staring like a mannequin. If he wouldn’t stare so much, you would even say he was shy. “I can’t believe they actually will reject me over not being a good companion for the King because I wouldn’t carry his child. Do you understand how obscenely sexist and, just… plain gross, that is?”.

“He is a prince, after all”.

“They just don’t like me. They raised Loki making him think he’ll be King, then they stripped it away, and now they did just the same and blame it on a stupid reason like I wouldn’t want to have kids. It’s idiotic, right? Besides, I’ll live much less than him. He could just be with me a while, then I die and then he gets someone else who would want his kids. It’s not that hard”.

“Damn”, he muttered. “You do have a lot to say about them, don’t you?”.

“You’re supposed to be my friend here”.

“I thought Tony Stark played that role for you”, he chuckled. “He’s all about playing roles, isn’t he? The hero, the playboy, the genius… I wonder what of them all he really is”.

“Oh, so you do have opinions”.

“Fuck you”.

“No thanks, I don’t like me that much”.

He laughed loudly. In comparison to every laugh and chuckle you’ve managed to pull out of him so far, this one was the loudest. You laughed with him. He had a very contagious smile.

“A kid is… too much. When you’re fucked up, you fuck up the kid too. When you don’t want one and have one anyway, the kid senses it. They’re sponges, you know?”, he said, asking the bartender for another round with a hand gesture.

“To be friends with Steve ‘Language’ Rogers, you curse a lot”, you chuckled, and he downed the drink in a few gulps, trying to catch up with your drunken state. “But yes, exactly. It’s not only that I think I’m fucked up, because that’s not the only thing that would stop me. I would have kids and work through not being a shit parent, if I wanted to”.

“But you don’t want to. That’s the point”.

“Yeah. And I’m not sure Loki doesn’t want one either. He joins kids that play in the park and lets them toy with his many different animal forms. He loves playing with babies, most of all. He is an innate dad, and I’m… not. And I feel like I’m depriving him of too much. The throne, the kids… He… he deserves better”, your eyes started watering, and Bucky frowned, awkwardly placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey… sometimes things just aren’t meant to be. It’s not that you’re a bad partner. You’re great, for what we all see”, he tried to help you feel better. “It’s just that maybe you’re not meant to be with him. Maybe you need someone who wants the same things that you want”.

“I don’t want anyone other than Loki”, you assured him. He nodded, his eyes still fixed on you as if taking them off would lose your interest. “I’m the problem, I’ll always be”.

“No, you are not”, said the knowingly deep voice that pulled you off your insecurities and brought immediate light to your eyes.

“My Loki!”, you greeted him, cheeks hotter and your hair—so sticky, was it always this sticky?

“My love”, he smiled fondly.

“My fucking God”, Bucky rolled his eyes. Loki didn’t pay any mind to him.

“Come on, little darling. Let’s get you some rest”, he said, placing a hand in the nape of your neck, caressing your skin softly. You got up, and just then realized how drunk you were. All the blood from your body went straight to your head, and grabbed him to not fall down. “How much did they drink?”, he asked Bucky.

Bucky raised his shoulders and pressed his lips in a line.

“A bunch”.

Loki sighed and thanked him for keeping you safe. You walked together from the bar to the parking lot. The lights of the city brimmed over the wet pavement —it had just rained. Shame you were so focused on getting drunk, you would’ve loved to stay under the fat drops.

“How long have you been listening?”, you asked as he clicked your seatbelt on. He sighed and curved his lips in a smile you knew he only used when he lied.

“Not more than the last few words”.

He had obviously listened to it all.

“I’m sorry I keep bitching about it. You really do deserve better”.

“Nonsense. If I wanted kids I would be with someone who wanted them”, he lied again. Was it love, this constant lie? Love sometimes was about keeping your thoughts for yourself. In this case, you weren’t so sure it was. Love wasn’t keeping him from the throne, from kids, from a future he wanted to have. “The only thing I want…”, he started, knowing you would finish the answer.

“...is me, right”, you chuckled. “Can I drive?”.

“Definitely not”.

“Yeah, probably for the best”.

You chuckled, your cheeks reddening at everything and anything. You felt your whole body warm, and wanted more than anything for Loki to place one of his long hands on your thigh —that hot thing he did where he drove with one hand, eyes on the road and half a smirk to your side. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink.

“The thing is, Loki”, you kept talking and he sighed. He didn’t want to listen to you like this. He knew you’d say things you didn’t want him to hear. You never were the kind of drunk that slurred on their words and couldn’t walk straight. You just lacked filters. And you had so, so many filters when sober, that Loki felt like an invasion to listen to you like this. “I know you enough, and I’m afraid you’ll…”.

“Look, love”, he interrupted you, pointing somewhere through the windshield. “That’s your favourite iced yogurt shop, is it not? I’ll get you some, you just wait here in the car, alright?”.

You smiled, looking down to your feet. He got out of the car and in a matter of minutes came back with a package. He drove in silence back home and you didn’t say anything else, understanding the motives behind the iced yogurt stop.

Love was somewhere around listening and not listening. You were too drunk to even think about it now.

You could see it in him. That lit off glitter in his eyes —he could have all of that sweet power he always longed for in the tip of his fingers and he got it stripped away. You could see the grief—no, the anger, the insomnia. Whatever his mother told him, it fucked him up for a whole week, if not more. Maybe he just learnt to hide it better after seven days.

You’d cuddle him to sleep, and when you woke up in the middle of the night because your feet were cold, or your mouth was dry, or your bed felt lonely, he wasn’t there. He left in the middle of the night to be somewhere else, and you couldn’t bring yourself to even ask.

You wandered around the apartment after the first three nights. Looking for him to find it emptier than ever. He wasn’t in any other part of the compound. Not in the common kitchen, the common room, the common anything. Not in his brother’s room, and you didn’t even have to check, but he certainly wasn’t in any other room. He wouldn’t, right?

You went back to bed with a feeling of unease. You didn’t call anyone, didn’t say anyone your lover wasn’t there, because you hoped he’d be there in the morning.

You couldn’t close your eyes until the door opened slowly and Loki sneaked his way back to bed, not realizing you were awake. You pretended to be still asleep, without a clue of his night trip to God knows where. He got undressed. He unfolded the sheets and blankets and wrapped himself around you, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder. His body was cold —so much colder than usual. Externally cold, as if he would’ve been somewhere not even his Jötun skin could keep up with. You sighed in relief, but not so much.

You needed to know if he was wounded. You pretended to turn around in your sleep and passed your hands through his bare chest, as if you were greeting him half asleep. He didn’t seem to realize you were wide awake.

No wounds. Good.

Still cold.

You couldn’t figure it out, and groaned. Loki gasped ever so slightly, and then sighed.

“Awake?”.

You opened your eyes, defeated. His eyes didn’t show guilt. They reflected an emptiness, a treasure that he seemed to have found and lost at the very same hour. Whatever kept him up at night, he went looking for it and now it was gone—and he was disappointed in himself for that. He looked disappointed.

“Where do you go when you leave?”, you whispered. You weren’t accusing him, and he knew. You wanted to know. Not demanding, just asking. If he didn’t want to tell you, you would’ve accepted it. Should you? You would. You felt powerless in these situations, now that he had given everything up for you. You shouldn’t.

He rolled off the bed and sat on his feet, looking down. Only the blue shine of the moon illuminated his features, his body, his sore muscles from all the fighting he has gotten involved into lately —missions, more and more training, verbal fights with everyone and himself included, except you—you were always his exception. Was that a good thing, now? It was. You were sure it was.

“Jötunheim”, he said. The word weighed on his tongue, and he clenched his jaw right after saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I might have ruined everything”.

“What do you mean?”.

“I… I really hope nobody notices. I really hope… Heimdall keeps it to himself. I’ve been rejected, and now the war is all against me. I hope only me”, he muttered, his gaze drifting off everywhere and anywhere. “I hope only me. If I brought you too into this… oh, no”.

“What do you mean, love?”, you asked quietly, firm eye contact on him, grabbing both his arms with so little space left between you. Such a nice comparison with the arm-length grab that still resonated on his shoulders. “What happened?”.

What happened? you asked him, and he thought that’s such a pure and raw form you showed his love to him. You weren’t asking what have you done even if he left all hints that he did wrong. You wouldn’t accuse him of wronging anything or anyone unless he himself would hand you the hard evidence proving that he was wrong. Was that love? Or blindness?

No, you weren’t blind. You understood he was wronging something. You noticed every quirk of his lips and eyebrows when he lied—and you ignored it. You acknowledged every bad he ever did to anyone—and also acknowledged his apologies. You weren’t blind, you didn’t see past it. You saw so much through it, that you understood his motives. And, for you, his motives were always enough.

That, right there, was love, Loki thought.

He was exhausted. All he had to do in there, did it hiding from Heimdall’s eye. And that form of magic left him drained as ever. He was tired from the fights and the bargains, from hiding, from showing himself too much, from having to do so many things and getting none done. He laid on bed and put his head over your abdomen. You caressed a few strands of his almost frozen raven locks, wet with melted snow. His hand trembled ever so slightly.

“Let us sleep and I'll tell you in the morning, alright?”.

When you woke up that next morning, the bed was empty again. But your heart relaxed as soon as you heard the kettle boiling on the small kitchen, a knife hitting against a plate —the sound of the fruit being cut, the bread getting toasted flying over the fire of the stovetop.

You got on your feet and walked there, lingering in the way in. He was barely dressed—a black boxer, that one with the grey lines that made his ass look amazing, a cotton sweater with a lit off tone of blue that made his eyes glow. His hair in a messy low bun that hardly got the curled hairs that fell shamelessly over his face.

He moved his hand and the toasts flew to a plate, right by the fruit. He served the water carefully on the teapot and just as he left it over the countertop again, you reached for his waist and planted a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Morning, dear”.

“Morning, sweet”.

And there it was—that silence again. It lasted all breakfast, except for the innocuous what will you do today and his voice reading the papers out loud. He didn’t say what he did in Jötunheim but he seemed to remember it vividly. That emptiness in his eyes was now filled with terror. You remember him being terrified at the mention of one name, and one name only. And you were afraid the Mad Titan had something to do with it —once again.

He closed the paper over the table and looked at you fondly. Smiled softly, and grabbed your hands, drawing small circles with his thumbs. A halo of green lights surrounded you two, and you understood he was now hiding from Heimdall, again. He took in a gulp of air and got ready.

“I went to Jötunheim to claim my throne”.

You nodded, unable to hide surprise in your expressions. With raised eyebrows, your lips parted to form a,

“Oh?”.

“I had to take the chance. I messed up”.

“Why?”.

“I got rejected”.

That didn’t seem like it. He never got rejected in these things. He got defeated. He bargained with words and threats and what not more, with all the things he knew how to bargain in these situations, sharp as a knife, sharp as only he could be. He was terrified, of what? What stopped him in place? What froze the frost giant?

“What are you scared of?”, you asked in a whisper.

“They might take something or someone away”.

Freedom. He was scared of getting locked up again. He was scared of getting you away from him. He was scared of a million other things that seemed irrelevant in the face of those two options.

“They can’t lock you up, my love, you’ve done nothing wrong”.

“It’s treason to the crown”.

“Oh”, you nodded. “How would they find out? How are you hiding it?”.

“I spared my share of threats, enough for Laufey’s predecessors to not say a word”, he said lamely, “if they were wiser than they are. They’re a sack of oafs”.

“Alright”, you said, looking out the window. “Seems like there’s not much else for you to do, other than worry”. He sighed and came back to drawing circles in the back of your hands. “Join me on a mission, take your head off these matters”.

He smiled, and kissed your knuckles.

"We'll see".

“You’re being so stubborn”, you sighed, sitting on the couch. “We’ve talked about this over, and over, and over”.

“We talked about things over and over and not even once you have been completely honest”, he said, with that composed facade of him. “Not in this, not in anything”.

“I’m the one not being honest here, now?”, you inquired, looking up at him. He was standing in front of you. He frowned.

“What does that even mean? I’m always honest with you”.

“You’re either dishonest with me or with yourself. But we both know very well that you have no intention of…”.

“Oh, Norns. Again with that”.

“You brought it up”.

“I’m listening, then. Will you finally tell me what you actually think of it? Or will you melt your desires and adjust them until they solidify around whatever you think might please me?”, he spat with sarcasm.

“What are you even complaining about with that?”.

“I want you to be true to yourself, not some… Not some…”, he gestured with his hands, and you furrowed your brows.

“Not some what?”.

“Not some idiotic worshipper of some kind. You sound like a teen with a crush, rather than an adult partner building something here”, he said, and he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. You got up from the couch.

“That’s what you truly think of me?”, you tried to keep your voice down. Anyone could hear you from the hallway. You tried —but you weren’t very successful. “I’m ready to give everything up for you and you think of it as a desperate attempt to worship you? You really think I think of yourself as a God who casually decided to be with me?”.

“No, that’s not…”, he rolled his eyes, but you kept talking.

“We worked so well together because we knew exactly what the other wanted and tried to get there without crushing the other one. And now…”.

“Worked?”, he scoffed. “We work. We might argue some time, but we work, my love. And that’s the point. We just have to find a way out of this mess, that wouldn’t get us even deeper in this disaster”.

You looked at him, looking for any trace of a lie. He wasn’t. He was truly calm, even though he had gotten on your nerves so well. He could have the same calmness to tell you how much he loved you and to tell you you were crushing his dreams with your thumb.

“I get what you say. I really do. But, is it really important to do whatever you’re thinking of doing to solve this? Or is this just your general… power thirsty blindness guiding you through?”.

He scoffed.

“Power thirsty blindness”, he repeated, incredulous. “I thought you understood every motive behind my actions”.

“I do. But you can’t deny half of the motives are wanting to rule the realms”.

“Half of the motives are you”, he raised his voice.

“That’s not true”, you matched his tone. “You’re playing a weird limbo where you say you’re giving up every dream you’ve ever had for me, letting the guilt eat me alive, and then just… going off somewhere to still try and get what you want. That’s not a relationship-guided motive. And it’d be okay if you could just come to terms with it. And then, and only then, we’d be able to talk through it better and find a better way to make it work. But so far, you haven’t been honest at all about it”.

“Why the need of being honest if you can apparently read me like a children's book?”, he said sarcastically. “Oh, and don’t even get me started with honesty, because…”.

“Because what?”.

He took a deep breath and composed himself back again, denying with his head, eyes closed as he figured out the right words or the right actions. He sat on the couch and asked you to sit by his side with a hand gesture.

“You know what? I think we’re really, really tired. This argument is getting nowhere and we’ll just feel bad afterwards. Can we talk about this in a more civilized way after we get some rest?”.

You sighed and sat by his side, still tense.

“Yes. Alright”.

(Taglist: @lucywrites02 , @louieboo87 , @the-departed-potato , @jesuswasnotawhiteman , @idontknow296 , @beksib , @spythoschei , @geekwritersworld , @whatafuckingdumbass , @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 , @joscelyn02 , @t00-pi , @selfship-mishaps , @sallymagnoliaposts , @deadgirl88 , @enderslove)

[wordsnwhiskey]

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: Eleven

“...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...”

― Plato, The Symposium

tw: Death

Previous Chapters HERE

***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***

April 25th, 2000, 12:06pm

It’s been a long, long few months for Roni.

Today is one of the first warm days New York has experienced in a while, and it’s one of the first times Roni has felt strong enough to actually leave her house without breaking down and sobbing.

Still, she’s aware she isn’t exactly at peak performance either.

Presently she finds herself at the supermarket, bare-faced and exhausted. She reaches up to rub at her eyes, which at this point burn permanently with how often she’s been crying over the past few months.  She’s sure she must look a mess as she walks through the building, searching numbly for the few items her grandmother had sent her for.

Her grandmother, sweet and more than mildly concerned for Roni’s well being, had thought it would be wise for Roni to get out of the house for a bit.  Over the past few months, Roni has gone on a few walks here and there, but each time she’d returned home looking more wilted and devastated than she had when she’d left.  It was disconcerting, to put it lightly, but of course the older woman had comforted Roni through every minute of it.

That being said, however, she’d wanted to push Roni to make the effort to get out of this funk (or at least up and over the hump that stood before her), and although it makes Roni feel strange and disgustingly vulnerable to be out here among other people like this, she can’t say she blames her grandmother for trying.

Besides, there’s something that’s been on her mind for ages now, and she thinks today is the perfect day for it.

She has to keep reminding herself to focus on the task at hand first and foremost-- although she can’t for the life of her remember if her grandmother needs 2 percent milk or skim--, because God knows she wants this grocery store trip to be over as soon as possible.

She runs a hand through her hair, realizing dismissively that it’s a bit greasy and overdue for a wash.  When was the last  time she took a shower?

Ultimately, Roni decides on skim milk (she figures her grandmother will forgive her if she’s wrong) and plops it unenthusiastically into the shopping basket that hangs heavy on her arm.  She scans the basket, mentally checking off everything she sees and searching her foggy brain to determine if she’s missed anything.

When she’s absolutely certain she’s gotten everything on her grandmother’s list, she takes in a deep breath, turning on her heel and walking--almost robotically-- to the next area of the store she needs to go to.

The little section of less-than-fresh flowers is located directly next to the produce section, right where it’s always been, and it’s a place that Roni has visited multiple times in her life since her mother’s passing.  The task of picking out the prettiest flowers is one that Roni has never taken lightly, of course, and this time is no exception.

Because this time, she isn’t going to visit the grave of her mother.  She’s going to find Harry’s.

There’s a pressure on her back mixed with a tinge of anxiety as she scans the colorful flowers in their colorful wrapping.  It would be doing Harry a disservice to pick some that are anything less than perfect, but then none of these seem suitable at all.

Roses? No, too dark. Violets? Ironic, but still no.

Roni is startled out of her thoughts when she hears someone behind her clear their throat.  Expecting to be asked to kindly move out of the way, she shifts quickly to the right,  preparing to offer whoever this person is an apologetic smile.

But then she hears her name.

When she turns she is met by none other than Oliver and his sweet, smiling face. Her heart sinks impossibly deeper into her stomach at the sight.

“Hey!” he greets, as pleasantly as he can manage.  “I thought that was you but I wasn’t sure!”

Oliver looks good, save perhaps for the dark circles under his eyes that mirror Roni’s own.  He seems far more well put together than Roni for sure, and she’s almost embarrassed by her own appearance. His dark hair hangs limp on his head, and the scent of his aftershave tells Roni that he’s probably just taken a shower before heading over here.  She wants to hug him, purely for selfish reasons, but she thinks maybe that isn’t the best idea right now given the circumstances.

He seems to feel the same way, because he holds his hands awkwardly at his side— as if wanting to go to her, but unsure of how to go about it.

So Roni simply smiles.  “Oliver,” she greets. “It’s so good to see you!”

And she does mean that. His face is an oddly comforting sight at a time like this.

“It’s good to see you, too, Ron! How have you been?” He asks this question quietly, as if he already knows the answer, but there isn’t a single trace of judgement on his face. That was something Roni had always loved about him, in fact.  He never judged.  He was always a much better person than she felt she could ever hope to be.

Still, it feels like a loaded question. One that she doesn’t quite feel prepared to answer in the slightest.  How does one explain to their ex boyfriend of several years that they’re doing absolutely terrible?

So she shrugs, offering him a half-hearted laugh.  “I mean, I’m here.”

Oliver laughs, a sympathetic smile on his face that tells her he feels the exact same way. A wordless sentiment is shared between the two in their smiles, and he nods when she giggles. “Same,” he says. “I’ve been better but… ya know.”

And god, Roni does know.

She gestures at him. “You look great.”

“Thank you! Been working out a lot. Changed my diet a bit. Just trying to be like, you know, healthier and stuff.”

Roni nods. “That’s amazing, Oliver.”

She really does mean it. He does look great, especially compared to the last time she’d seen him. Fresh out of their breakup, running on a maximum of three hours of sleep per night, wordlessly helping Roni pack up her things into boxes and moving them, along with her grandfather, back into her grandparents house.

The first few days of the new year had been awful, to say the least.  Roni had hardly spoken, hardly eaten, hardly done much at all except for cry; overwhelmed with sadness and a tinge of guilt— not only for leaving Harry, but for her sudden lack of feelings towards Oliver. And Oliver, the angel that he is, stood by her. Constantly worrying, making sure she was at least drinking enough water, and trying to coax her into telling him what was wrong.

The breakup had not gone at all the way Roni had expected. But then, when do breakups ever?

It was on the 6th day of January, when Roni found herself so completely buried in her grief that she couldn’t stop crying, even for five minutes, or bring herself to step foot out of her bed.  Oliver had tried everything, and was obviously growing impatient himself. When he threw his hands up and exasperatedly told Roni he was taking her to the hospital, that’s when she’d done it. She’d blurted out that she couldn’t be with him anymore.

The look on his face was enough to shatter what little bit of her heart remained intact in her chest.  He’d asked for clarification, then asked again, then again. When his tears started falling, that’s when the cycle of grief started for him. Denial, bargaining, anger.

Roni, of course, couldn’t tell him everything.  She couldn’t tell him about the time travel, and about Harry.  She couldn’t tell him anything, really.  All she could do was cry.

And cry she did.  She cried so hard she got sick, and poor Oliver, through his own tears, called Roni’s grandparents because he didn’t know what else to do. Even in the days that followed, where Roni stayed in the care of her grandparents, she couldn’t give him a straight  answer.  She wasn’t sure where she would even start, she only begged him to understand that this was the right answer for both of them.

And all the while, her heart had ached.  It had ached for her mother, and for Harry.  It flooded with overwhelming grief and guilt as Roni constantly wondered if she’d done the right thing leaving 1925.

It had taken a while, but it did get a bit easier after that.  Two weeks later, Roni and Oliver ended things-- officially-- both with clearer minds and hearts.  Oliver helped Roni’s grandfather move the rest of her things from her and Oliver’s shared apartment back into her grandparents’ home, and she and Oliver talked things through-- as best as they could.

The official reason Roni had given Oliver for their breakup was that she didn’t know who she was on her own and she needed to figure it out; which wasn’t a lie.  She had told him, in more or less words, that she was feeling misunderstood and needed to really find out who Veronica Elliot was.  After all, they’d been together for nearly ten years.  Ten years of her adult life in which she’d done so much growing up, but with him.  She needed to grow up on her own.

And Oliver had understood that as best he could.   It didn’t make the breakup hurt less by any means, but it made enough sense. All he wanted was for her to be happy, which she appreciated more than she could express.   So once she’d gotten settled in with her grandparents, she and Oliver hadn’t spoken again.

Until now.

Oliver nods his head in Roni’s general direction, bringing her from her thoughts.  “What’s the occasion?”  he asks.

“Hm?”

“You’re shopping for flowers,” Oliver explains with a laugh.  “For something good I hope!”

“Oh.”  It dawns on Roni that Oliver may actually be able to help her, or at least somewhat understand her current situation.  “Yeah.  Kind of.”  She shifts her weight to her other foot.  “Actually… Oliver, do you remember Mr. Styles?”

Oliver furrows his eyebrows.  “Who?”

“Mr. Styles.  You were assigned to spend time with him in high school.  Right before you graduated.”  None of this seems to ring a bell to Oliver, so Roni sighs.  “You knoooow,” she tries again.  “He gave you the advice?  About asking me out?  You brought me to meet him?”

Oliver’s confusion only seems to deepen.  He shakes his head.  “No, I don’t think--”

“He died like, shortly after I met him,” Roni says, growing a bit more impatient.  “You went to his funeral!”

“Roni,” Oliver says slowly,  “I think you’re confused.  I was assigned to Mrs. Brown. Mildred Brown. You met her, but there was no one named Mr. Styles.”  

Roni shakes her head. “No,” she says.  “No, that’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Oliver insists, then chuckles.  “I would’ve remembered someone with a name that cool.”

“But Harry-- Mr. Styles… he--”

“I knew pretty much every resident in that place,” Oliver says.  “There was no one named Mr. Styles. At all.”

Roni lets out a breath, blinking as she tries to process exactly what Oliver is telling her. Of course there was a Mr. Styles. She remembers him vividly, both in his youth and in old age.  “No…” she says slowly.  “No, there definitely was.”

Oliver shakes his head.  “Roni, I’m not lying to you.  I knew everybody there.  There was nobody with that name.”  

Roni is only halfway listening to him as her thoughts run a million miles a minute.  “He… no, because...” She trails off, finally blinking confusedly up at Oliver.  “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”  Oliver watches her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  After a beat, he speaks again.  “You okay?”

“Yeah it’s just… I could’ve sworn--”

“Is that who you were planning on getting the flowers for?”  Oliver’s confusion continues to show on his face. “Why?”

“I just--”  Roni isn’t even sure where to begin.  She sighs.  “I just thought… he really meant a lot to you.  I wasn’t at the funeral.”

“You’re thinking of Mrs. Brown,” Oliver insists.  “I loved that woman.  But I haven’t thought of her in years.  I’m shocked you even remember her.”

“Apparently I don’t,” Roni jokes half-heartedly. Oliver laughs.

“Where did you come up with that name anyway? It doesn’t even sound remotely familiar.”

Roni, still confused, shakes her head. “I don’t know. I must have heard it in passing or… something.”

“Yeah probably.” Oliver nods towards the flowers. “Anyways. If you’re wanting to get some flowers for Mrs. Brown, she loved lilies.”

Roni glances back towards the cheap bouquets. Lilies. Those might be good.

Her confusion only fogs up her brain more than it already is, and try as she might to hide it, it projects very easily onto her face.  Oliver eyes her, as if wanting to touch her but unsure of whether or not he should.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ron?”

“Yeah,” Roni says quickly, realizing she must look strange. “No, yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Just… brain fart I guess.”

Oliver chuckles. “I know how that goes. Had a ton of those the past couple months.  Things have just been like, weird? I guess? That’s the only way I can describe it.”

“I know,” Roni agrees, a tinge of guilt striking her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Oliver says quickly. “Seriously. I didn’t say that to like, make you feel bad or anything.  I’m just saying.”

The air is thick with tension all of a sudden, and Roni clears her throat, trying desperately to will it away. Oliver laughs awkwardly.

“Well I don’t want to keep you or anything. I’ll let you get back to your shopping.  But it was really good to see you.”

The way he’s smiling at her makes Roni instantly relax, and any awkward vibes in the air fizzle away. She smiles. “It was good to see you, too. Seriously.”

There’s a brief moment of charged energy between the two, before Oliver decides to just bite the bullet and move.  He reaches forward before Roni can really even process it and he wraps her up in a hug.

It feels ridiculously comforting in a way that Roni would have never expected, and she surprises herself when she feels her eyes grow misty.  She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed a hug  just in general, and she definitely hadn’t thought the most comforting one would come from Oliver himself.   She relaxes into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and giving him a gentle squeeze in return.

They stay like this for a while, and Roni realizes that Oliver probably needs this just as badly as she does.  She feels him take a deep breath in through his nose, burying it in her hairline and sighing quietly under his breath.  He’s missed her.  And Roni can’t lie and she hasn’t missed him, it’s just different.

She can’t go back to him.  She absolutely cannot.

“Please take care of yourself,” Oliver mumbles, before finally pulling out of the hug.

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, Ron.  Go easy on yourself.  Please.”

His words touch Roni’s heart, and she smiles.  “Oh.  You too.”

He smiles right back at her, and there’s a long moment where she feels like he might say something else.  Ultimately he decides against it, and he nods in finality.  “Right,” he says.  “See ya.”

He’s gone before Roni has even finished saying her goodbye, and she’s left feeling empty and somewhat melancholy.  How is it possible to feel so simultaneously relieved, as if some unexpected closure has occurred between the two, and yet so hollow, as if far too many words were left unspoken?

Roni’s stomach churns and she clears her throat, trying to re-center herself.  

Flowers.  Harry’s grave.  Right.

She knows what Oliver just said, and it confuses her to no end, but she isn’t going to give up that easily.  She’s certainly not just going to take his word for it; she has to see for herself.  She believes the finality of seeing Harry’s grave-- if there even is one-- will grant her the strength to push forward.  To know in her heart that what she had with him is long gone.  Otherwise, she fears she’ll never be able to shake the feeling that there is lingering unfinished business between them, and it will continue to haunt her until she knows for certain.

Even if Oliver insists Mr. Styles never existed.  She has to try.

So Roni sighs, reaching for a bouquet of white lilies that seem to be the least wilted out of all of their counterparts, before making her way to the checkout line.

———————-

The cemetery is somber, but it brings a peaceful sense of calm over Roni as she steps through the gates.  It’s colder and cloudier than it was this morning, and Roni finds herself wishing she’d brought a jacket.  She takes a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed as she scans the many headstones before her.  Finding Mr. Styles’ grave is going to be far more difficult than she’d anticipated.

She takes a step forward along the gravel road that winds through the expansive cemetery.  She hadn’t realized it was going to be such a large place, with headstones covering the hills everywhere she turns.  It’s only the slightest bit disheartening, but Roni is no quitter.  If she can’t find his headstone today, she’ll return tomorrow; and if necessary, every day after that until she finds it.

Oliver’s words echo in Roni’s mind as she walks, scanning each headstone for the name she wants so desperately to see.  Why didn’t he remember Harry?  Surely she hadn’t dreamt that entire day in which she met the elderly gentleman; she has vivid memories of Oliver calling her cousin’s house where she was staying the day of the funeral and telling her how upset he was. That was real.  The books on his nightstand were real.

Harry was real.

In the distance, someone sits on the balcony of their apartment and plays guitar.  It’s a melancholy song, and although Roni knows they’re just practicing and this has nothing to do with her, it feels strangely fitting.  Roni smiles to herself, enjoying the music, as she continues her way down the path.

It feels silly in a way, to be here without any knowledge of the location of Harry’s gravesite or if it’s even in this cemetery at all.  In hindsight, she feels, she could have done just a bit more research.  She could have called around, done some inquiring about Harry.  To be fair, though, she had called his old retirement home only to find that it was no longer a retirement home, but a preschool; a fact that she found quite odd.  The circle of life, so to speak.

As she scans the headstones, she reads each name quietly to herself. She figures it may be best to take the cemetery in sections; a section or two today, another tomorrow. It makes the task feel far less daunting and besides, she could use some more peaceful walks like this in her daily life.

She runs her fingertips along the rough top of a headstone, soberly realizing that there are caskets beneath her very feet at this exact moment.  Realizing that everyone ends up here in their lives, and that one day she too will end up here.  The thought of Harry being somewhere beneath this grass, however, makes her stomach churn.  She hates that she’s here, and she knows it’s too late, but she’s hoping it will give her some type of the closure that she’s aching for.

Roni sighs, muttering a gentle “where are you?” under her breath as she scans the headstones.

She continues along the dirt path, shyly chuckling to herself at some of the names (and immediately feeling guilty for it).  She switches the bouquet of flowers from her right hand to her left and wipes her sweaty palm along the thigh of her jeans.

As Roni continues her walk, she grows a bit colder than before. She wraps her free hand around her stomach, as if it’s going to help, and sniffles when the wind tickles her hair across her nose.  Today had started out so misleading with such beautiful weather, and now she’s shivering against the chilly wind.

It’s about thirty minutes later when Roni happens upon a headstone bearing a name that draws her attention.  The name isn’t exactly the one she’s been searching so desperately for, but it does interest her.  She goes to it. turning off the gravel path and walking along the moist grass.  As she approaches, she reads aloud from it.

“Mrs. Mildred Brown. Beloved wife and mother. Born October 12th, 1899.  Died June 6th, 1990.”  Roni sighs as she continues, reading the passage from the Bible written in script along the bottom.  “‘Well done thou good and faithful servant.’  Matthew 25:21.”  

She shakes her head.  “I don’t understand,” she mumbles, squatting down beside the headstone to get a better look.

It all checks out, as far as Oliver’s story goes.  She regrets not asking him for more information while she had the chance, however.  How did Mrs. Brown die?  What was it like the day Roni supposedly met her?  Had Mrs. Brown been interested in time travel?  Why is none of this making sense in Roni’s brain?

As Roni processes all of this, she suddenly gets the unmistakable feeling that she’s being watched.  It isn’t a threatening feeling by any means, but she can practically feel a pair of eyes on her out of nowhere, and it is somewhat unsettling.

Of course, her logical brain thinks, she is at a cemetery. There are other people here, no doubt, visiting loved ones.  She tries to brush off the feeling, running her thumb over the carved indentations spelling out  Mrs. Brown’s name.

Roni notices a rock atop the headstone, indicating that someone has been here to visit Mrs Brown’s grave recently. She feels it would be disrespectful to touch the stone, so she refrains.  Instead, she just looks at it, wondering who could’ve left it-- someone in Mrs. Brown’s family?-- and why she can’t, for the life of her, remember this woman.

She can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched, however, and she glances over her shoulder subtly to see if she can see anyone.  She waits a moment, and just as she turns back to observe the headstone once more, she swears she hears her own name.

“Roni.”

The voice is feminine and foreign yet so familiar all at once, and Roni isn’t even sure she’s

actually heard it when she stands up.  She turns to her right slowly on her heel, expecting to see someone and feeling slightly disturbed when she doesn’t.  She licks her lips, feeling her heart rate increase.

“Who--”

She hears it again, closer now and coming from the other direction, and she turns to her left.  Instantly, she is relieved when she realizes who the voice belongs to.

There, standing against a tree with that beautiful, all-knowing smile, stands Violet.  Dressed as if she’s just walked straight out of the 1920s.  

Perhaps she has.

A million thoughts run through Roni’s head; how did Violet get here?  How did Violet know she’d be here?  Violet nods, as if reading Roni’s mind.  

“Hello, dear.”

Realizing she hasn’t said a word, Roni laughs lightly.  “Violet!”  She walks over to the mysterious girl, smiling wide.  “God, it’s so good to see you.”

As she approaches, she wonders if it would be polite to give Violet a hug. Are they at that level of friendship? Do they know each other that well? Is it weird?

Violet doesn’t allow any more time for Roni to overthink, instead taking charge and pulling her into her arms for a warm embrace.

It’s so ridiculously comforting,  and Roni hadn’t even realized just how badly she needed this.  When Violet pulls away, she continues to hold Roni at arm’s length, scanning her face.  “How have you been?”

“Well…”  Roni trails off, then shrugs.  “I mean.  Not great.”  She laughs.  “And you?”

“I’ve been well,” Violet replies, voice calming and warm.  “My, but it’s good to see you.”

“It’s so good to see you too, Violet.  What are you doing here?”

Violet smiles, something subconsciously shifting in her tone, though not in a bad way.  “I had a feeling I would find you here,” she explains.

“But how?”  Roni asks.  “Why today?  Why right now?”  She leans in.  “Why me?”

Violet doesn’t directly answer Roni’s question.  “I’ve come to bring you something,” she says, reaching into a satchel that rests on her hip.   “Something that might be of great value to you.”

Roni doesn’t want to get her hopes up that this gift has anything to do with Harry, but it’s too late.  “Something of great value?”

“Sentimental, if anything.”

Roni can’t help but to deflate.  “Oh.”

Violet finds whatever it is that she was looking for and retrieves it from the satchel.  It seems to be a folded piece of paper, and she holds it out for Roni to take. Roni hesitates, eyeing the paper cautiously, before taking it from Violet’s hands.

“Read it,” Violet prompts.  “It might make you smile.”

Slowly, carefully, Roni unfolds the paper.  Her heart starts pounding as her mind runs through all the possibilities of what this could be.  Before the note is even fully opened, she stops when she recognizes her own handwriting.

“I know what this is,” she says, looking up at Violet slowly.

“You do,” Violet says, nodding. “Read it.”

Roni swallows down the lump in her throat, casting her eyes back to the paper and reading silently to herself.

Harry-

If you’re reading this, it means that I left.  I am safely back where I came from, proving you wrong-- just like I knew I would.  However, it seemed rude to leave without a proper goodbye.  So here it is.  I know I only stayed one night with you, but you’ve been really great. I hope your new year is “swell” or whatever it is you’d say, and that all your hopes and dreams come true. Thanks for letting me stay with you. Sorry about the black eye. Take care.

-Roni

Roni looks back up at Violet, swallowing down the lump in her throat.  “I wrote this the day after I got there,” she says, as if Violet didn’t know.

Violet nods again.  “You did.”

Roni shakes her head, feeling tears prickle at her eyes.  “I don’t understand,” she admits, shrugging in submission, as if Violet is about to play some trick on her.

“Harry’s kept it,” Violet explains, and the way she speaks of Harry in the present tense makes Roni’s heart pound.

“He’s���?”

“Kept it,” Violet repeats.  “Yes.  He found it under his bed a few days after you left.”

“Is he…” Roni doesn’t want to get her hopes up, so she hesitates to ask. “I mean, are you... have you—“

“I have seen him since you left,” Violet answers, smiling knowingly. “Yes.”

Roni swallows the lump rising her throat as the wind whips her hair lightly against her cheeks. “Is he alright?” The question comes out in a whisper.

“He is alright.” Violet nods. “He misses you.”

For some reason, Violet’s words completely overwhelm Roni. She can’t stop her eyes from welling over with tears immediately , and she lets out a little choking laugh. “God,” she says, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. “Does he?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I miss him so much,” Roni says, only half-heartedly attempting to stop her crying. “Can you tell him that?”

“I can.”

Roni laughs again through her tears and steps closer to Violet. “God, I’m sorry. I probably look like a mess. I just can’t believe you’re here, and I…” She trails off, looking down at the paper in her trembling hands. “It’s real,” she says, almost as if reassuring herself. “He was real. This is real.”

“It is real,” Violet says. “You didn’t imagine him.”

“I’ve felt so…”  Roni gestures vaguely as she searches for her words.  “So stupid, I guess.  I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to tell anyone the truth.  I’ve started doubting myself. I-- I mean it all just seems so crazy, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t.”  Violet shakes her head.  “Not to me.  Though I can understand the hesitation to share your experience with others.”

“And I broke up with Oliver, you know,” Roni continues.  “Oliver, my boyfriend. We were together for so long and I… I didn’t love him.  I mean I did, but not the way I love Harry. Or… loved Harry.  I guess. But I--” she laughs.  “God, I’ve never felt more alone in my life than I have in the past like, four months, and I-- I can’t even begin to tell you how good it is to see you.  To see… this.”  She gestures at the letter, then speaks again; quieter this time, as if to herself.  “Fuck, I miss him.”  

“Your feelings are completely understandable, Veronica.  And justified.  You have been through so much.  It’s only natural to feel confused.  And the connection you have with Harry transcends time itself.  But these are odd circumstances, and certainly not a situation that anyone should be expected to know how to navigate.  You are not stupid for feeling this way.”  

“No,” Roni laughs, almost bitterly.  “No, I am.  I know I am.  It’s just… god, you’re helping me so much just by being here but I--” she sniffs, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her shirt, “I don’t know.  I know I need to move on.  I know I can’t go back to him but I want to.  More than anything else in the world.”

“What would you tell him if you could?”  Violet asks, cocking her head to the side.  

“Oh god,” Roni says, dabbing at her teary eyes.  “I would say…” she trails off, really considering  what it is exactly that she would say to Harry if given the chance.  She sighs shakily.  “I would tell him he’s the love of my life.  I would tell him he is the greatest thing that has ever and will ever happen to me in this lifetime.  In any lifetime. That I regret leaving him more than anything I’ve ever done. That I miss him.  That I love him.”

Roni doesn’t notice the way Violet’s eyes flicker behind her, because she’s still going.  “And it’s silly,” she continues, “but I have never stopped hoping he’ll come.  I cant…” she sniffs again,  “Can’t bring myself to stop. Even though I know he isn’t coming, I’ve never stopped looking for him.  I don’t know if I ever will, you know?”  

Violet smiles like she knows something that Roni doesn’t, but before Roni can even question it, a voice comes from behind her.

“Well,” it says, slow and deep. “The funny thing about that is, he’s never stopped looking for you either.”

It takes Roni a full ten seconds to even process what she’s hearing, and Violet’s all knowing smile only deepens.  Roni whirls around on her heels slowly, her feet still feel frozen into the muddy, damp ground.

And there’s Harry, as young and as handsome as ever, if not a little bit older than the last time she’s seen him.

He smiles, tears welling in his own eyes as he takes a step towards her. “In every timeline,” he says, and takes another step, “in every lifetime. He’s never stopped looking.”  He stands only a few mere feet away now, and Roni notes the single tear rolling down his cheek, contrasting his unwavering smile.

“I’ve kept my promise, bunny.”

In a whirlwind, Roni is rushing to him. She trips and stumbles a bit on the mud, falling directly into his arms. She doesn’t even bother standing upright, melting instead into his embrace and wrapping her own arms around him. He does his best to straighten her on her own feet, his arms wrapping tightly around her back, but he loses his own footing and falls ungracefully onto his back.

Neither seem to care about their tumble, and Roni crawls up his body— kissing every possible inch of visible skin she can get her lips onto.  Her tears blend into Harry’s own, and he laughs joyfully against her lips as he wraps a supportive arm around her back.

“My god,” Roni sobs into his neck. “My god, my god, what are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Harry says, not even worried about the way his voice cracks. “I never stopped looking. And I found you.”

Roni giggles a wet, teary giggle, squishing his face in her hands and fastening their lips together in a clumsy kiss. He willingly kisses her back, stabilizing her with his hands and squeezing her as if he can’t hold her tight enough.

“Harry,” she sobs, “I missed you so much.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” He kisses her teary cheek. “So fucking much.”

Roni presses a few more haphazard kisses to his lips, as if terrified that she’ll lose him the second she stops. She pulls away after a moment, scanning his face through her own blurry eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “how did you get here?”

Harry beams. “Some people have the gift. Some do not.”

“And you have it?!” Roni asks. “You had it this whole time?!”

Harry laughs at the urgency in Roni’s voice, reaching up to wipe the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess so. Violet helped me.”

“Violet!” Roni says, suddenly remembering the witchy girl’s presence. She turns to where Violet had just been standing minutes before, and is surprised to see that she is no longer there.  Harry and Roni both scan the graveyard, but Violet is in fact nowhere to be found.  Roni furrows her brows. “Where did she go?”

Harry doesn’t reply, instead he tilts Roni’s face towards him for another smiley kiss. Roni needs absolutely no persuasion, melting right into him and sighing contentedly.

“I’m so happy,” she cries against his mouth. “So fucking happy.”

“Yeah?” Harry pulls away, tears still streaming freely down his smiling cheeks. “Me too.”

“This feels like a dream,” Roni giggles. “Genuinely. And if it is, I hope I never wake up.”

Harry giggles. “It’s not a dream, sweet girl. I’m here. And I’m staying.”

Roni scans his face for any sign of sarcasm, taken aback by his words. “You’re… staying?” She asks. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but God the thought of Harry being hers forever makes her heart pound in her own ears. “Are you serious?”

Harry beams brilliantly at her, letting go of her back to shrug. “Better be prepared to teach me a thing or two about the future, angel. I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.”

“Oh my god.”  Roni slams her lips into Harry’s, so much so that their teeth clank together, and he chuckles lightly into her mouth.

“I love you,” he says, lips hardly moving from hers.  “I love you so fucking much.”

“I don’t understand,” Roni says, pulling back but still holding Harry in her arms.  “How did you figure it out?  I mean like, the fact that you can time travel.  How did you--”

“Trial and error,” Harry explains.  “Violet wanted me to wait a while.  She said that it would be difficult to learn if I tried right after you left.  The broken heart would make it more devastating if we failed.”  Harry smiles.  “Smart girl, Violet is.  But I couldn’t wait very long.  About a week later, we started working together to get this all sorted out.  We worked on exercises.  We worked on visualization.  We did everything.”

“And then?”

“It took some time.  Obviously.  Went to a few different places.”  He grins. “The 18th century was a lot of fun.”’

“You went that far back?”

“Sure did. Almost didn’t want to leave.”  A playful twinkle glistens in Harry’s eye. “Some old Victorian broad showed me her ankle and I was ready to propose marriage.”

Roni slaps his arm lightly.  “Shut up.”

Harry laughs, finding himself so hilarious. “M’joking,” he says.  “Of course that didn’t happen.”

“Where else did you go?” Roni asks, then softens.  “What took you so long to find me?”

“Wanted to make sure I had the technique perfected,” Harry explains.  “Wanted to be sure I knew how to control where I was going.  The first time I traveled was only to 1899, and it was quite unintentional.  The second time, I was experimenting a bit.  That’s how I ended up in 1778.  But there was a catch.”

“Which was?”

“It was a different 1778.  Not one that you’ve heard of.”

Roni looks confused.  “But… how--”

Harry grins like he knows something Roni doesn’t.  “Ever heard of parallel universes?”

Roni can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. “Well holy shit.”

“I take it you’re familiar with the concept?”

“I am,” Roni says. “You were the one who told me about it.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, then immediately furrows them in confusion. “I did? I don’t remember—“

“As an old man,” Roni explains. “I met you when you were like… 90 something.”

“Oh.” Harry’s confusion softens. “No kidding. That’s neat.”

“No but… that would mean...” Roni trails off, confusion etched into her features, as she processes everything that’s going on.  “I saw you… you were old…. you died. And Oliver said you… you always talked about this girl from your past... That would have been me, wouldn’t it?”

“I tapped into something even you couldn’t tap into.”  Harry seems proud of himself, and he flashes Roni that smug grin she’s missed so much.  

“What do you mean?”

“Alternate realities,” Harry explains.  “Shifting into another dimension.”

“But how does that--”

“In another universe, yes. Somewhere in time, your memories are true.  I was old.  I was unsuccessful in finding you. In that universe--” he gestures vaguely around the graveyard, “--I’m six feet under somewhere around here.”

Even he seems to be hit with the somberness of his words.  He takes a moment to let that sink in, and then he’s right back to his normal, cheery self.  “But!” he says.  “I shifted.  Into this reality.  With the help of Violet, I created a separate timeline.”

“At the cost of--?”

Harry sighs.  “I mean.  At the cost of some of the people I loved most back home.”  He shrugs.  “But that’s what alternate universes are for, I suppose.”

“Why couldn’t I have just… created my own alternate universe then?  In which I could have kept my mom alive AND stayed with you?  Why didn’t Violet give me that option?”

“You could have,” Harry explains.  “But there wasn’t a guarantee you could have both.  Plus, once you leave one, it is extremely difficult, if not entirely impossible, to get back. You weren’t willing or ready to make that sacrifice.  I was.”

“So we’re in a parallel universe?”

“I am.  You’re not.  You’re in your regular timeline.”

“And you--”

“Shifted into it.  Changed the fate’s design, so to speak. It did shift your timeline a bit, as far as my own existence goes. You remember me being old.  You remember Oliver attending my funeral.  But Oliver doesn’t.  No one has any memory of me, in fact.”

“So who are you to everyone then?”

“That’s the beauty of it.”  Harry grins.  “I’m whoever I want to be.  For all they know, I’m a famous singer from the UK who moved here for work.”

“Oh my god,” Roni giggles, leaning in to kiss all over his sweet, teary face once again.  

Harry smiles that dimpled smile, obviously over the moon and basking in the way she’s loving on him.

“My sweet boy,” Roni says, lips smushed just below his ear.  “My sweet, sweet boy.”

“Missed you,” Harry says quietly. “Couldn’t go on in a world without you.”

Roni bumps her nose tenderly along Harry’s. “I missed you so much.”

Harry laughs quietly to himself.  “Can’t even begin to tell you how excited I was when I ended up here.  Cried with happiness.”

“How long have you been here?”

Harry’s eyes dart up to the sky as he thinks, doing a bit of mental math in his head.  “Two days.  Give or take.”

Roni feigns offense. “And you didn’t come find me right away?!”

“Tried.  Couldn’t.  Didn’t know where you’d be.”

“But how did Violet know?”

Harry smirks.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know how she knows anything. But it seems she knows everything.”

Roni chuckles.  “Apparently so.  God.”

Harry hums, brushing Roni’s hair behind her ear and leaning in to kiss her nose.  “God, I love you,” he says.  

“I love you, too, Harry.  Thank you for finding me.”

“Promised you I would,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to the corner of her mouth.  “Was so hoping more than anything that you’d be waiting for me.”

Now Roni frowns.  “You had doubts?”

Harry shrugs.  “No.  I mean…” he trails off, eyes scanning the sweeping hills of the cemetery as he considers his words. “No.  I don’t know.  I was hopeful.”

“But…?” Roni presses, leaning into him.

“But you lived in the future.  You had--” he trails off, eyeing Roni carefully.  “--have…. A boyfriend?”  His statement turns into a question, and the look on his face makes Roni giggle.

“Had,” she answers.  “We broke up.  Very shortly after I came back.”

Harry frowns.  “M’sorry to hear that.  Was it… you know...?”

Roni shrugs.  “I was hopeful, too,” is the only answer she offers him.

“Hopeful for me?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew I’d find you.”

Roni kisses Harry’s cheek. “I hoped you would.”

“Poor bloke though. I know how hard it is to live in a world without you.”

“Somehow I think he’ll manage.” Roni giggles. “No, actually, I saw him this morning. When I was—“ She trails off, suddenly remembering the bouquet of flowers she’d bought that now lays forgotten a few feet away. Harry seems to notice them at the same time she does, and he turns back to her. He doesn’t push for her to finish her thought, he instead strokes her hair and admires the way it looks in the wind.

“I was going to put flowers on your grave,” Roni explains, sheepishly.  “I don’t know what I was thinking was going to happen.  Maybe… like, closure or something.  I don’t know.”

“Closure,” Harry repeats, smiling. “Wanted rid of the haunting memories of me then?”

Roni rolls her eyes but she giggles that giggle that Harry has dreamt about every night since she’d left.  “No, god, of course not,” she laughs.  “It’s just that living with the weight of how much I missed you…”  She trails off again, and Harry can see the gears turning in her head as she immediately processes another thought.  “I still don’t understand,” she says.  “I never believed you when you told me.  You as an old man, I mean.  I’d brushed it off.  I hadn’t thought it was realistic.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to feign offense.  “As realistic as time travel.”

“I know,” Roni giggles again.  “It’s just that you were old when you told me.  I didn’t know you.”

Harry grins now.  “Was I a handsome old bastard?”

Roni’s giggles turn into full belly laughs.  “I mean, I was like, sixteen.  So I didn’t think so, no.”

“Bollocks,” Harry curses, and Roni snorts.

“This is insane,” she says, shaking her head.  “I’m talking to you about… well, you… but as an old man. Memories I have of you, that you didn’t even exist for.  But you did.  I don’t know.”

Harry nods.  “It’s an odd thing,” he agrees.  “An odd situation we find ourselves in for sure.”

Roni hums in agreement, and a moment of comfortable silence falls between the two. She giggles after a moment, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her fingers and kissing his lips again, slow and smiley.

“God,” she says, when she finally pulls away. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

Harry pulls that cheeky look of his that Roni’s missed so much, wiggling his eyebrows.  “You want me to pinch you, honey?”  He squeezes lightly at her sides and she squeals, wiggling out of his grasp.  He beams at the sound, wrapping an arm around her quickly and pulling her right back into him before smooching all over her cheeks and her nose.  “C’mere,” he growls playfully.  “Not getting away from me that easily.  Never again.”

She continues to giggle, submitting completely  to him as he tilts her head and kisses her.  They laugh into one another’s mouths, their giggles dying down as their kisses increase in intensity.   His tongue trails along her bottom lip, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Roni grants him access to her own tongue.  She’s missed his taste more than she’d ever thought it possible, and she can’t help but to moan when her tongue slides along his.

“Fuck,” she whispers, completely unaware of the fact that she’s crying again.

“Hey,” Harry coos, pulling away and cupping her face with his hands.  “Stop that.  No more of that.  No more crying.”  He swipes at the tears under her eyes, stroking her cheek bones as lovingly as he can. There is no way to convey exactly how he’s feeling right now; he’s just so in love with her and so relieved to be holding her again. Seeing her cry, indicative that she feels the exact same way, makes his heart both sink and soar, and his eyes well up with tears all over again.

They both realize he’s crying too at the exact same time, and they laugh at how silly they’re both being. Harry, still holding Roni’s face in his hands, continues to wipe at her tears while she reaches up to wipe at his.  They continue to laugh and cry and kiss, holding one another as close as they possibly can and forgetting about the entire world around them.

After a little while, Harry pushes himself to his feet with a little grunt. Roni immediately misses his warmth, which is pathetic, she knows.  She can’t help the little whine that escapes past her lips as she reaches for him, and he chuckles as he takes her hand in his. “I’ll be right back, honey, I promise.”  He gives her hand a quick squeeze before turning on his heel to go retrieve her discarded bouquet of flowers.

Roni watches him, so completely enamored and in love with him as he walks.  He’s dressed sort of funky, not quite in his 1920s style but definitely outdated by today’s standards.  He isn’t wearing his cap that she’s missed so much, but his curls are styled messily-- which isn’t helped at all by the wind.  He looks so handsome. So soft.  So him.

Her Harry.

She still feels like she’s dreaming in all honesty, and as she keeps her eyes glued to him she revels in the fact that he’s here. This person that she’s quite literally ached for for months now, the person she didn’t think she could possibly live without, the person she never thought she’d see again— he’s here. He found his way back to her because he loves her. It simply doesn’t feel real.

Harry picks up the bouquet and buries his nose in them, taking a big inhale and smiling to himself with the cutest dimpled smile.  He looks back to see Roni— his sweet Veronica sitting there on the grass, wind whipping her hair and a silly, sweet smile on her face.  He’s overwhelmed, really, and he walks quickly to close the space between him and his girl.  

When Harry arrives by Roni’s side he plops right back down beside her, kissing both cheeks and the tip of her nose. When he pulls away, he’s smiling softly, and he nods down to the bouquet in his hands. “These were for me?”

“Yeah,” Roni says, somewhat bashfully. “I mean… for your grave. So. Yeah, for you but like… not? I don’t know.”

Harry chuckles, humming as he nods. “Mm.”  He reaches into the cheap paper that holds the bouquet together and fingers lightly at a petal. “These are lilies.”

Roni, impressed by his knowledge of botany, smiles. “They are, yeah! How’d you know?”

Harry laughs. “Wasn’t born yesterday, Veronica, for heaven’s sake,” he teases.  “In fact, I was born….” Harry scrunches his face, doing a bit of mental math in his head. “About a hundred and one years ago I think!”

“Holy shit,” Roni says, doing the math in her own head. “So you’re… old.”

“Technically, I suppose,” Harry chuckles. “But also, not actually.”  He kisses her temple,  then reaches into the paper bouquet.  Roni wonders briefly what he’s doing, until she sees him snap a lily off of its stem.  It looks so delicate between his fingers it makes her shiver, and she hardly has time to register what he’s doing before he’s tucking it gently behind her ear. He moves slowly, his thick fingers brushing lovingly against her skin.  

Harry’s eyes scan her face, and in this moment Roni has never felt more loved. He cups her jaw and runs his thumb along her cheek, his green eyes still wet with tears. He hums, his mouth looking so irresistibly delicious, and Roni holds his eye contact with bated breath, waiting for him to do something.

“You are so beautiful,” he says softly, almost more to himself than to her. “My beautiful girl.”

“Your beautiful girl,” Roni repeats, leaning into his touch. “Thank you for finding me.”

“I’ll always find you, Veronica.”  Harry drops his hand from her jaw and wraps it around her smaller hand that’s placed in her lap. “In every timeline,” he leans in and kisses her forehead, “in every lifetime,” he kisses her nose, “I will find you,” her lips, “and I will love you with everything I have to give until my heart stops beating.”  He kisses her lips again, slower this time, before resting his forehead to hers and allowing his eyes to close.

They sit like this, silently drinking in one another’s presence, and when a tear slips down Roni’s cheek neither of them mention it.  Harry presses velvety kisses to Roni’s lips every few seconds or so, and even he’s crying after a bit.  

No words are spoken, but no words are necessary.  In fact, it doesn’t feel like there would be any words to even begin to describe the happiness in both of their hearts presently. Roni swallows down a lump in her throat and giggles, sniffling a bit.

“God,” she says, “I think I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in my entire life.”

“Well we’re fixing that,” Harry says, pulling away and wiping at her tears. “Effective immediately. No more tears. From here on out.”

“You promise?”

“Only happy ones. I promise.”

Roni licks her lips, then leans back in to kiss him again. “I like the sound of that.”

They stay like this for a while, disregarding the way it’s getting colder by the minute and the way that the tiny bit of sun that’s peeking through the clouds is beginning to dip behind the treetops. Roni catches him up one everything that’s happened in her life since she’d left him, and Harry tells her all about all the adventures he’s had while trying to find her. They laugh, and they continue to cry on and off (which makes them laugh harder) until Harry finally notices Roni shiver subconsciously at a gust of wind.

“Getting colder,” he observes, then adds “perhaps we should get out of here.”

Roni hums in agreement. “We should.  You’ve got to meet my grandparents.”

Harry’s face changes into somewhat amused confusion. “Already?”

“What?” Roni says, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt off of her jeans. “If you’re going to be staying with us you’re going to have to meet them eventually.”

“Yes, but….” Harry rises to his feet as well. “Don’t you think we ought to do this right? I mean, they don’t know me, you’ve just broken up with your long term boyfriend, they’re going to think I’m a creep.”

Roni giggles. “They won’t. I promise. I’ll say you’re a friend from college who’s recently moved to town. We caught up today and you needed a place to stay for a bit. They won’t care.”

“They won’t think it’s… I don’t know, improper?”

“You’ve never met my grandparents,” Roni says.  “They’re like the chillest people ever.”

When she’s met with only a look of pure confusion on Harry’s face, she laughs again. “You’re in the twenty-first century now, Harry. It’s your turn to adapt.” She lightly pinches his side, causing him to laugh.

“Suppose so,” Harry giggles, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers.  “Lots to learn.  I have a feeling you’re an excellent teacher, though.”

Roni smiles, swinging their hands as they fall into step, walking along the gravel road winding through the cemetery.  “Well, I’ll do my best,” she says.  “It’s the least I can do for you after you bent the laws of time itself to come and find me and all that.”

“Exactly,” Harry says, nodding.  “Although I won’t lie to you, Veronica, I’m a bit nervous to get it all sorted out.”

Roni gives Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze.  “Don’t be,” she replies.  “We don’t have to have it all sorted out. When have we ever had anything sorted out?”  She laughs quietly to herself.  “I’ve come to find that life is much better unplanned.”

“Yeah?”  Harry squints, eyes scanning the vast hills as the wind whips his curls messily.  “Well, I’ve come to find that you’re right about most things.”

The silence that follows is comforting and soft, but both are thinking the exact same thing.  Sure, it is a bit terrifying to start a life together--properly--like this.  Harry is here to stay, and as wonderful and exciting as that is, they both know it’s going to be hard work.  He’s going to have to adapt, and it isn’t going to be easy.  He’s starting from scratch.  No job, no house, nothing.

But he does have his honey by his side.  And somehow that’s enough.

They exit the cemetery, hand in hand, and Harry tries his best not to look so clueless as he observes the world around him.  Roni is patient and gentle with him, answering any questions he has and giggling when he makes jokes.  They’ve fallen into their comfortable swing of things that they’ve both missed so deeply, and Harry reckons that with his Veronica holding his hand, he can conquer anything.

As they approach Roni’s grandparents’ house, however, the butterflies in Harry’s stomach begin to act up.  His hands grow sweaty and he hopes Roni doesn’t notice.  (She does.)  He wipes his free hand on the thigh of his trousers and swallows, slowing the pace of  his walking until he stops altogether.

He looks up at the big house, daunting but quaint and surrounded by a completely innocent looking white picket fence, and he can feel Roni watching him.  She’s nervous, too, he knows it.  She gives his hand a squeeze before letting go, and his hand falls dully to his side.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Roni asks quietly.  “I mean, are you sure this is what you want?  To be here, in a different time, re-learning the world and the people in it?”

Harry turns to her now.  “Of course this is what I want,” he insists, almost defensively. “I just… it’s a bit more scary close up, isn’t it?”

Roni knows he isn’t talking about the house.

“It is,” she says slowly, after a beat.  “But, if I know anything for sure, it’s that you and I make an excellent team.  Whatever the circumstance, we can navigate it together, even if we haven’t got a clue what the right answer is. Somehow I know we’re always going to figure it out.”  She lowers her voice, stepping in closer to Harry.  “You’re the bravest, most wonderful man I know, Harry.  You’re going to be fine.”

He turns to her, smiling as he swallows down the nauseous feeling in his throat.   She beams.  “You’re going to be just fine,” she repeats.

Harry reaches forward, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each of her knuckles.  “Alright,” he says quietly.  “I’m ready.”

Roni smiles, squeezing his hand again and taking a deep breath in through her nose.  “To our new life,” she says.

“To our future,” Harry adds.  “To… forever.”

Roni nods.  “Forever.  Yeah.”

With deep breaths and trembling fingers, Harry and Roni step though the little gate surrounding the yard of the house and make their way onward.  Into their future.  Into the intimidating uncertainty of navigating a life brought on by such unique and odd circumstances.  Two souls, interwoven and transcending time and space itself for the chance to be together, taking on the new set of challenges that await them because they have each other.

No matter where they end up in any lifetime, together or apart, they will always find one another somewhere in time.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Nina/Mattias + fight sex but they’re idly bickering about something that doesn’t matter very much

Canon-divergent / the little adventure up in frozen hell took long enough for this dynamic to develop (because what even is a timeline and I have no clue how long it actually was on the show). Also, for plot purposes and context, this does make use of my belief that everyone is just SLIGHTLY aged up on the show and in my head most of the main lineup is 20ish. Oh, and first time writing these babes so fingers crossed I got characterization okay. Obviously NSFWish ahead, a little more graphic than I’ve written in a while and also involves a First Time...

He’s keeping the third blanket from her.

It is, objectively, the most petty Nina has felt since the whole almost-dying thing happened, maybe even since the getting-captured bit. Trying to get under his skin, trying to handle the daily shifting of their dynamic, has been almost as exhausting as trying to stay alive. Which in itself is enough of a challenge, because somehow they are lost and whenever Nina gets back to civilization she is going to have so many comments about Druskelle navigational instincts or the apparent total lack thereof. So. Many. Comments. The moment she has a possibly appreciative audience, because she is not wasting her breath on that here right now and-

At least tonight they’re in some kind of fishing shack again, clear space to build a fire and a pile of blankets of various questionable quality. There have been nights they haven’t been so lucky. She’s saving her energy for where it matters. But on the other hand, she is a delicate fragile creature who has made a point of avoiding this sort of climate, and…

Mathias still has the third blanket, and the fire is going well enough that they objectively can stay on opposite sides of this space, and Nina decides it’s time to change the game.

He’s pretty, okay? He’s annoying and stubborn and honestly at this point him technically being The Enemy is relatively low on the list of reasons he’s stomping on her every last nerve, but the man has two things in his favor – he’s loyal, and he is very nice to look at. Nina does not historically have the attention span when it comes to that level of pretty, but this one has decided to make it difficult for her. Like, he can say up and down that he does not want her, but they’ve shared a sleep-space – “bed” is too nice a word for most of those situations – for a week or so and she doesn’t need words, she knows what she wakes up to.

And she knows how damn respectful he is, she thinks as she starts undoing her vest buttons. This outfit, while very cute two weeks ago before her entire life took a very undesired detour, was not made for seduction. But if she does it slow enough, she hopes she won’t set him off. The other time she had to deal with that element of things, he was polite and turned his back even though she didn’t ask him to, and she assumes the same will happen here and she’ll get nowhere and-

Okay, fine, it’s not like taking off her vest reveals anything outright explicit. The current light makes her shirt a little more see-through than it’s meant to be, but still. She is about as decent as she ever gets.

“What are you doing?” he asks, tone about as calm as she’s ever heard him.

“You do not need two blankets,” Nina counters. “I want.”

And oh does that phrase cover more than his little Fjerdan mind has probably ever thought of. All those comments he’s made about assuming she’s trying to seduce him? Yeah, hasn’t been the main goal yet but she’s thought about it. Seeing what she could do to him – she does not expect he’d take any initiative there, highly doubts he’s ever even kissed anyone – would not be the worst way to spend an evening. So, that’s part of the plan now. Make him squirm, get on top of him, and take her prize. Should be easy.

As if to prove her point, she starts loosening the laces of her shirt just enough to easily take it off. She hadn’t bothered to wear anything under it, another brilliant idea proving that two-weeks-ago Nina had questionable judgment in all things, and it is all too easy to push it up over her shoulders and off her arms and…

He’s still watching. He looks wide-eyed and possibly concussed, but he’s still watching.

If Nina were a different sort of person, and probably also if she had gotten laid within the past six months (for the record it has been eight and that cute little bartender with the long nails was a way better lover than she was an informant), she would cross her arms over her breasts and stop here and wait for whatever protective instincts Mathias has to kick in. Even given what she’s just done, she looks vulnerable and cute enough to wake him up like that, and-

“What are you doing?” he asks again, this time more hostile. Good. When he’s frustrated his voice gets all growly, and that does things to her, and-

“Can we get this over with?”

“This?”

“The part where we have questionable hatesex that I will forget ever happened within the next year and you will remember for the rest of your life because whatever little creature gets stuck with you someday will not fuck you like I want to.”

For a moment, she’s pretty sure she broke him. This is definitely not about the blanket anymore, and-

“I. Don’t. Hate. You.”

Nina laughs. “Yeah well you are deeper in denial than anybody I’ve ever met. I am everything that scares you and you are stuck with me and I’m not sure which part of your code I do not violate but I am sure you would’ve-”

“You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

“Cute. Obligation. Great reason to put up with someone but still do everything you can to drag your feet about it.”

“Why do you… want me?” He sounds all hesitant, and good grief has nobody ever told this man what he looks like? Or do all of his people look that good at that age… that’s plausible enough…

“Limited options right now. It’s you or my hand and you’re warmer.”

She is not sure what she’s expecting beyond not what he actually does.

Fine, so she’s been good and hasn’t looked more than she had to when he’s been in a state of undress. Watching him strip right now, layers of leathers and furs that are apparently frightfully easy to take off, is different. He is wanting her to watch, keeping his eyes on her the whole time until he is completely naked in front of her and… she can’t help licking her lips, he is pretty and she wants all of that all over her. Now.

“This or your hand,” he repeats in a way that suggests that at least she probably won’t have to explain the general patterns of female masturbation to him. “Make your choice.”

She about tackles him.

He’s built like a damn tree, Nina reminds herself in the process. Solid enough to handle her attempt at literally jumping him, which doesn’t exactly work but does throw off his balance for a moment, and she gets him pulled down for a bitey kiss. He has just a little bit of scruff now and she’d wanna see what that feels like between her legs but also she is pretty sure Fjerdan men do not do that and she doesn’t want to completely wreck him in one go, and while she still suspects all of this is new to him, he has good instincts.

Her skirt and underwear are feeling like too much of an undesired obstacle, so she undoes them with her free hand while trying to stick her tongue down his throat. So she’s a little aggressive, whatever, he’s clearly into it and nobody gets hurt by it.

“What do you need me to do,” he breathes, and oh he can admit being clueless, this is a treasure, this is-

She grabs his wrist and puts his hand between her thighs. “Poke around until you like the noises I’m making.”

Mathias has good hands. She’s known this for several days now, but it is a different thing to know it with one of said hands exploring her soft parts. She feels a fingertip inside her then quickly pulled back, another batting her clit back and forth with uncertainty. Then the finger inside her is back, and she knows how wet she is, and-

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs.

“That’s why I’m leading. I’m not giving you the chance.”

But he couldn’t hurt her like this, she thinks. Not with his hands prepping her and a second finger up inside her and accidentally finding her sensitive spot, not with his prick hard against her belly, not with his mouth taking kisses as he learns what he likes. There is something inherently good in him and she worries for a moment that what they are about to do will break it, and yet-

“Get on your back,” she orders. Easier for both of them if she leads, she reminds herself.

He does without any complaint, and she takes a moment to enjoy the view. The solidness of him, for the next few minutes all hers. Would any of the girls he might get stuck with back home be able to handle this? And the way he’s looking up at her, a scared but willing participant in whatever she decides to do. Maybe he’s right. Maybe hatesex is the wrong word.

She straddles him, knees around his hips, and drops.

Blame the dry spell. Blame the absolute weirdness of the situation. Blame the fact that she is tired and hungry and cold. None of that matters. He feels good inside her and she makes a noise she cannot describe and-

“Am I…?”

“No. Feels good.”

She rolls her hips against his to prove a point, works him even deeper into her and leans down for more kisses. She can taste the shock and the innocence of him. This isn’t how he thought his first time would go, she is sure of it now, and yet he is allowing her and-

His hips jerk up and she makes a shocked little noise. “Do that again.”

He does, and she continues her pattern, and… it’s good, on her side. Not the best sex she’s ever had, but his hesitance is useful enough. She doesn’t trust him to say if he’s getting close, so she stays focused on his face, looking for signs, looking for-

She shifts her angle just a little bit, his prick hits the right spot inside her harder than she expects, and she shatters.

As she comes down, she sees that his expression has turned to something worse, scared and worried and unable to speak. He’s still hard inside her, at least, but he is motionless and cold and she doesn’t-

“Did I hurt you?”

Nina laughs. She shouldn’t, this is a legitimately valid question, but-

“No. What you just did felt amazing. Your turn.”

She resumes rolling her hips against his to indicate the conversation is over and she does not want to explain herself, and a few clenches of her inner walls later he spills inside her. It’s a beautiful thing to experience, the sudden warmth overlapping with the strangled gasp of surprise and-

“You know this means I have to marry you,” he says when he’s capable of coherent thought. “If there’s any chance…”

She shifts position so their bodies are no longer connected. “No. It doesn’t.”

“But I…”

“We’re too different,” she murmurs. “You know that. There’s nowhere safe. If anything… if the worst happens, I’ll lie.”

“Honor is honor. If there is even a chance-“

And oh, for a moment she wants it too. For a moment, she lets herself think about the impossibility of being all that she could be, both Grisha and wife, not forced to choose between her complexities. Unrealistic, she knows, a flighty daydream at best but she wants all the same.

“Nothing to worry about. My last cycle finished three days before your people tried to kill me, so… right now I can’t get pregnant.”

“Still. If it happened… I would stand by you.”

She kisses his face, covers the angles of him in wet kisses. “Good to know.”

[meinkampfortzone]

Who Was Hans-Joachim Marseille’s Fiancee?: An Opinion-Based Commentary, Part 2

(cont. from Part 1): 

HJM’s Family’s Attitude Toward Hanne-Lies

So one of the things I noticed when I first started getting curious about finding out who HJM’s fiancee was was the fact that she seemed so comfortable around his mom. That was, in fact, one of the first indicators to me that she was a bit older than him, other than her face. Had she been around his age, most of their interactions would have taken place outside of the house, away from his parents, so that they could make the most of their time alone together. That was, in fact, the norm among young people in the 40s, especially with the growing availability of cars which made getting around a lot easier and faster. When in the presence of each others’ parents, both parties had to act very reserved toward each other, and refrain from things such as holding hands or kissing, etc. (their parents would have been from the generation born in the 1800s, where doing things like that in public was inappropriate and prospective couples were meant to act with restraint when together). Therefore, the fact that 85% of the interactions between Hanne-Lies and HJM (except for the outing in Bad Saarow and their trip to Rome) took place at his parents’ apartment in Berlin was something that stood out to me. I took this to mean that Hanne-Lies was either a friend of the family or mature enough to want to spend time with and build a relationship with her future mother-in-law. As my research later proved, the latter ended up being true. 

After Hans-Joachim Marseille’s death, Hanne-Lies was allowed to live in Bad Saarow in Charlotte Marseille’s summer house that she owned there. I found this strange because Hanne-Lies had only known HJM and subsequently his family for approximately 7 months (they met in March 1942; he died in September 1942), which was hardly a long enough time for Charlotte Marseille to get to trust her enough to give her her house and allow her to live in it. Hanne-Lies remained in that house, keeping it as her main residence, until she got married in 1944 to former LSSAH member Martin Stephani. This led me to think that perhaps, like her son, Charlotte Marseille saw something in Hanne-Lies that reminded her of her dead daughter Inge, and due to the fact that she had lost her daughter so recently, she built a good relationship with Hanne-Lies. After HJM died, I believe that Charlotte Marseille sort of saw Hanne-Lies as the last thing she had left of her deceased son, and decided to let her have the house and stay there for as long as she needed as a sort of gesture of goodwill.

This is a picture of HJM at a bar in Berlin called the Regina Bar (between the two girls) and Hanne-Lies (at the other end of the table). This was taken during his leave in 1942, during which he met Hanne-Lies and became engaged to her. Notice that even in the presence of his fiancee HJM has no issue cozying up to other women. Judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t seem too pleased about it either. 

HJM’s Comrades/Contemporaries’ Attitudes/Opinions Concerning His Engagement

Another thing that I find sort of striking is the complete lack of commentary on the part of HJM’s comrades and friends concerning his engagement, or rather, his lack of commitment to his fiancee. According to Colin Heaton, the news of HJM’s engagement “shocked” those who knew him, only because of his playboy nature. However, once that shock subsided, and everyone saw HJM going back to his old ways and sleeping with various women, not one of his comrades thought to mention how they found it strange that he was engaged and yet having all of these publicized affairs. Although sex outside of marriage, etc. was common in the 1940s, it wasn’t until the 1980s that it became the norm. Up until then, infidelity and sexual promiscuity was kept carefully under wraps, more so for women than men. However, back in those days engagement was essentially a binding contract--the couple was considered married for all intents and purposes until they actually went and legally tied the knot. I found it strange that Marseille’s comrades and those who knew him, when interviewed about him, had no problem talking about his various sexual escapades but didn’t mention how he still did these things while he was engaged. I would have expected at least one of them to mention how it was strange that he continued to do this even after he was committed to one woman. It was almost as if the existence of Hanne-Lies in HJM’s life was unknown to them. This led me to believe that maybe HJM never bothered to tell anyone he was engaged or probably only mentioned it in passing and never really made a big deal about it, or perhaps his comrades knew that this was just part of his nature and that it was foolish to think that he could ever be faithful to one person. 

When asked to describe the nature of HJM and Hanne-Lies’ relationship, Hans-Rudolf Marseille (HJM’s half-brother) proceeded to talk about how he convinced her to go to Rome. 

Of all the things he could have said that would demonstrate that they really loved each other and that there was something between them, he chose this anecdote, which really doesn’t demonstrate anything between them. 

Even the members of the Nazi high command who had interacted with Marseille, when interviewed by Colin Heaton, had no issue talking about how, when receiving a complaint from an Italian officer who stated that Marseille had “violated the family honor”, they all had a good laugh about it, and one of them even said, “Damn it, Marseille, have some shame, man.” However, none of them bothered to point out that this was going on while he was engaged, which was something he had even mentioned to Hermann Goering. Overall, none of the members of the high-ranking Nazi hierarchy seemed surprised at his behavior in the slightest.

Some Miscellaneous Points 

1- All of the people who were close to HJM gave interviews about him or attended events commemorating him and gave speeches/contributed to the event in some way, shape, or form. Many of the primary sources used in Colin Heaton’s book come from interviews conducted with many of Marseille’s comrades, such as Eduard Neumann, Ludwig Franzisket, and Emil Clade. Marseille’s mother, Charlotte, attended the premier of the 1957 film “Stern von Afrika”, and an article appeared in Der Spiegel featuring her and the actor who played her son, Joachim Hansen. In the article, she thanks Hansen for his stellar portrayal of her son. 

Hans-Rudolf Marseille assisted authors and historians writing and researching about HJM, such as Franz Kurowski and Walter Wubbe, and also gave interviews, snippets of which were included in a 1999 documentary about HJM’s life. It was because of the efforts of Eduard Neumann and other airmen who had flown with Marseille that a set of Luftwaffe barracks in Appen were renamed the “Marseille Barracks” (Marseille-Kaserne in German). Even Marseille’s batman, Mathew “Matthias” Letulu, gave an eulogy for Marseille in Germany during a ceremony held at the monument for Marseille in the Egyptian desert. 

The only person who had been closer to him than most of the people mentioned above, his ex-fiancee, was strangely absent from all of these efforts. Other than making an appearance at the 1967 Fighter Pilots’ Reunion event at Furstenfeldbruck, where she attended as a guest of honor with Charlotte Marseille (and this appearance isn’t even documented, as there are no photos of her at the event), she never gave any interviews about her ex-fiance, nor did she contribute to the efforts being made by those who knew him to keep his memory alive. 

2- During his interview, Hans-Rudolf Marseille showed a plethora of letters he had collected that had been sent by HJM to various members of his family--his mother, his sister, even his father. Some of these letters were reproduced and included in Walter Wubbe’s book “Hauptmann Marseille”. But with regards to any written correspondence between Hanne-Lies and HJM, there are absolutely no letters or anything whatsoever between them. Given the fact that they got engaged during one of HJM’s leaves, and they only saw each other once more after that when he was on vacation, it would make sense that they would be constantly writing to each other. Yet there doesn’t seem to be any sort of correspondence between them, at least as far as Hans-Rudolf Marseille’s cache of letters is concerned. The only testament to their relationship is the scarf that Hanne-Lies gave to HJM, and the photo she gave him of herself with “Ich habe dich sehr liebe!!” written on the back. 

3- When I read that Hanne-Lies had given HJM a picture of herself with “Ich habe dich sehr liebe” written on the back, I was curious because “Ich liebe dich” is “I love you” in German. Thus, I set out to find the difference in meaning between “Ich habe dich liebe” and “Ich liebe dich.” I found an answer to this on a German language learning forum that I’ll include below. 

In Closing...

When I think of what Hans-Joachim Marseille’s love life should have looked like, I immediately think of the relationship between Alain Delon and Romy Schneider (not how it ended, Alain cheated on her with another woman and she refused to get back together with him, but just how aesthetically pleasing they were and how big of a power couple they were in the years they were together.)

 I believe that he only got engaged to Hanne-Lies because of the emotional turmoil he was going through at the time. I think that even if they had gotten married, their marriage would have never lasted long. After all, grief isn’t forever, and eventually he would have realized that with that therapist aspect gone, there isn’t actually anything that binds him to Hanne-Lies at all. Hanne-Lies, too, would have had a hard time putting up with his infidelity and flighty personality, especially since she would have been reaching that age when she wants to have children and start a family and settle down (she was almost 30 when she got engaged to HJM). I honestly just wish that Inge Marseille wouldn’t have died so that HJM could have actually gone and found someone who had the personality and temperament to be his other half. I feel like, had he met someone like that, they would literally have been the power couple of the Third Reich. 

I’d love to hear your guys’ comments/opinions regarding this in the comments. Thanks for reading!

[hyperbali]

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Alright. Finally had to sit down and write my way out of this quiet, internal temper tantrum, and a few people were interested in seeing what I had to say, so I present to you:

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Disclaimer: MASSIVE spoilers for the entirety of WandaVision, and I am not nice about it.

I’ll start off by saying that, for all its foibles, WandaVision was genuinely a good example of a property within the MCU/Disney umbrella that stepped out of the usual ‘good guys fight bad guys action extravaganza’ in a way that pushed the envelope. The pseudo-horror aspect of the first few episodes is something I would really love to see engaged with on a more thoughtful basis in future projects.

I would say that it proved to be more than a vehicle to promote toys, but… well…

Yeah. Anyway.

I’ll assume that you watched WandaVision if you’re reading this, but quick recap: In the aftermath of ‘the Blip,’ Wanda is left broken and alone with no one in her corner. Her biggest mentor willingly abandoned his team to get his own ‘happy’ ending (do not get me started on Steve, that’s a document in and of itself), her other biggest mentor is probably off enjoying his family while ignoring the incredibly racist killing spree he’s been on for the past five years, and her lover is dead. When she goes to claim the body, she’s told nuh-uh, that’s government property, please leave.

So she goes to a plot of land in the middle of some nowhere town in New Jersey, which Vision apparently bought despite the fact they were living a pretty decently comfortable life in Scotland, where she looks at the deed that Vision drew a heart on and wrote ‘To Grow Old In’. Very sweet. Kind of weird, considering nothing of this caliber had ever been suggested for either of their characters and they’d been actively running from specifically the U.S. authorities? But sweet.

She has a breakdown and, in her grief, contains the entire town of Westview and all 3,892 of the people in it in her own personal paradise, where nothing bad ever happens beyond sitcom hijinks, no one dies, and every problem is tied up and neatly dealt with by the end of an ‘episode’. Except we learn that this is only paradise to Wanda, who apparently shares the aspect of having to relate everything to her favourite pop culture with Tony, because everyone else in Westview is more or less being psychologically tortured by the incredible amount of pain she’s in, forced to be puppeted actors to make her happy.

Bear in mind, Westview might have been bigger at some point - we have no idea how many people survived the Blip, or how many have been brought back to life within the past few weeks of the current setting. Either way, this is a town that has already dealt with a lot of trauma being dragged into yet another awful, much more specific kind of emotional damage, thanks to ‘the heroes’. Nice.

Agatha Harkness, a witch who’s been up to who-knows-what in the 340 years since she drained the coven that tried to kill her for getting a little too ambitious into jerky, feels the massive expenditure of magical power and decides to investigate. All the while, she carefully uses her own magic to try and peek into Wanda’s psyche, her motivations, all while keeping up appearances and not letting slip that anything is amiss.

I’ll point out that she’s no saint here, either - she specifically keeps one Westview resident at her mercy, and knows what’s happening to the rest of them, but doesn’t attempt to stop it. I’ll chalk that up to her pragmatism; their ‘sacrifice’ was fine to her as long as she could figure out how Wanda could have done something so unheard of in terms of power.

What we come to learn over the course of the show is that, given everything that happened, Wanda didn’t mean to take over an entire town and tool it into her own personal slice of heaven. She very quickly became aware of it; we know that she knows it’s her own personal bubble as soon as episode three, when she’s confronting Monica about how the latter could possibly know about Ultron. Wanda is made further aware of how much damage this is inflicting on others in episode five, when Vision himself tells her that these people are scared. But still, she has everything handled! It’s okay! The outside world is worse, trust her!

Her handling of the question, ‘where are all the children of Westview,’ is one that bears some thinking - and, y’know, kind of more than a little concern. They’re allowed to walk around as part of the ‘Halloween special,’ but as Vision walks further and further out towards the edges of town where Wanda doesn’t have as much full control, people are just frozen in place, or conducting the same few seconds of action over and over. And fully aware of being trapped.

How are they being sustained? Eating, sleeping? If someone isn’t part of her storyline, is she just locking them down into a coma? What made Wanda decide that keeping the children ‘out of the way’ was somehow kinder than involving them, especially given her later argument that she’s been trying to keep the entire town safe and happy?

The fact of the matter is, she only actually starts to feel remorse for any of this after she’s confronted with the fact that, after weeks of being at her mercy, the townspeople of Westview would rather be dead than endure another moment of having to play nice for her enjoyment. She finally opens the ‘bubble’ to let them out - which leads to the ‘epic’ finale of three different entities trying to take down Wanda and her happy family: the S.W.O.R.D. military led by Hayward, the White Vision, and Agatha.

Winding back to how we got here: after Agatha uses her own trapped resident, Ralph Bohner (who, given his casting and the props in place during the last episode, I’m willing to bet is actually the missing witness protection person Jimmy was looking for) in an attempt to lure out Wanda’s reasoning - and fails - she’s pretty much done pretending. She tricks Wanda into her basement, nullifies her powers, and makes her face her own past to get to the truth of the matter.

Not going to lie, favourite moment of the show. Kathryn Hahn killed Agatha’s slightly-amused-slightly-irritated observations about Wanda’s coping mechanisms, and the whole arrangement was extremely meta. I would have paid real money dollars to see her do the same thing to the likes of Tony, Strange, and Loki. Hell, even just having her meet the rest of the Avengers? Augh. If wishes were fishes.

When Agatha comes to the conclusion that Wanda is the vaunted, nigh-indestructible force of nature that she’s literally spent her entire life reading about is the ultimate source of chaos magic and will likely bring about the end of the world, she’s pretty understandably taken aback. To that matter, the fact that Wanda… has very little control over any of it, and is using what she does understand to play housemaker? After how long Agatha has spent learning control, hiding in plain sight, just to be child’s play compared to what Wanda has at her fingertips? I’d be pretty pissed off, too!

The way that WandaVision handled both of the major ‘fights’ - Vision versus White Vision ending in philosophy, and Wanda ending up beating Agatha at her own game of deception - is excellent. A little grating that they had to go with the beat down angle before they got there, but this is MCU; punches and thrown cars had to get shoved in somewhere. And, given that this series very much played with the idea of grey morality, I was sort of hopeful that Agatha would end up in a not-quite stalemate arrangement with Wanda. She’s not as powerful as the Scarlet Witch, but she has the know-how that Wanda sorely lacks; in recompense for her own deeds, she would be able to teach what she knows while also kind of scheming on her own time.

Y’know, like what they did with rehabilitating Loki?

Except that Wanda, who has just gone through the entire rigamarole of coming to terms with the fact that she trapped thousands of people into a nightmare scenario against their will, rendering them helpless to her mercy… traps Agatha into a nightmare scenario against her will, rendering her helpless to Wanda’s mercy.

That moment actually shook me. Oh, my god. We’re supposed to still look at Wanda as a good guy after this?

This isn’t even covering the incredibly awful confrontation with her and Vision where she tries to gaslight him into believing that everything is A-OK, or the fact that the person she gets most violent with (apart from Agatha) is Monica Rambeau, a black woman who spends most of the show bending over backwards trying to say that what Wanda is doing is understandable, justified, and just needs a gentle touch to be dealt with.

That could be its own document, too - how Monica, much as she’s incredible and definitely looks to be a really exciting addition to the MCU roster, more or less gets used as the Good One to absolve and enable Wanda’s actions. One of her last lines to Wanda, after seeing how the people of Westview (rightfully) look at Wanda like she’s monstrous, is “they’ll never know what you sacrificed.”

Sacrificed what? The fake husband and fake kids she made out of her own compulsion to pretend that everything is okay? None of that would have existed if she’d been given the proper resources to actually cope with how much loss she’s had to deal with. None of that would have existed if she hadn’t caused this problem in the first place.

In the end, Wanda flies off in her fancy new gear before the FBI shows up, avoiding any real consequences to her actions - which has pretty much been the running theme of her character ever since she was introduced to the MCU in Age of Ultron. The worst kind of direct consequence she’s ever gotten was being grounded to her room for a while, then kept in the Raft for, like, maybe a day - and both times, she was broken out post-haste.

Meanwhile, she worsened the issues in Sokovia (which, I will say upfront, was Tony’s fault to begin with), unleashed the Hulk on Johannesburg, got a pretty significant amount of civilians killed as bystanders in Lagos (hey, how come Wanda keeps turning a lot of black people into casualties?), and stood back in Wakanda to let their people try to fight off Thanos from getting to Vision until it was clear that there was no other option than for her to get involved.

Great Power Comes With No Responsibility At All, Actually.

Wanda, in the several years she has maintained her identity as an Avenger, has proven time and time again that she takes on innumerable risks without any full understanding of what they mean, allows others to take on the brunt of the fallout for her, and looks sad until she’s forgiven and moves on to the next problem. She has no business casually throwing around the kind of power that being the Scarlet Witch entails, not until she’s actually made any kind of headway into making reparations for what she’s done and tried, really tried, to get a handle on what she’s capable of.

Which she’s apparently doing in the last post-credits scene, astral reading the literal Book of the Damned on her lonesome in the mountains, but… without anyone to guide her, or give her any kind of boundary?

[I ran out of images I could post, but you know exactly what image I am referring to here]

Agatha Harkness was right. And that should terrify everybody that has to deal with Wanda in the future.

(P.S. Do we know if she actually even killed that dog? We never see her holding anything but a blanket, and characters go in and out of that show all the time. Granted, she wasn’t great with the cicada-turned-bird... hmm.)

Additional Notes:

“Well, you’re a Tony Stan, of course you think Wanda’s a villain”

I like Tony because he’s such an awful mess, and the narrative isn’t exactly kind about telling him what a piece of shit he can be! He reaped a lot of problems, created practically half the villains in the MCU, and ended up dying a martyred hero. Thanks to being the tent pole by which this franchise hoisted itself into a cultural powerhouse, he will always be their golden savior. If you want to read about how he’s the true villain of this entire affair, feel free to look up any number of takedown pieces about him that are out there. He’s a dick. I will never “uwu sad baby who did nothing wrong ever 🥺” him the way people do about Wanda.

“Why are you so pressed about this”

Because something as good in concept as WandaVision could and should have been about anyone other than the whitewashed, antisemitic take on Wanda Maximoff that MCU brought upon us. They put crucifixes on her wall in Civil War, for fuck’s sake!

“Weren’t you mad about them not including Aaron Taylor-Johnson”

At this point, I am almost kind of relieved the real Pietro wasn’t resurrected for this, because god knows they probably would have killed him all over again just to inflict that much more pain on his sister.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us, turbo nerd”

This was literally itching at me all weekend to write, so it’s more or less just to get it off my chest. If you powered your way through it, uh… thanks? Sorry if I yucked your yums, but I tried to be as clear with the disclaimer as I could. 🤷‍♂️

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I’m No Good - o n e

Summary: Tallulah Forester isn’t a bad person, she’s just made one too many bad decisions. Which is why she has now found herself four hours away from her home in Seattle, to her estranged fathers little home in La Push, with her stepmom and two half sisters, whom she has only been with a couple of times in the past 15 years. Her mother and father had agreed, shockingly, that the small town lifestyle would be beneficial to their wild child, but bad habits die hard, especially when it comes to being in control.

Timeline: Takes place a few years after the events of Breaking Dawn

Pairing: Paul Lahote x OC (Tallulah is 18)

Warnings (future chapters): Drugs/Alcohol, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Mental Health, (Mentions of SA, but no details)

There are losses that rearrange the world. Deaths that change the way you see everything, grief that tears everything down. Pain that transports you to an entirely different universe, even while everyone else thinks nothing has really changed.

Tallulah stared out the window in the back seat with her knees tucked up to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly as her father drawled on, switching from topic to topic, your sisters and Kira are so excited your coming to we’ve already enrolled you at the school to do you remember this person or that person? Anything to fill the silence from creating a  suffocating atmosphere in the car. It all sounded like white noise to her, she barely remembered La Push. 

She moved to Seattle with her mother when she was six and the two of them never looked back, whenever she would see her father or half-sisters, they would meet halfway in Port Angeles and then head their separate ways. It was easier that way for everyone involved. 

Josette and Lenna, her half-sisters, were ten the last time she spent any actual memory inducing time with them. Although they are only two years younger than her, they were so different. So in tune with the tribe, whereas she barely knew anything about the histories. She doubted anything would have changed in that respect.

Tallulah's headaches from her hangover, or maybe lack of sleep, she thought, and as she laid her head against the window she listened to the sound of passing cars and her dad's voice as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

--------

Tallulah awoke to the sound of the car door shutting and a nearby dog barking, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grateful her headache was gone, but now in its place was a lump in her throat, as she looked around her surroundings outside of the car. The little blue house she vaguely remembers. The tire swings in the old oak tree. A woman's laugh caught her attention, as she looked to see her dad and stepmom, chatting away, happier than ever. Tallulah felt so out of place. Like she was an intruder coming in to ruin her fathers happy, little family with her black cloud of disappointment. 

Tallulah groaned to herself as she unbuckled herself, might as well get this over with, she thought to herself while opening the car door and slowly stepping out, stretching as she did. She could feel the two adults eyes on her as she shut the door gently, looking towards them, Kiras big smile, that if she didn’t know better would look insincere, but she did know. Her stepmom was a tryhard, doing anything and everything to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and stepmother, no matter how hard Tallulah pushed against her kind persona. She was the reason her family was in pieces. Kira and her father were no doubt in love, even when her parents were still together, they never looked at each other the way she sees her father looks at Kira and vice versa, like they are each other's reasons for being. She moves, he moves. Tallulah nearly physically cringes. It's not something she ever wants for herself, that fairy tale love.

She walks toward them slowly, Kira meeting her halfway, wrapping her arms in a bear crushing hug that she doesn’t reciprocate, looking past her at her father who has that ‘be nice’ look on his face, and clearly, she was in no place to fight that. She couldn’t help but think, if this doesn't work out the way her parents think it will, where is the next place she would be shipped off to? 

Kiras' soft, sweet voice shakes her from her thoughts, “it's so nice to see you again. Your hair has gotten so long.” Tallulah raises an eyebrow before stating, “I've cut it a few times since I saw you last.” Kira laughs off the dig, before walking towards her father and saying, “the twins are out, we’d figured you'd be better off getting settled without a full house.” Tallulah nodded in response as her father spoke up for the first time since arriving, “besides, we have some things to discuss. Expectations and what not,” 

Tallulah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Rules? I’m eighteen. I don’t need to have any rules.” Her arms crossed over chest, as if she were a child. 

“If you think that you will be continuing your..extracurricular activities that you have picked up in Seattle, you are wrongly mistaken” he says in what she assumes is his fatherly tone that works on the twins, but not her, he gave up that right fifteen years ago. “Your mother has filled us in on everything, Tally” She rolls her eyes at this, as if she knows everything, she thought to herself.

Kira stood up on the porch, just inside the doorway, “Joseph, let her settle in, we can have this conversation tomorrow, after the bonfire.” she said in ‘dont fight me in this tone’, to which Tallulah appreciated, yet was confused, “Bonfire?” she asked, as she made her way up the steps of the house leaving her dad to bring in her few bags, “The tribe bonfire party happens once a month, the girls love it, plus you can meet some of your classmates before you start school.” Kira spoke as if this was something she should look forward to, but in all honesty, large gatherings were not Tallys scene, despite what her mother thinks. But, she would attend, save face and hope with good behaviour she would be back in Seattle with her friends in no time. This thought reminded her to shoot them a text quickly explaining her situation, hoping they would see it as an SOS, before shoving her phone back in her pocket and following Kira around the house like a little kid, listening to where things were kept, which rooms were which and then finally a stop at the room in which she would call hers. The walls were a blank, cream color, with light blue bedding and a wooden desk shoved in the corner, along with what looks like textbooks sitting on top.She nods politely as Kira mentions they will be leaving within the hour but try to settle in and suggests she may want to change out of her cotton shorts, as it “gets quite cold compared to Seattle” as she put it.

-----

7:14 read the time on Tallulah's phone as they walked up to the beach, the sun had just begun to set and the temperature had, in fact, dropped quite a bit, thankful for Kiras advice, Tallulah had changed into a pair of loose, blue jeans and had tucked her hands into the pockets of her oversized, black hoodie, fingers curled under the long sleeves to keep them warm.

She walked slightly behind Kira and her father, standing off to the side as they were greeted by people, before they had reached whom she suspected to be the twins. They looked so different from what she remember, her father lowly spoke to her, as Kira caught their attention, pointing out the smaller of the two as Josette and the taller, as Lenna. Josie dawned a baggie pair of dark pair of overalls, with a striped sweater underneath, her hair in two space buns, which was quite different from her sister, in her plaid mini skirt and form-fitting long sleeve shirt, her pin straight, dark hair fanned out behind her back. Tallulah could already tell they wouldn’t get along.

 She watched as Lenna stalked away from her mother to a group of people who looked around their age, before snapping her eyes back at the sound of her name being called, to see Kira and Josette waving her over, before she could even move her feet willingly, her dad was nudging her in their direction, as if she would turn and walk the other way. 

Josette moved over so she could sit directly beside, a friendly smile that resembled Kiras on her face, “ Hi Tally” she spoke her childhood nickname softly, “it’s been awhile, you look so much older, not in a bad way, like mature, adultish, but obviously your only two years older than me so not technically an adult..” she rambled off, “Hey Josette” and before Tallulah could say anything else, she was interrupted by the younger girl, “Its Josie or Jo, whichever fine, just not Josette” she spoke quickly, a pale blush crossing her olive toned skin, to which Tallulah just nodded and asked, “How long do these things last?”

“That depends,” Josie spoke, “Typically the adults leave once the stories and tribal matter finishes, so maybe an hour or two. But we usually stay later, or at least Lenna does.” she said, looking in the direction of her twin, who was now surrounded by a group of other rambunctious teenagers. “Sam Uley's crew is here tonight, so who knows if that will even happen, especially after last time.” Tallulah didn’t question the younger girl, mainly because she just didn’t care to. She looked away from Lenna and her friends, her eyes gazing on all the unfamiliar faces sitting on logs or picnic tables surrounding the growing fire. 

Her eyes stopped on what seemed to be a couple, the girl was beautiful, her long black hair was tied up into a neat ponytail, she was talking to a man in a wheelchair beside her, who looked like he could be her dad, her eyes shifted to the man sitting next her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he was in shorts and a shirt and looked perfectly comfortable in the frigid air, he was joking around with the boys next to him, as if the beautiful girl next to him was really there, despite his arm around her, “Thats Paul Lahote.” Josie said from next to her, causing her to flush from her obvious staring, he looked in their direction, as if he had heard Josie say his name, they locked eyes for a split second before Tallulah looked away embarrassed she had been caught. “Don’t worry, Lenna stares at him too,” Josie laughed jokingly, “I wasn’t staring” Tallulah spoke defensively, Josie raised her hands in surrender before leaning in close, “looks like he's the one staring now” Josie grinned, watching as Tallulah looked back at the older boy, noticing that he was staring at her, almost like a deer in headlights. He looked so familiar, though she doubts that they have ever met before. He smiles at her slightly, his arm retracting from the girl beside him despite her protest to his movement, and now the beautiful women is also looking at her, causing Tallulah to look down at her sleeve covered hands that lay in her lap, only looking up again when her father sits in the spot next to her, asking if she's alright, to which she absentmindedly nods her head. Is she alright after her entire life has been altered in the last 12 hours? What kind of question is that?

Her eyes are drawn back to the spot Paul Lahote was sitting in, or had been sitting in, the seat was now vacant, the man nowhere in her line of sight, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I had an evil thought on twitter and way too many people encouraged it, SO-

“Collecting the Pieces”

Mild Horror, Family Secrets, Mental Instability, Magical Fuckups, Sangyao-lite, Nie Huaisang Doesn’t Know Yet, Jin Guangyao Is About To Know More Than He Ever Wanted To

__________

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang.

It manifests in small signs at first.

Little things like how he would look at a person, but not at them, green eyes dull as if he wasn’t actually seeing who he was talking to. The unnaturally pale tint to his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. The fact that his robes had gotten heavier over thr last several months, trying to hide that he was getting thinner.

The incident where he had lost consciousness in the middle of a discussion with Ouyang-furen and had only been saved from cracking his skull against the floor by the reflexes of his head disciple was… concerning. But like all of the other symptoms, it could easily be tallied up as exhaustion from lingering grief and having so much responsibility dumped onto an unprepared back.

But then...

Then there are the conversations none of them can hear. Those moments where he sits with his head slightly bowed, staring at nothing and lips moving silently.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and for those not of his sect, his presence has gone from mildly concerning to downright unnerving.

Jin Guangyao has to point out to his father more than once that they have only just averted the conflict with the previous sect leader; to bar the new one from the discussion conferences just because he seems strange would be an insult tantamount to inviting war, even if Nie Hengbai does seem to be doing all the talking for the Nie at the moment, his sect leader a quiet little shadow at his side.

He finds it a unique opportunity to observe, in fact. Everyone is so unsettled by the mere fact that Nie Huaisang converses with empty air that no one has apparently thought to find out what he is saying when he does .

The seating arrangement isn’t ideal. The only person besides his own disciples who doesn’t seem to be scared off by Nie Huaisang’s unnatural behavior is Jiang-zongzhu, who pointedly settles himself on the opposite side from Nie Hengbai and scowls at all gossipers, their host included. His height half-blocks Nie Huaisang from view.

But still, Jin Guangyao can see.

And as he watches the words fall unheard from Nie Huaisang’s mouth, he feels a chill slowly creep up his spine.

‘Da-ge, come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I'll be good. Please come back. Please, Da-ge…’

He is glad that his sleeves hide the involuntary clenching of his hands.

While he knows better than to completely dismiss a possibility, no matter how small the odds, his mind nonetheless rebels at the first idea to enter it. It cannot actually be Nie Mingjue's resentful ghost haunting his little brother. Even if it had been whole, if he and Xue Yang had not scattered it with the man's physical pieces, it is decidedly not Nie Huaisang that the man would be tormenting with his presence if he were capable.

Isn't it?

And yet, he cannot shake the cold in his bones.

There is something wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he will seek out the source.

---

"San-ge?"

Nie Huaisang blinks at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tilts his head questioningly like the birds he is so fond of, then slowly regains awareness of his surroundings and smiles, looking more like himself.

Jin Guangyao forcibly clamps down on a shudder. "It's good to see you, Sang-er," he says, allowing himself to adopt the regional address since they are nowhere near the judging eyes of Koi Tower. He reaches out and sweeps the younger man's hair out of his eyes, then tuts in concern. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Ah-" Nie Huaisang flinches and looks embarrassed at the gentle chiding. "It's… nothing, really. Busy times and too much paperwork, that's all. Can I get you anything?"

"I just need to look over some map records, if you don't mind. A handful of small sects have brought a problem to my father, and I'm afraid our own records are… a bit lacking."

The younger man simply nods, accepting the excuse at face value, and Jin Guangyao isn't sure if that says something about Nie Huaisang's state of mind, or the Jin sect's reputation for ignoring anything that isn't expenditures or debts to be collected. Either way, when Nie Huaisang reaches out to tug his sleeve, he goes willingly and tries to ignore the slightly unsteady sway to his friend's pace.

Even though the poor end to his relationship with Nie Mingjue had been loud and public enough that the whole of the Unclean Realms knew about it before the day had even ended, he is apparently still a familiar enough face that barely anyone pays him mind.

Indeed, most of their worried glances are directed towards their sect leader.

He refuses to examine the possible reasons why that might be settling sour in his stomach.

They are still a few halls and turns away from the library when Nie Huaisang lets go of his sleeve and puts a hand to his head, looking even more pale than before. Jin Guangyao catches him before he can topple into the wall and then bites his tongue when green eyes slide over him, gaze unseeing.

“Sang-er?” he asks cautiously.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes don’t clear, but he seems to still be at least halfway lucid. “I’m sorry… I don’t feel well. I think I need to stay here. You remember the rest of the way, don’t you?”

“I do, but this is no proper place for you to rest.” He leans around the corner and waves over a passing servant. “Would you assist Nie-zongzhu to his room, please?”

“Of course, of course,” the woman says in a tone that conveys she is apparently -unfortunately- used to this. “Come along,” she says, taking hold of Nie Huaisang’s hand and wrapping a steadying arm around his waist, as if guiding a lost child, and he follows her lead without complaint.

Jin Guangyao watches them go and squashes that sour feeling when it threatens to churn.

Answers.

Answers first.

---

The library he needs, he has decided, is not the primary library, the one that Nie Huaisang had been taking him to. No, he seeks out the room buried so deep in the Unclean Realms that no daylight reaches it, that he had only stumbled upon by accident back when he had been employed here.

Lighting the only lantern in the room with a flame talisman, he finds that nothing has changed since the last time he was here other than a thickening of the layer of dust.

Swallowing hard, he straightens his back and starts with the family records.

---

‘After much deliberation and testimony from the physicians and healers involved in the care of the first young master, it is the advice of the sect elders that- ’

He has relit the lantern twice, and he’s fairly sure it’s long past dinner when he sinks into a chair and slaps the open scroll down onto the table, feeling lightheaded and shaky.

A spirit-tethering.

Until he had seen the books Lan Xichen carried from the library of the Cloud Recesses, such a thing had been the stuff of fantasy stories. Even in the vaunted Lan texts, it was only described in abstract theory.

And yet there was apparently enough foundation to it that a serious proposal had been made to cast such a thing between a pair of children to keep Nie Mingjue from being torn apart by the saber he’d bonded with far too young.

He forces himself to keep reading, feeling his stomach sink with every passage.

Nie Haoran had argued viciously against the idea for two years, even offering himself as the tether, only to be shot down due to his own unstable health. He had only given in when his son had experienced his first qi deviation at eleven years of age.

Eleven years old.

Nie Huaisang would have only been five.

Jin Guangyao bites his tongue again and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to forcibly swallow back the bile that bubbles up in his throat.

The mechanics of the matter only make the horror of it even more stark. The only ones who would have been able to undo the tether would have been the brothers themselves. He finds notes, plans, all written in Nie Mingjue’s sharp-edged calligraphy, of how he would set his brother free once his own health became too compromised but before his mind was too unstable…

But he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d deteriorated too quickly.

Instead...

Nausea continuing to roil in his guts like a thunder cloud, Jin Guangyao rolls up the scroll and shoves it back into place with enough force that it crumples, practically fleeing the room even though there is no monster there to escape, just-

It is indeed dark outside as he traverses the hallways, barely able to restrain himself from running.

No one answers when he knocks at Nie Huaisang’s door. He sucks in a sharp breath to ground himself, then carefully pushes it open.

The room is as stark as he remembers from his last visit. Though he knows he Lan Xichen have both offered to help, Nie Huaisang has yet to start replacing any of the possessions that his brother had burnt. There is a tray of food on the table near the bed, untouched and probably long cold.

The person he’s seeking is curled up on the bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed. Fingers twitch and scratch at his own arms as he shivers, most likely in the throes of a nightmare.

His lips are moving.

Jin Guangyao doesn’t dare read them.

He closes the door behind him and crosses the room to the bed. Nie Huaisang doesn’t react to the dip in the mattress as he sits down, nor to being pulled and shifted until the younger man’s head rests in his lap. When he gently removes the guan from his hair and begins combing out the braids, however, the fit finally eases, the anxious lines of Nie Huaisang’s face smoothing out as he calms.

Jin Guangyao closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

He now knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and he knows he is at fault.

He could lay the blame elsewhere. He wants to. The elders who’d made the proposal... Nie Haoran for allowing it... the healers who’d carried it out… It is most tempting to blame Nie Mingjue for having not undone it as soon as they were both grown.

But no. The fact of the matter is that Nie Huaisang’s condition can be laid at his feet. Had he not hastened Nie Mingjue’s death… He doesn’t regret that.

He refuses to let himself regret that.

But this…

Grief could be moved past.

Missing pieces could not.

He opens his eyes to find Nie Huaisang has shifted to curl against him, and he allows himself a small, weak smile as he begins carding his fingers through silken hair again.

He knows what is wrong with Nie Huaisang, and perhaps he can’t fix the damage already done, but there are still things he can do. Information he can find, pieces he can move or remove. He can make things easier.

“It will be alright,” he murmurs, then leans down and gently presses a kiss to the sleeping young man’s temple. The gesture makes Nie Huaisang snuggle closer in his sleep, and his own smile gains strength.  “I took care of er-gongzi before, I will be happy to take care of zongzhu now. He is my responsibility, after all.”